Part I: "The Starless Mark"
The winds were unusually quiet that night.
Not a howl, not a whisper — as if the forest itself held its breath.
Far from the gleaming spires of the capital and deeper still than the outer villages, the small settlement of Deyrun lay blanketed in moonlight. Only the chirp of a nightbird broke the silence, until even that sound faded.
A single wisp of light fell from the sky. Pale. Silver. Not a star… but something older.
It passed through the clouds without resistance and descended gently toward the Ardyn estate — a simple home, worn and quiet, nestled beside a wide field and an untamed tree line.
Inside, the world was shifting.
And in a small candle-lit room, a life began.
The child didn't cry.
Not even once.
The midwife looked bewildered. The servants shuffled nervously. The silence of the infant was not ordinary — it was eerie. But the moment anyone stepped closer to the boy, warmth rushed through their chest. Calm. Deep calm, like standing before a sacred flame.
The father, a tall man with dark hair tied loosely behind his back, stood over the cradle. His golden-brown eyes, dull from years of hiding, lit up for the first time in ages.
He didn't say much. He rarely did.
But as he looked down at the child's tiny fist — clenched around nothing, yet glowing faintly with ember light — a breath escaped his lips.
"…Kael."
The mother, her silver hair slicked to her forehead, smiled weakly from the bed.
"He's warm," she whispered. "Like fire. But gentle."
Kael Ardyn had arrived. No mark of nobility. No divine emblem. No glowing crest.
But something ancient had still stirred.
And far away, in a part of the continent no map dared name, something stirred in response.
Meanwhile, outside the Ardyn home…
Zevran Ardyn, the boy's father, stepped into the cold night. His cloak hung loosely around his shoulders, but his posture was that of a seasoned warrior.
He lit a pipe.
He didn't smoke it.
He just needed an excuse to be alone.
The stars above glittered like they knew something.
Zevran's fingers flexed absently — even now, old instincts refused to fade. If anyone had seen him during the great war, they'd call him a ghost. A phantom. A man who'd fought against emperors and beasts alike.
But now? Now he was just "the hunter." A quiet man with a quiet family.
"So," he muttered to the wind, "you've chosen this one."
The flames from the lantern near the doorway flickered violently… then calmed.
Zevran didn't flinch.
He stared out into the forest, where the trees bent inward like bows toward the house.
"I won't let this one burn like the last," he said quietly. "He'll walk his own path. Not mine."
From behind him came a small voice — soft, giggling.
"Daddy, is the baby going to have shiny eyes like you?"
A little girl stood barefoot, her silver-blonde hair sticking out in every direction, holding a plush beast toy that had definitely seen better days.
Zevran smiled, just barely. "Maybe."
She looked up at the stars. "I hope he's strong. I'll teach him how to fight! And protect Mom!"
"You will, huh?" he chuckled.
The little girl nodded furiously.
And in the skies far above, the star that had fallen began to fade — like it had passed its will to someone new.
The Next Morning…
Kael slept peacefully in his cradle.
He didn't dream.
He didn't cry.
But as his tiny fingers curled again, a faint ember flickered across the skin of his palm — disappearing just as fast.
His sister leaned over the edge of the cradle with wide eyes.
"He smells like grilled fish," she whispered. "Mom, is that normal?"
The mother laughed softly. "Very."
Part II: "The Whispering Ember"
Morning at the Ardyn Estate…
The sun poured through the high windows, casting warm golden light across the wooden floorboards. Birds chirped with just enough melody to sound like they were in sync. The kind of morning that felt… safe.
In the corner, Kael lay curled in his cradle, still quiet, still peaceful.
But there was something different now.
Where most infants shifted or cried, Kael simply breathed. Slow. Even. Controlled. Like his body already knew rest was important. His mother, Seris Ardyn, watched him from the bed, cradling a warm cup of tea and smiling gently.
"He doesn't cry," she murmured.
Zevran sat nearby, leaning against the window frame, polishing a wooden blade his daughter had carved from bark.
"That worries you?"
"It confuses me," Seris replied. "Even when he's hungry or cold, he just… waits."
Zevran didn't look at her. He was watching Kael too.
"Then maybe he already understands patience."
"That, or he's plotting something."
"He's one day old."
"Exactly."
They both laughed — quietly. Carefully.
Later That Day…
Kael's older sister, Lyra, sat cross-legged on the floor near the cradle, holding her old wooden sword.
"Kael," she whispered like she was sharing a national secret. "Listen to me. The first thing you need to know is… don't eat bugs."
Kael stared at her. Blank. Baby stare.
"Second thing," she leaned in dramatically, "Mom gets mad if you throw soup at her."
Kael blinked once.
"And third thing…" Lyra looked over her shoulder, made sure no one was listening. "Dad is scary sometimes. But only when you poke his back while he's meditating. Or when you paint the goat."
From across the room, Zevran's voice floated in. "Lyra."
She froze. "…Yes?"
"Don't teach your brother lies."
"They're life tips!"
That Night…
Kael's eyes opened for the first time.
No one saw.
No light flickered. No magic pulse. But something shifted deep in the fabric of the room — as if the very wood recognized the opening of those golden eyes.
He stared at the wooden ceiling above him.
And he listened.
There was a sound — faint, quiet, just at the edge of consciousness. It wasn't language. It wasn't song.
It was… calling.
A whisper without words.
A presence.
It didn't come from outside the house.
It came from within him.
"Ember… Ember… awaken…"
The warmth in his chest pulsed — just once.
Kael didn't react like a baby should have.
He didn't cry.
He didn't squirm.
He just… looked.
And for the briefest moment, the flame-shaped mark on his palm reappeared.
One flicker.
Gone.
Far Across the Continent…
In the frozen ruins of an ancient observatory buried beneath the snow, a dark, scaled creature stirred.
Its eyes opened slowly — gold within gold, narrowed in recognition.
"The ember… lives again," it rasped.
A wolf-shaped shadow padded forward from the fog beside it. Silent. Watching.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
They began to move.
Back at the Ardyn Estate…
Zevran stood alone outside again. The stars overhead had returned, but one of them — the faint silver one that fell the night before — was gone.
He looked out toward the eastern horizon, where mountains met sky.
"He's not marked," he muttered, "but he's not ordinary either."
From the doorway behind him, Seris stepped out, barefoot and holding Kael in her arms.
"He opened his eyes tonight," she said softly.
Zevran turned. For a moment, just a moment, he allowed the fear to flicker behind his calm.
"Already?"
Seris nodded. "He didn't cry."
Zevran looked at the boy.
Kael's golden eyes stared back.