“The Cradle of a Godborn”

The storm had not ended.

Though the battle was over, though the fire and chaos had faded into ash and whispers, the sky above the world still wept in silence. Gray clouds stretched across the heavens like mourning veils. Lightning no longer roared, but it flickered softly in the distance, like the heart of a slumbering giant that refused to die.

Deep within the Veilwild Expanse, hidden far from kingdom, cult, or curse, the Sanctuary of the Sixteen stood untouched. A vast, ancient land where Divine Beasts of every race once gathered in peace, before they too vanished from the world.

There, within a crescent-shaped canyon, floating invisible to the mortal eye, draped in starlight mist and bioluminescent trees, the child of impossibility lay sleeping, wrapped in golden silk, tucked beneath the arcane chest of a divine being .

His small breaths puffed out in warm gusts, his chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. His tail curled protectively around himself, a twitch here, a flick there, as if reacting to dreams yet unnamed. Atop his head, the soft shimmer of black-and-gold horns reflected the faint glow of the runes that circled the canyon's cliffs.

He looked peaceful.

Divine.

Unreal.

And yet, to the one watching over him, it was not peace that stirred the air—it was grief.

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Vaerokh the Stormfang stood motionless beside the boy's resting place, four wings folded tightly against his colossal body. Thunder clouds circled his massive horns. Sparks of lightning flickered around his claws, dancing to the rhythm of his beating heart.

But his eyes…those ancient, storm-forged eyes…remained fixed on the infant with a silent, unreadable intensity.

"He smiles in his sleep," came a voice of velvet mist, soft as falling snow.

From the shadows of the canyon wall, a massive shape uncoiled—Nyx'Zari the Veilmother, her scaled body flowing like ink in moonlight. Her thousand eyes blinked slowly, rippling down her serpentine form like a starlit wave.

"He dreams already," she whispered. "Of warmth. Of safety. Of wings and laughter and lullabies that will never come again."

Vaerokh did not answer at first. The air around him buzzed with unshed words.

"The world will never accept him," he finally growled. "Not yet. Maybe not ever."

"And yet the world will kneel," Nyx'Zari murmured, lowering her massive head towards the smiling child— now laying in a stone cradle. "It simply doesn't know it yet."

They stood in silence. Storm and shadow. Sky and soul. Guardians of the one child every god had feared—and secretly blessed.

⸻

Elsewhere in the sanctuary, movement stirred.

The other Divine Beasts were arriving—each drawn by instinct, prophecy, or pain. The Verdant Warden, the Forgefather, the Frostmaiden, and more. Some lumbered. Some slithered. Some arrived on wings, others through roots, shadow, or time itself.

All of them came to witness the child.

The last legacy of the Dragon King and Demon Queen.

The one whose very breath pulsed with infinite mana.

The one who, even now in sleep, unconsciously altered the air around him.

Leaves shimmered brighter where he lay.

Flowers bloomed from stone.

Even the starlight bent just slightly toward his cradle.

⸻

Nyx'Zari gently coiled her body around the perimeter of the glowing clearing, weaving a protective ring of shadow and dream.

"I have already felt the cult's whispers," she said quietly. "They think the child dead and are fooled for now. But one day they will look for him."

"They will search," Vaerokh replied. "And they will die."

⸻

A soft coo rose from the golden silk bundle.

Both beasts turned, and for a breathless second, the storm-wrapped canyon fell utterly silent.

The child opened his eyes.

One gleamed like molten ruby.

The other shimmered like amethyst dusk.

And both stared up at the world with a wonder so pure… it could break the hearts of gods.

Vaerokh lowered his massive head, his forehead nearly touching the child.

"You are not ready," he said. "But the world is even less so."

Nyx'Zari let out a sigh like the end of a lullaby.

"Sleep, little storm. Little shadow. Child of flame and fate."

The baby blinked once. Then yawned.

Then curled tighter into his silken nest, one clawed hand clinging gently to a flicker of wind that danced above him.

And the Divine Beasts watched—immortal, eternal, and unprepared for how much they already loved him.

⸻

End of Chapter 2