Outside the birthing chamber, beyond the heavy obsidian doors, Emperor Vael stood in silence.
His crimson eyes—deep as dying stars—gazed through the grand arched window carved into the black stone walls. Below him stretched the heart of his dominion: the Abyss Empire, vast and unyielding, cloaked in eternal twilight.
Dark spires pierced the sky like jagged teeth. Rivers of shadow-mist wound through cities of obsidian and iron, their glow pulsing with the lifeblood of the realm. Towering citadels floated in the distance, tethered by chains of magic and will. Each bore the banners of loyal provinces, ruled by lords who owed their lives—and their souls—to Vael.
Above, the sky shimmered not with sunlight, but with the pale silver of twin moons and a field of unblinking stars. This was no world of warmth or peace. It was a realm born of power, dominion, and shadow, a Great World molded by his Abyssal bloodline.
And tonight, in this throne-shaped empire forged by war and bound by fear… a child was being born.
His child.
A new heir.
He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder toward the chamber. Beyond that door lay not just a newborn, but a storm yet unnamed.
He said nothing, but the corner of his lips curled—neither smile nor snarl, but something unreadable.
The Empire had long awaited a true successor.
And now, the abyss would awaken once more.
As the stars shimmered like cold fire beyond the abyssal sky, Vael silence was broken by a soft, uncertain voice behind him.
"Father…"He turned slowly.
Standing just beyond the shadows cast by the window's arch was a young girl— Lyseria Veyl'Abyss, his firstborn. Barely three, yet her bearing already carried the dignity of her mother's fallen angelic blood and the pride of royal lineage. Midnight hair fell straight down her back, and her small hands clutched the hem of her velvet robe.
"Will Mother be alright?" she asked quietly, her eyes—deep and dark—flicking toward the sealed door. "And… my little brother?"
Vael regarded her for a long moment. Behind her, the grand antechamber was alive with hushed voices and expectant tension. His other wives stood together in veiled silence—Lady Valessara Dray'Karth, the proud noble demoness with her twin children by her side Kaelreth Vael'Draykarth his first son, Saryne Vael'Draykarth his second daughter both 2-years-old, and Lady Nyrelle Umbrosyn, draped in night-silk, her single-horned son Malrik Vael'Umbrosyn 1-year-old watching with curiosity. Maids and midwives moved with restrained urgency between the doors and the nobles, and among them stood one calm figure: Nyssa Vel'Arin, the loyal horned maid who had served Ash's mother for over a decade.
Vael stepped forward, placing a large, clawed hand on Lys head. "She is strong," he said, his voice deep as the abyss itself. "And so is the child. You need not fear."
But before another word could pass between them—
A cry.
Clear, sharp, and new.
The cry of life.
Every conversation in the hall halted as if time itself dared not speak. The obsidian doors trembled, not with force, but with the sudden, sacred gravity of birth.
Vael gaze snapped back to the chamber, eyes narrowing. The blood of the abyss had stirred again—this time, in a newborn's wail.
A soft breath escaped Sereneth, part wonder, part relief. "He's here," she whispered.
The cry rang like a chime in the stillness.
Without haste, but with the weight of command, Vael, Emperor of the Abyss Empire, turned from his daughter and strode through the great archway. The doors to the birthing chamber opened before him, parting like shadows before a storm.
Inside, warmth and silence wrapped the room like a sacred veil. Flickering lamps cast a gentle light across smooth stone walls, illuminating the aftermath of birth. At the center, seated upon a cushioned bed carved with abyssal runes, was his wife—Elaenora, the fallen star of the skies, the first of his queens.
She looked up at him, her raven hair clinging softly to her face, eyes dulled with exhaustion but alight with joy. In her arms, a small swaddled form stirred.
Beside her stood Nyssa, their horned maid, who bowed with quiet pride and whispered, "He is healthy, Your Majesty. A strong cry, and no signs of weakness."
Elaenora gave a tired laugh, cradling the child closer. Her voice was soft as the wind beyond the world."He's strong… like his father."
Vael stepped forward. His gaze, as dark as the void beyond the stars, softened as he looked upon his queen and their newborn son.
"Ela," he murmured.
She nodded gently. "I am well," she said, her voice steady. "This is not my first birth, Vael. And he came into this world with less pain than I expected." A weak smile formed on her lips. "Perhaps the Abyss favors him."
She extended the child toward him.
The great emperor—warlord, realm-walker, sovereign of dark stars—bent low and took the infant into his arms with reverence. His gauntlets, forged for conquest, now supported a life no larger than a shadowed flame.
He studied the boy.
Tiny… yet unmistakable.
Two horn stubs, no larger than thorns, barely peeked from his soft black hair. His eyes fluttered closed, lashes trembling. Upon his back, invisible for now but felt deep within, a dormant power pulsed—the dark wings yet to bloom.
"I name you…" Vael said, his voice echoing like a vow,"Ashteron Vael'Abyss, son of the Abyss, heir of horn and shadow. May you grow with strength."
The child yawned, and sleep claimed him once more, as if even his soul recognized the burden and blessings placed upon him.
With quiet care, Vael returned Ash to Ela embrace. She held him close to her heart, her eyes brimming with quiet joy.