Chapter 1 — The Birth of the Prince (Final Style)
The Titan Imperial Palace was silent.
Not peaceful—silent in the way a battlefield feels just before the arrows fall. Servants moved with measured steps, heads lowered, as if any sudden sound could fracture the thin layer of calm stretched across the marble corridors.
Behind the reinforced doors of the Queen's birthing chamber, muffled voices wavered between urgency and discipline. The midwives whispered, the physicians barked low orders, and the air pulsed with an unspoken truth:
Something about this birth was wrong.
Or too right—depending on who in the Empire was watching.
Queen Elera lay on the grand birthing bed, her face pale but unwavering. Even in pain, she held a quiet dignity. Her dark hair clung to her skin, and sweat gathered at her brow, but her eyes did not lose their clarity.
The imperial physicians surrounded her, exchanging glances they dared not voice. They had assisted in royal births before, but never had they witnessed such restrained, crushing pressure leaking from an unborn child.
It pressed against their lungs, their temples, their bones—an invisible weight that made even experienced cultivators feel… watched.
"Your Majesty," one physician whispered, his voice steady only through training, "the child's heartbeat is… overpowering."
Elera did not answer immediately. A contraction clawed its way through her body, and she stifled a cry. But her hands clenched the sheets with unwavering resolve.
"He will be strong," she said, breath shallow. "My son… must be strong."
Another wave of pressure swept through the chamber, and several servants staggered. One fainted silently on the floor.
Then—
A single, sharp wail cut through the silence.
The oppressive pressure vanished like mist burned away by the sun.
The midwife's trembling hands lifted a newborn—pale, quiet, unnervingly alert. His eyes opened immediately, something infants were not supposed to do.
They were silver.
Cold.
Focused.
Lucius Ashborne had entered the world without confusion, without fear, without the hazy ignorance of a newborn's first breath.
He simply observed.
The midwife felt her throat tighten. She could not explain why—but being held under the child's gaze made her feel… small. Exposed. As if every flaw she carried was being examined and stored away.
"The prince…" she whispered, unable to stop herself. "He's… awake."
Queen Elera reached out with trembling arms, her exhaustion deep but her gaze filled with emotion.
"Lucius…" she breathed.
The newborn shifted his eyes toward her, gaze steady. He did not cry again. He did not squirm. He simply watched her—quiet, unreadable.
Elera's smile faltered for a heartbeat. Then she steadied herself and pulled him close.
The chamber doors burst open.
Emperor Valerius entered with a controlled urgency, his expression cold yet strained with something almost vulnerable. His armor—he had come straight from the War Council—gleamed under the lantern light.
"Elera."
She managed a weakened nod.
"He is here," she whispered.
Valerius stepped closer, but something halted him mid‑stride. A flicker of instinct, of danger—an emperor's intuition honed through decades of battle and betrayal. He exhaled slowly, forcing his body to move again.
He approached the bed and looked down at the child.
Lucius stared back.
For a brief moment, father and son regarded each other in absolute silence. No innocence, no warmth—only an eerie, assessing stillness.
Valerius felt his jaw tense.
"He's… not ordinary."
It wasn't a question.
Elera closed her eyes, as if bracing herself. "Our bloodline has always carried shadows."
"Shadows," Valerius echoed, eyes narrowing, "do not stare back like this."
He reached out a hand.
Lucius did not flinch.
Valerius's fingers hovered an inch above his son's head before he finally rested his palm gently atop it. A faint pulse of warmth—barely perceptible—travelled through his arm.
Then he pulled away.
"Seal the chamber," he commanded the attendants. "Only the Empress's physicians may enter. Anyone else who approaches—without my direct order—dies."
The servants bowed immediately, terror gripping their hearts.
This birth was no longer a familial event.
It was a state secret.
Valerius looked one last time at his newborn son.
Lucius had already turned his gaze away, silently watching the lantern flames dance along the chamber walls. As if calculating something. As if learning. As if remembering.
The Emperor's voice dropped into a low whisper meant only for himself:
"This child… will not grow ordinary."
He turned and left the room without another word.
Inside the chamber, Queen Elera held Lucius closer, her fingers brushing his cheek. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with a foreboding certainty.
"My son," she murmured, "whatever path awaits you… may you outlive it."
Lucius blinked once.
Slow.
Unemotional.
Cold.
Outside the reinforced doors, the palace descended into whispers—whispers that would one day grow into rumors, then into legends.
But for now, the world only knew one truth:
The Titan Empire had gained a prince.
And the shadows in the halls felt… colder