The baby smiled in his sleep.
A simple gesture—yet it fell upon the sanctuary like thunder in silence.
Sixteen divine beings, rulers of realms and wielders of myth, stood frozen. No spell had been cast, no sound uttered. And yet, in that fleeting curl of his lips, something ancient stirred.
Nyx'Zari's breath caught. She felt it—
the world listening.
The moment passed like a ripple across still water. Softly, the child shifted in her coils, exhaling a quiet sigh. His tiny hand twitched, grasping at the edge of his wrappings as if to ground himself in the waking dream.
Vaerokh, his golden eyes never leaving the child's face, spoke in a low murmur.
"Even asleep… he hears the world."
⸻
Morning crept through the open dome above them, draping the sanctuary in cool light. The rain that had graced their council's end had left the stone glistening, a sheen of silver across the great mosaic floor. Somewhere far off, birdsong dared to return.
None of the Divine Beasts had yet left.
Instead, they lingered—still bound by the gravity of the child. Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps reverence. But more than anything, it was the pull of something new.
It was Kael'sari, the ember-furred huntress, who moved first.
She approached with careful grace, each step soundless as breath. Her eyes, twin coals smoldering beneath her lashes, flicked between Nyx'Zari and the child. When she stopped just before them, she lowered her great feline head—not in submission, but in acknowledgment.
"May I?"
Nyx'Zari hesitated, then nodded slowly.
Kael'sari knelt, resting on one forearm, and extended her paw toward the child's foot. A faint curl of flame licked up her wrist as her aura gently met his.
The child stirred again. His nose wrinkled. His toes twitched.
And then… he giggled.
The sound was soft, breathy—but real. The baby's eyes opened, locking with Kael'sari's in a sudden, crystalline moment. And in those strange, swirling orbs—ruby and amethyst—she saw no fear.
"He knows no predator, no danger." she murmured. "Not yet."
Her tail flicked. "Good. Let the world know he will not be prey."
She reached into the beads around her waist and withdrew a single claw, carved from a creature long extinct.
"A fang from the First Flamebeast," she said, handing it to Nyx. "Let it rest near him. When he begins to walk, it will guide his steps away from cowardice."
⸻
Not long after, Mirelya emerged once more from the sanctuary pool. She floated toward the child on a column of misty seawater, her voice no more than the hush of tide against shell.
"He dreams of currents," she said, smiling.
From within her flowing coils, she revealed a pearl—iridescent and thrumming faintly with magic.
"This pearl holds the lullaby of the deep. Sing it over him when storms gather in his heart."
She placed the pearl in a shallow bowl beside Nyx'Zari, the water humming in resonance.
⸻
Sylvarion was next. He said no word. Instead, he stepped forward and placed a tiny, budding sapling upon the mosaic floor—grown from a seed he had kept sealed for centuries. The child's aura reached toward it, and leaves unfurled before their eyes.
The Elf Lord exhaled softly.
"He awakens the roots of the world."
⸻
Durmund stomped forward, muttering.
"Enough with whispers and poetry," he grunted. "Let's see if the lad can handle a bit of proper enchantment."
From a pouch lined with runes, he withdrew a small metal ring—crafted from Ironvein, a mythic dwarven ore said to resist corruption.
"This is no toy," he warned, as he slipped it gently onto the child's wrist. "If his power flares too wild, it'll absorb the excess. Burn my beard if that's not the smartest thing I've done this century."
Almost instantly, the ring glowed.
Durmund blinked.
"It's already full?"
Vaerokh smirked. "He's barely begun."
⸻
From high above, Altairn descended like a feather falling through time. He landed in near silence and unfurled a scroll of pale-blue wind paper with his giant talons.
He pressed it against the baby's chest. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—words appeared.
Spiraling letters, ancient and formless, written in the air.
Altairn's eyes narrowed.
"His mana speaks in a script older than language," he said.
He rolled the scroll and tucked it away. "I will decipher it. His soul already writes prophecy."
⸻
The others followed in kind.
Titania Bloommother traced a sigil on his forehead that shimmered with mirth and dreams. "A child should never forget to smile," she said.
Xan'thuul, shadow pooling behind him, knelt and placed a serpent's scale into the infant's palm. "A token. One day, he will shed what binds him."
Zarakul Marrowgeist stood over the boy for several long seconds, then whispered in a voice like falling ash, "He will walk between life and death. When the time comes… he must choose to return."
Korr Wildmane dropped a leather strap carved with fang and claw near the child. "So he remembers instinct. Not all wisdom comes from books."
Eventually, they stepped back.
The child was wide-eyed now. His gaze drifted from one to the next—not in confusion, but as if cataloguing them. The way a mountain catalogs rivers. The way fire catalogs air.
Nyx'Zari held him close, her fingers trembling just slightly.
"He feels like… all of you. A piece of each. Even those who haven't touched him."
Vaerokh nodded. "Because he is."
"No," she corrected softly, eyes still on the child. "Because he will be."
Above them, the mosaic's central gem began to glow.
A low hum filled the sanctuary, pulsing in
rhythm with the child's heartbeat.
A sign.
A promise.
And far, far above the open sky, a second star flickered to life beside the one born many years past.
Not a warning.
A witness.
The world was beginning to change.
End of Chapter 4