As Vael gently placed the newborn Ash into Ela's arms, the room began to stir with life.
The doors parted, and Lys—Ela's daughter—rushed in. Her silvery hair shimmered like her mother's, though her eyes held the sharp gleam of her father's bloodline.
"Mother, are you alright? And... what about my little brother?" she asked, her voice anxious yet filled with wonder.
Ela smiled softly, the fatigue of childbirth washed away by joy. "I'm fine, Lys. Look at your brother—he's beautiful, isn't he? Doesn't he look just like your father?"
Lys leaned over, eyes widening as she took in the tiny sleeping face nestled in Ela's arms. "He does... He really does."
Then came a soft rustle of robes. Valessara Dray'Karth, Vael's second wife, entered with regal grace. Her every step was measured, noble, yet this time, her smile carried a rare warmth.
"Congratulations, sister," Valessara said, inclining her head slightly. "He is strong already—I can feel it."
Behind her, Nyrelle Umbrosyn, the third wife, entered quietly, her eyes immediately scanning Ela's face.
"Are you alright, Ela?" she asked, voice low, almost shy, but tinged with concern.
Ela nodded, her voice bright with genuine happiness. "I'm fine, truly. Thank you—both of you."
And then, the children arrived.
Kael and Ryne—Valessara's twins—stood tall and silent beside their mother. One on each side, their gazes locked on the newborn with intense curiosity. Neither spoke, but their eyes said enough. They were watching... measuring.
From behind Nyrelle's cloak, a smaller figure peeked out.
Malrik.
The boy clung to his mother's robes, half-hidden, his wide eyes fixed on his new half-brother. He said nothing, but the shadows beneath his eyes betrayed both interest and uncertainty.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Multiple bloodlines. Different mothers. But they were all connected now—through him.
Through Ash.
As the family gathered around the newborn, a soft silver glow spilled into the chamber through the arched window above. The twin moons of the Abyss sky—silent and watchful—bathed the room in cold light, touching Ash's sleeping face with ethereal grace.
The moment lingered like a held breath.
Then, with a graceful shift of her robe, Valessara Dray'Karth stepped back. Her golden eyes, ever disciplined, turned toward Ela with faint warmth.
"I must excuse myself, sisters… husband," she said with a respectful bow. "Duties call. There are reports from the Iron Spires that must be handled by nightfall."
Nyrelle Umbrosyn nodded in agreement, her soft voice following closely. "And I as well. The Abyssal Archives require my attention. A shift in the southern mist currents has stirred… something."
Ela looked up from her newborn, guilt flickering across her expression. "I'm sorry. I know the burden falls on you both while I recover. I wish—"
Valessara raised a hand gently. "It's the vow we made, Ela. If one of us bears the next heir, the others must carry her duties until she is strong again. You carried the child. Let us carry the weight."
Nyrelle gave a soft smile—rare and fleeting. "Besides… your son was born under the twin moons. That is a sign. He is worth the weight."
Ela looked between them, gratitude soft in her eyes. "Thank you. Truly."
As the two wives turned to leave, their children followed—Kael and Ryne walking in practiced step behind Valessara, while little Malrik hesitated at the door before trailing after his mother's flowing midnight cloak.
Now, only Vael remained, standing tall by the window as moonlight traced the edges of his dark armor. His crimson eyes did not waver from the stars above, his mind already drifting toward the endless demands of empire.
The Abyss Empire—his domain—was no mere kingdom.
A Great World, vast and brutal, capable of housing beings of the highest tier. Beneath it pulsed the lifelines of several Mid Worlds, realms with their own struggles, bound to him through loyalty and fear. Around them, scattered like sparks from a forge, were Small Worlds, fragile but valuable, feeding the empire with resources, labor, and influence.
To rule such an expanse was to constantly bleed.
As Emperor, Vael's responsibilities were unending—strategic warfare, realm diplomacy, resource flow from the underworlds, maintaining order between elemental factions, and watching for divine interference from outer realms.
And now, amidst it all, a new heir had been born.
Ashteron Vael'Abyss.
Vael finally turned back to Ela and the sleeping child in her arms. The weight on his shoulders didn't lessen—but for a moment, he allowed the silence to stretch.
"I will stay… for a little while longer," he said softly, almost to himself.
Ela looked up at him and nodded, resting her cheek gently against Ash's hair. The future could wait—for now, they had this one fragile moment of peace.
As the soft footsteps of Valessara and Nyrelle faded into the corridor beyond, silence settled once more.
Ela lay quietly on the bed, cradling Ash to her chest, while Lys sat beside her, her small fingers gently brushing the infant's black hair. The room was warm, serene—yet something ancient stirred in the air, like a distant drumbeat heard through still waters.
Vael turned, walking to the wide arching window of blackstone.
There, bathed in moonlight and the shimmering hush of distant stars, he stood.
Twin moons hung heavy in the abyssal sky, casting pale silver across the chamber. The starlight above was sharp and clear tonight—so clear it almost pierced the veil between worlds.
And Vael, Emperor of the Abyss, felt it.A whisper beneath the stillness.A weight behind the beauty.
He folded his arms, clawed gauntlets creaking softly, eyes narrowing.
"The Iron Spires stir... and the Archives whisper again… on this night, of all nights."
Ela's words echoed in his mind.
Valessara had reported increased resonance from the Spires—strange pulses in the Blacksteel, as if something long-contained was shifting, waking. The abyssal chains anchoring the Spires had trembled once, just days before. She had seen it. Felt it.
And Nyrelle… that woman of quiet shadow and depth. She did not speak lightly when she said a page in the Abyssal Archives had rewritten itself. A blank grimoire etched with ancient protections had bloomed with prophecy—words written in a language even the elder seers struggled to decipher.
All of it on the eve of his son's birth.
Now, as he stared into the dark cosmos, the truth whispered like starlight across his skin.
This was not coincidence.
"Ashteron…"
His son's name tasted like fate. Like chains. Like power.
The iron towers stirred as if sensing him. The Archives remembered something the world had forgotten. And now the heavens watched. Quiet, but unblinking.
This child… this heir…Was not merely a son of Vael.He was something the Abyss itself had been waiting for.
"The Abyss stirs," he murmured to no one, "and my blood answers."
Behind him, Ash shifted gently in Ela's arms—letting out a soft breath, not a cry, but almost… a chime.
A sound like the beginning of something vast.
Vael did not move from the window. He simply closed his eyes and let the silence fall again, knowing deep in his soul:
The Iron Spires would not hold forever.The Archives had only begun to open.
And Ashteron Vael'Abyss would one day be at the center of it all.