The Baptism – A Masterclass in Infantile Sabotage

The Evernight family chapel was less a holy sanctuary and more a theater of war draped in silk.

Sunlight streamed through towering stained-glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic hues over the marble floors. Each pane depicted a Kraevia ancestor in all their morally ambiguous glory.

Lord Cedric the Conqueror, bathed in crimson light, gripping a sword made of moonlight.

Lady Isolde the Merciful, her hands dripping jewels (and rumored blood).

Aunt Seraphina, the "Pirate Queen," winking beside a treasure chest labeled "Still Missing – Do Not Ask."

The air reeked of hypocrisy and expensive incense—a blend of dragon's breath resin and rose oil, lit to mask the nobles' sweat as they schemed. Their jewels glittered like predator eyes in the dim light, and their whispers slithered through the chairs.

"Did you hear? The brat's mark glows when she hiccups."

"A Kraevia weakness? Finally."

"I'll bet 50 coins she curses the archbishop before noon."

At the center of it all stood the baptismal basins—a monstrosity of enchanted obsidian, its edges carved with serpents swallowing their tails.

The "holy water" inside shimmered unnaturally, sourced from the Temple of Serenity's sacred spring, read; (stolen by the duke's great-grandfather during a misunderstanding involving a goat and a siege engine).

The nobles arrived in a parade of velvet and venom.

Marquess Vexley

Look: A toupee clinging for dear life, robes the color of moldy envy.

Deal: Still salty the duke's grandfather annexed his family's "accidentally unguarded" silver mines.

Gift: A cursed rattle ("Sweet Dreams!") crafted by a back-alley wizard.

Lady Celestine

Look: A nanny's in disguise—prim lace, eyes sharp as poisoned needles.

Deal:The Prime Minister's ace spy, specializing in "orphaning" inconvenient heirs.

Gift: A lullaby music box rigged to whisper treasonous suggestions.

Prince Florian

Look: A prince drowning in fox coat, clutching a scepter taller than he was.

Deal: His regent's ploy to claim Evernight lands via marriage contract.

Gift: A parchment thicker with loopholes than a politician's apology.

The duke stood rigid at the font, his ceremonial armor polished to a murderous gleam. Every clank of his gauntlet silenced the room like a gavel strike.

The duchess, draped in midnight-blue silk, radiate calm—though her grip on Evangeline tightened when Vexley approached.

"A… modest offering," Vexley simpered, presenting the rattle.

The duke's jaw twitched.

"Modest? Like your hairline?"

The duchess subtly stepped on his foot.

"How… thoughtful."

Evangeline, sensing danger, cooed and kicked the rattle. It chimed ominously.

As the archbishop splashed Evangeline's forehead, her mark pulsed. A rift tore open above the font, and a single ramyeon noodle flopped into the holy water.

Chef Marcel shouted. "IT'S A SIGN!" (He'd been fermenting soy sauce in secret for weeks.)

The Nobles crossed themselves, hissed "Carb-witch!", and fled.

The Duchess plucked the noodle from the font and tucked it into Evangeline's swaddle.

"Souvenir."

The archbishop, a man whose piety evaporated faster than the holy water's "blessing," began the rite.

"We gather to cleanse this child of sin—"

"Too late," someone muttered.

Evangeline's prophecy mark flared, casting the room in sapphire light. The holy water bubbled violently.

Chaos unfolds.

Vexley's toupee levitated, revealing a bald patch shaped like the Evernight crest.

Celestine's music box screeched, "LONG LIVE THE PRIME MINISTER!"

Prince Florian dropped his scepter and bawled, "I WANT A NICE BABY!"

The duke unsheathed his sword. "Anyone else have a gift?"

In the Servants' Hall.

Gardener Flora excitedly collects her winnings. "Told you she'd weaponize snacks!"

Stablehand Jax was intently looking on the board and argued. "But the noodle wasn't on the board!"

Head Maid Gertrude clears her throat. "Hmm.. 'Food-Based Prophecies' at 5:1!"