The Grand Temple of Auroria gleamed like a diamond under the twin suns of Yuusuatouri.
Its crystal spires captured the light and refracted it in cascading rainbows across the marble floors, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that danced around the central chamber.
The air hummed with magic—ancient enchantments woven into the very foundation of the structure, spells of protection and blessing that had endured for millennia.
In this sacred space, a Man named Sadao Satori paced anxiously, his ceremonial robes of silver and blue swishing with each step.
His normally composed features were tense with worry, golden eyes darting frequently to the ornate doors that led to the birthing chambers.
As High Priest of the Luminary Order, he had presided over countless sacred rituals, but none had filled him with such a mixture of hope and terror as the imminent birth of his own child.
"Sadao," came a gentle voice from behind him. "Your anxiety disturbs the temple wards."
Sadao turned to face Elder Mitsuki, the ancient priestess whose wrinkled face and snow-white hair belied the power she commanded.
The markings on her skin—delicate swirls that resembled constellations—glowed faintly blue in response to her activated magic.
"Forgive me, Elder," Sadao bowed deeply.
"But Yume... she's been in labor for nearly two days. Even for our kind, that is—"
"Unusual, yes," Elder Mitsuki completed his thought.
"But your wife is strong, and the child..." She paused, her gaze becoming distant, as if seeing beyond the physical realm.
"The child is special. The currents of fate eddy around this birth in ways I have not witnessed in over three centuries."
Before Sadao could respond, a piercing cry rang through the chamber—not of pain, but of triumph. The doors to the birthing chamber flew open, and a young acolyte rushed out, her face alight with wonder.
"High Priest Sadao!" she exclaimed, barely remembering to bow in her excitement.
"The Priestess Yume calls for you! It's a boy—and he bears the Mark!"
Elder Mitsuki gasped, her composure fracturing for the first time in Sadao's memory. "Impossible," she whispered.
"The Mark of the Origin Light has not appeared in over a thousand years..."
Sadao stood frozen for a heartbeat, then broke into a run toward the birthing chamber.
...
...
The room was awash in golden light that seemed to emanate not from the crystal lamps along the walls, but from the tiny infant cradled in Yume Satori's arms.
Yume herself was radiant despite her exhaustion, her flowing black hair damp with sweat but her silver eyes bright with joy and wonder.
"Sadao," she whispered as her husband entered, "come meet your son."
Sadao approached with reverence, his steps slowing as he drew near the bed. The attending priestesses and healers stepped back, giving the family their moment of privacy while remaining close enough to assist if needed.
As Sadao gazed down at his newborn son, his breath caught in his throat. The child was perfect—skin like polished ivory, a tuft of gold-yellow hair unlike either parent's darker coloring, and eyes... eyes that took Sadao's breath away.
The both eyes shone with the pure gold of morning sunlight. Yet it was not the child's eyes that had caused the commotion.
On the infant's chest, directly over his heart, was a birthmark unlike any other—a complex pattern that resembled a sunburst with eight rays extending outward, each ending in a different crystalline formation.
The mark pulsed with inner light, brightening and dimming in rhythm with the baby's heartbeat.
"The Mark of the Origin Light," Sadao breathed, almost afraid to touch his son.
"He is Legendary."
The word hung in the air, laden with meaning beyond its common usage. In Yuusuatouri, to be of the Legend race was more than merely a matter of bloodline—it was to be touched by the divine source that had created their world, to be a living vessel of primal magic in its purest form.
"What shall we name him?" Yume asked softly, her finger gently tracing the glowing mark on their son's chest.
Before Sadao could answer, Elder Mitsuki entered the chamber, moving with surprising grace for one so ancient. She approached the bed and peered down at the child, her eyes widening.
"In all my years," she murmured.
"I never thought to witness the return of the Origin Light." She reached out with a trembling hand, not touching the baby but hovering her palm above him.
"The prophecy speaks of one who will be born when the realm faces its greatest darkness, one who carries the light of creation itself."
"The prophecy?" Yume's voice was sharp with sudden concern.
"Elder, we sought only a child to love, not a vessel for prophecy."
Elder Mitsuki smiled gently. "The fates do not ask our permission, Priestess Yume. They weave as they must." She looked again at the infant, who had opened his eyes and seemed to be watching her with unusual focus for a newborn.
"What name have you chosen?"
Sadao and Yume exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them.
"Hikari," Sadao began, the word meaning 'light' in the old tongue.
"No," Yume interrupted softly.
"He should have a name of his own, not merely a title." She looked down at her son, who had wrapped his tiny hand around her finger with surprising strength.
"Seiya. His name is Seiya."
"Seiya Satori," Elder Mitsuki tested the name, nodding slowly. .
"Truth in the realm of enlightenment. A good name, with power of its own." She raised her hands in blessing over the child.
"May you grow in wisdom and strength, Seiya Satori, child of the Origin Light."
As if in response to her blessing, the mark on Seiya's chest flared brilliantly, filling the room with golden light so intense that everyone present had to shield their eyes.
When the light faded, tiny motes of luminescence continued to dance in the air around the infant, like stars brought down from the heavens.
Seiya did not cry like most newborns. Instead, he gazed around with those mismatched eyes, taking in the world with an awareness that seemed impossible for one just born.
Within the infant's mind, memories stirred—distant, fragmented, yet persistent. Images of another life, another world: gray skies over concrete buildings, pain that accompanied every movement, loneliness that cut deeper than any physical ailment.
These memories were like fading dreams, becoming less distinct with each passing moment in this new existence, yet they left an imprint on the consciousness that was now Shin Satori.
The infant didn't understand these fragments, couldn't process their meaning, but somewhere in the depths of his being, a promise was remembered: Just once, I want to know what it feels like... to be whole. To be strong. To matter.
And now, cradled in loving arms for the first time in either of his existences, that promise was beginning to be fulfilled.