Vilad approached slowly, not out of caution but respect, and gently lifted the infant, whose shadow did not yet separate, existing instead as a dense presence beneath the skin.
For the first time in Lustres, Vilad allowed something close to warmth to touch his awareness as he cradled the child carefully.
"You will shape the fate of the Nocthe Kingdom," he murmured, voice soft but absolute, a declaration rather than hope.
Both bounds in the room watched the infant with quiet smiles, expressions shaped not by ownership but by recognition, as though witnessing the fulfillment of something long denied.
Yet beneath that moment lay an unspoken truth they all understood deeply. They were not parents. They were not individuals in the way outsiders imagined. They were just faces. Necessary lies that shadows allowed them to exist within the world.
"Vestera, undo your divide," Vilad instructed gently, authority softened by necessity, "maintaining separation now will only drain you, and the child requires your full recovery and attention."
Her bound dissolved back into her form without resistance, leaving Vestera. Regent Vilad looked once more at the child, feeling the weight of what had been confirmed by the cocoon above the sky and within the shadow simultaneously.
"You shall be called Kael Eidolon, and I will be the Black Sovereign" he declared, naming the child as the calamity outside continued for an entire veil, the cocoon above the estate remaining black, unyielding, and absolute.
--
A Veil later, a grand event was organized at the very heart of the Nocthe Kingdom, within the ancient capital city of Dareldht, whose foundations were older than recorded memory. Dareldht rose in concentric tiers of black stone and muted crystal, a city designed not for beauty but for authority, where light was measured, angles were deliberate for the all the bearers.
At the summit of the central spire, within the open convergence hall that had no roof by deliberate design, the Black Sovereign sat upon the highest dais, elevated not merely by stone but by the weight of collective will.
He occupied the throne without motion, a perfect black silhouette that absorbed surrounding illumination, while beside him stood his bound, broad shouldered and muscular, clothed in regal attire befitting kingship, long white hair cascading freely down his back. The bound carried no weapon, nor did he need one, for within the presence of the Black Sovereign the concept of defense itself lost meaning, his authority alone made one lose the will.
Below the sovereign's platform, the hierarchy of the kingdom unfolded in rigid order, each tier positioned according to ancient measurements that balanced power, lineage. All High Silhouette Lords were seated first, their chairs carved from duskstone, while their bounds stood beside them in disciplined stillness, eyes forward, expressions carefully neutralized by years of enforced restraint.
Beyond them sat the Veil Lords, lesser in authority yet no less dangerous, their silhouettes compact and controlled, followed further by the Dusk Marshals whose presence carried the unspoken memory of wars, who were the ones with directly fight other kingdoms and the calamities alike. Each bearer remained seated, unmoving and absolute, while each bound stood at precisely measured distances.
Beneath the Black Sovereign's dais sat the Queen, her posture composed and regal, positioned deliberately beside Regent Vilad Eidolon, whose presence carried both political weight and the gravity of recent upheaval.
A broad and intentional gap separated the Queen's platform from the High Silhouette Lords, an architectural reminder that lineage and authority, while related, were never equal within Nocthe law. One seat alone stood beside the Black Sovereign, set slightly behind the throne rather than level with it, occupied by the oldest bearer still alive, a surviving remnant of the Void War.
This was Lestel Umbraxis, leader of the Gloam Synod and the living embodiment of judicial finality, a being whose authority did not govern land or armies, yet superseded all except the Black Sovereign.
Lestel's silhouette bore the scars of time and the war, presence heavy, he moved slower than others as though reality itself hesitated around him.
When Lestel Umbraxis raised one hand in a subtle, measured gesture, the entire convergence hall fell into a deeper silence, beers across the assembly stared at him instinctively. His bound stepped forward with careful deliberation, voice emerging not as proclamation but as verdict.
"In the presence of the Black Sovereign, Berstel Un Eidolon, and under the unbroken witness of the Gloam Synod and its leader, I, Lestel Umbraxis," the bound began, his words echoing through stone and air alike.
"After two hundred lustres since the Void War, the Nocthe Kingdom has produced the First Child, an event unseen within living memory," he continued, neither pride nor fear coloring his tone.
"The Black Sovereign, The Queen, the Regent, the High Silhouette Lords, the Veil Lords, the Dusk Marshals, and I myself stand as witnesses to the emergence of one among the Four Heroic Aspects, The First Child," the declaration concluded.
At the final word, a ripple passed through the assembly, subtle yet unmistakable, as bearers reacted faster than bounds could mask their emotion.
Lestel Umbraxis lowered his hand slightly, and his bound spoke again, voice sharper now, carrying unmistakable summons.
"Regent Vilad Eidolon," the bound called, the name striking the hall like a blade against stone.
Vilad rose immediately, while his bound followed precisely three steps behind, maintaining perfect alignment without overlap.
He moved forward across the convergence floor, each step measured, each shadow displacement observed by a hundred trained eyes, before stopping at the designated threshold beneath the sovereign's gaze.
Vilad knelt upon one knee, lowering himself not as submission but acknowledgment, and extended his arms forward to reveal the infant cradled within them.
The baby appeared as a hollow black form, small and silent, its presence dense and absorbing attention without effort, its Unsplit state radiating unease even among the most hardened elites.
"Lord Black Sovereign, Lord Lestel Umbraxis," Vilad's bound spoke, voice steady despite the magnitude of the moment, "I present to you my son, the First Child."
For a fraction of a breath, the Queen's bearer flinched, a reaction too brief for most to notice. Her bound did not move, did not blink, did not betray any reaction, maintaining the illusion of composure demanded by her position.
--
A/N: A Formal Introduction of few of the ranks of the Nocthe Kingdom. The history event of the birth of the child of the First black. I am deciding the power system, will sort it out in a while.
100 Power stones = 1 Extra Chapter.