Chapter 3: The Forgotten Sun's Birth
Chapter 3: The Forgotten Sun's Birth
The wind screamed through the cracks of the Obsidian Spire, its once-gleaming walls now scabbed with frost and the blackened veins of dead enchantments. Lyranna Vaelith crouched in the tower's uppermost chamber, her back pressed against the curved wall where the ancestral murals had long since flaked away. The cold gnawed at her fingertips, turned her breath to ragged ghosts, made the old wound in her thigh ache like a rotten tooth.
The brazier's last coal pulsed weakly, its silver flame guttering in the iron cage. As Lyranna's scream tore through the chamber, the ember flared gold - just once - casting her shadow monstrous against the walls. For a heartbeat, the frost on the stones steamed away, leaving the Vaelith crest visible beneath - a sunburst cradled in a crescent moon. Then the cold rushed back in.
The cracked mirror above the brazier rippled as Lyranna's contractions reached their peak. Reflections that were not hers swam in the shards: a throne of fused skeletons, a book bound in blackened skin, and eyes - her eyes but molten and pupilless - staring back from the abyss. The glass shattered, raining shards onto the stones.
The child came into the world silent, his skin flushed with the faint gold of a fading bruise. When Lyranna lifted him, the cold air hit his wet body - and for one impossible second, his pores exhaled light. Tiny motes of gold swirled before dissolving into the dark. Then he screamed, a sound that shook loose the last of the mirror's shards.
Lyranna's fingers trembled as she wiped the birth-blood from his face. His eyes were wrong - not the soft amber of their people, but the harsh metallic gold of the God-King's own gaze. When she pried open his tiny fist, she found his palm marred by a thin white scar shaped like a crescent moon.
"Lux," she whispered, pressing her lips to the scar. Outside, the Long Dark broke. A single shaft of silver light pierced the tower's gloom - illuminating not mother or child, but the shattered mirror. In its broken face, a reflection flickered: a figure of one wreathed in solar fire.
Far away, the God-King's gaze swept over but saw nothing. Just another Outer Ring bastard, his soul dim as guttered candleflame. The brazier's last coal hissed into darkness, leaving only the child's golden eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.
The door exploded inward, torn from its hinges by a single kick.
Lyranna barely had time to curl her body around the newborn before Lord Dainar obsidian staggered into the chamber, his silver hair matted with rain and cheap wine and his grey eyes dull. The stench of fermented starfruit and brothel perfume rolled off him in waves. His boot sent the birthing basin flying, scattering bloodied water across the obsidian floor.
"Finally decided to earn your keep, I see," Dainar slurred, his words thick with alcohol and contempt.
The backhand came without warning. Lyranna's head snapped sideways, her cheek splitting against her teeth. She barely registered the pain, her entire being focused on shielding the child—her child—from the monster looming over them.
Dainar's fingers tangled in her sweat-drenched hair, wrenching her head back to face him. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the bundle in her arms.
"Let's see what my generosity has wrought," he sneered.
The swaddling cloth fell away, revealing golden hair that shimmered even in the dim light. Then the child opened its eyes.
Dainar recoiled as if struck.
"Golden eyes and hair ?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "You dare present me with this... this bastard?"
His boot connected with Lyranna's ribs, drawing a gasp of pain. She curled tighter around the baby, her body forming a living shield against his rage.
"You worthless Vaelith whore," Dainar spat, his face flushing darker with each word. "I should have left you to bleed out in those woods. Would have saved me the trouble of dealing with your cursed bloodline."
He raised his fist again—then froze.
The air in the chamber grew heavy, pressing down on them with invisible weight. Every noble in the Eternal Empire knew this feeling. The God-King's Edicts were not merely laws—they were forces of nature.
And one Edict stood above all others:
No child may be slain before its fifth year.
Dainar's fist trembled in midair. Veins bulged at his temples as he fought against instincts honed by centuries of imperial rule. With a roar of frustration, he drove his fist into the wall instead, cracking the ancient obsidian.
"You should be groveling at my feet," he hissed, leaning down until his wine-sour breath washed over Lyranna's face. "I saved you from that forest. Gave you shelter. And this is how you repay me?"
His fingers dug into her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Mark my words, woman. When the Argent Baptism comes, I'll kill this golden-eyed bastard myself. Publicly. Slowly." His thumb smeared blood across her lips. "And if you try to hide him... I'll make you watch as I peel the skin from your precious Vaelith face."
The door slammed shut behind him with enough force to shake dust from the ceiling.
Only then did the child begin to cry.
Not the weak wail of a newborn, but a deep, resonant sound that made the remaining shards of the broken mirror vibrate in their frame. Tiny motes of gold light swirled in the air around them, dancing to some unheard rhythm.
Lyranna pressed her forehead to the child's, her tears mingling with his.
"Hush, little sun," she whispered, her voice raw with pain and promise. "He'll never hurt you while Iam alive ."