Cyrus confesses the truth behind his hidden past and the burden he bore as a leader.He reveals an ancient book that speaks of the origin of magic and an impending world-shifting war.Driven by purpose, he uncovers secrets in the royal library—legends of Raiketsu and a mysterious phrase: "This world is equal."With a thrilling revelation in hand, he returns to Lyra—on the eve of their son Imperial's birth, a new destiny begins.
It was still early morning, the sun yet to rise. The skies remained in a deep shade of indigo, the first light of dawn lingering on the horizon like a quiet promise. The palace, usually alive with the bustle of servants and routine, was hushed—its halls wrapped in a cocoon of tense anticipation.
Inside the royal medical chamber, warmth glowed from lanterns suspended on silver hooks, casting soft amber light over the polished stone walls. The room was grand yet comforting—lined with velvet drapes in deep maroon, their edges embroidered in golden thread. A faint scent of jasmine water, meant to calm the nerves, hung in the air. Braziers glowed gently in each corner, giving off steady heat to keep the chill of the pre-dawn air at bay.
In the center of the room, Lyra Alden lay on a wide, silk-sheeted bed, her face slick with sweat, her knuckles white as she clutched the bedding. Midwives surrounded her, guiding her through the final waves of labor. A healer murmured incantations under her breath, her fingers glowing with a pale blue light that soothed Lyra's trembling limbs.
Outside the chamber doors, Cyrus Alden paced with a relentless rhythm. Each step echoed in the high-ceilinged hallway like the ticking of a clock. His fingers ran through his dark hair, now damp with worry, and his jaw was tight. Though a seasoned warrior and leader, he felt helpless in this moment—where no sword, no strategy, could aid him.
Then, after what felt like an eternity stretched over hours, the heavy wooden doors creaked open. A royal attendant, still catching his breath, emerged with wide eyes and a joyous expression.
"Lord Cyrus! It's a boy!"
The words echoed in Cyrus's ears like a thunderclap of emotion. He didn't wait. Pushing past the attendant, he rushed to the chamber, breath hitching in his throat. He paused just long enough at the doorway to meet the eyes of one of the healers, who gave a small, approving nod. That was all the permission he needed.
Inside, the air was warm and serene, a stark contrast to the tension just moments earlier. The flickering lanternlight bathed the room in gold, reflecting off polished brass bowls and glinting vials of tinctures and salves. Curtains billowed gently by the windows as the breeze carried in the scent of morning dew.
Lyra lay on the bed, her form draped in white linen, exhaustion painting shadows under her eyes. Yet her face was illuminated—not by the light, but by a radiance born of pride and overwhelming love. In her arms rested a tiny figure, bundled in soft cloth the color of moonlight.
A silence held the room as Cyrus stepped forward, and his breath caught.
The baby was smiling.
Not crying, not wailing as one might expect from a newborn—but smiling. A serene, knowing little curl of the lips, as if he understood far more than he should.
Cyrus frowned faintly, awestruck. "Isn't it strange?" he asked, voice low and reverent. "I thought newborns always cry when they enter the world."
One of the elder physicians chuckled, his robe rustling as he turned. "Indeed, that is common. But in rare cases, a child enters the world in silence… with a smile." He folded his arms and studied the infant. "Perhaps, it carries a deeper meaning."
Cyrus knelt by the bedside, his hand brushing over the child's soft cheek, then down to his tiny hand. The baby's fingers curled instinctively around one of his father's. That small grip was stronger than expected.
"A child who greets the world with a smile…" Cyrus murmured. "What kind of future awaits you, little one?"
The tension in the room seemed to evaporate in that moment. Even the attendants, trained to remain composed and distant, couldn't help but smile. A ripple of warmth spread through the space.
Then, hurried footsteps broke the moment.
"Where is he?!" a young voice called out from the corridor.
The doors burst open again, this time revealing a child with tousled brown hair and wide, eager eyes. Kai, just five years old, stood breathless at the threshold, still wearing his night tunic.
"Mother! Father! Is it true?!" he cried. "I'm a big brother now?!"
Lyra and Cyrus exchanged a glance—one of fondness and mild amusement—before nodding.
"Come closer," Lyra said softly.
Kai approached with cautious wonder, his eyes locked on the bundle in his mother's arms. He stepped up to the bed, his excitement slowly giving way to awe. He stood on tiptoe, peeking into the folds of the blanket.
"He's… so small," Kai whispered, barely daring to breathe. One hand reached out, stopping short as though afraid to touch something so delicate.
The baby stirred, his tiny fingers twitching—as if recognizing his brother.
Kai's face lit up with a mixture of pride and protectiveness. "I'll be the best big brother ever. I promise."
Cyrus wrapped an arm around Lyra, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Yes, Kai. You're a big brother now."
As morning finally broke, golden light streamed through the windows. The warmth of the sun kissed the marble floor, and the bells of the nearby temple began to ring in celebration—a tradition whenever a royal heir was born.
Hours later, they returned to their home, the family more complete than ever. The sunlight now poured freely through the high windows, casting long beams across the ornate rugs and stone-carved pillars.
But Lyra paused at the doorway. Her sharp eyes caught a large travel bag resting beside the arched entrance, its leather worn and sturdy—packed for long distance. Her heart sank.
"It looks like someone is preparing for a long journey," she said softly. "At least a year… or more."
Cyrus's back straightened, and he nodded solemnly.
"You guessed correctly."
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the cooing of the baby now asleep in Lyra's arms. She turned to face him fully, concern and unspoken questions etched across her features.
"Cyrus… What are you planning?"
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and gently lifted the baby into his arms. He cradled him, golden eyes meeting his son's—eyes so vivid they seemed to glow faintly in the light.
"I must fulfill a promise," he said, voice low but steady. "Then, I will give you the answer you deserve."
The wind stirred again, lifting the edge of the curtains. For a moment, everything stilled. Then, with quiet certainty, Cyrus spoke:
"I have decided. His name will be Imperial Alden."