Fifty years had passed since the war that nearly shattered the world.
Fifity years after the war Kai and is People against the world it self.
Civilizations rose again from ash, but what they built was not the world that had been lost. No, this was something… different.
Castles of stone crowned the hills, banners waving against skies that once knew satellites but now bore only clouds. Horses and carriages rattled along cobbled roads, their echoes mingling with the hum of neon lights strung across narrow alleys. Iron doors slid open at the brush of a hand, gears hissing softly, while above them, hovering carriages drifted like phantoms through the night. Steam curled from the engines of trains that cut across valleys, their whistles echoing, and yet in the taverns men still drank from tankards of frothing ale as if the centuries had folded back on themselves.
It was a world caught in contradiction — a Renaissance bound by the remnants of a lost modernity, a rebirth strangled by its own chains.
And within this world, in a kingdom of banners and towers, there stood a grand castle. Its walls loomed tall, carved with stone that bore scars of fire long forgotten. Within its halls, shadows stretched beneath chandeliers that burned not with flame, but with pale lights humming faintly — relics of an age swallowed by ruin.
Tonight, the air inside the castle was heavy. The corridors buzzed with whispers, and servants rushed back and forth with hushed urgency. For in one of its chambers, beneath silken curtains drawn shut against the night, a woman labored against death and birth.
A maid.
Not a queen, not a noble — a maid whose hands had scrubbed the very floors she now bled upon. Yet fate cared little for crowns or dirt beneath fingernails.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, each cry tearing through the chamber like glass breaking. Sweat matted her hair, her body convulsed, her legs trembling as the midwives pressed damp cloths against her brow and murmured words meant to soothe.
"Push," they urged.
"Push!"
The maid screamed, her voice sharp and raw. Blood spilled beneath her, soaking the sheets, dripping to the stone floor below.
And above — the sky answered.
At first, the night was calm. Stars glimmered faintly, and the crescent moon hung pale above the turrets. But then, without warning, clouds twisted together. The winds rose, howling as if the breath of giants swept across the kingdom. Thunder bellowed, fire streaked across the heavens, rain hissed upon rooftops, and the earth itself trembled beneath foundations.
It was no storm. It was convergence.
Fire.
Water.
Earth.
Wind.
The four pillars of creation — drawn together, colliding in fury, as though summoned by the cries of the woman writhing in the castle chamber.
Darkness swallowed the world. The night turned to ink, smothering torches and neon alike. The castle shuddered, windows rattling in their frames, chandeliers swinging violently as though the world itself were caught in a storm of divine omen.
And then—
A cry.
The sound pierced the night, fragile yet absolute.
The child's first breath.
As the newborn's cry echoed through the chamber, the storm broke. The fire receded, the waters stilled, the winds fell silent, and the earth calmed. Slowly, the night sky returned to its pale calm, as though nothing had happened.
But those who saw — those who heard — would never forget.
Within the chamber, the maid lay trembling, her face pale as death. Sweat drenched her body, and the sheets beneath her were soaked crimson. The women who had attended her worked frantically, pressing cloths to her wounds, whispering desperate prayers, but the blood kept pouring, and her strength was draining like water from a cracked vessel.
In her arms, the newborn wailed, its tiny body trembling, fists clenched against the cold.
The maid smiled through her pain. It was a fragile smile, weak and trembling, but radiant all the same.
"My son…" she whispered, her voice raw, the words slipping like glass from broken lips.
She drew the child close, pressing him to her chest, ignoring the cold creeping through her limbs. Tears spilled from her eyes, mingling with sweat and blood, and she kissed the child's brow.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "I cannot… stay."
The women cried out around her, some begging her to hold on, others still trying to staunch the flow of blood, their hands trembling with futility. But the maid's eyes were already closing.
She tightened her embrace one final time, pressing her son close, breathing in the scent of his fragile life.
Then, with a faint sigh — like a candle guttering in the wind — her breath faded.
Her arms slackened.
The smile remained, frozen in eternity.
And the child's cry echoed through the castle walls, piercing the silence of the night.
A new life had begun.
A life born of blood, omen, and fate.
The room was still heavy with silence when the doors creaked open.
A man stepped in, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair crowned with streaks of iron, his cloak dragging across the blood-stained floor. His boots echoed in the chamber like drums of judgment. The king.
He halted at the edge of the bed, his eyes falling on the lifeless maid, her arms slack around the wailing infant. For a long moment he said nothing. His jaw clenched, the muscles trembling as though he were holding back storms of his own.
Finally, his gaze shifted to the midwife. His voice was low, sharp as tempered steel.
"…The child. What is it?"
The midwife bowed, trembling. "A… a boy, Your Majesty."
The king closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. A faint shadow crossed his face, not quite grief, not quite relief — something deeper, heavier.
"There is no time," he said at last, his tone grim, decisive. "Listen carefully. You must leave this place at once. Take the child. Go with the guards. Do not let the queen find out. If she does…"
His eyes darkened, his voice dropped to a whisper laced with iron. "…the boy will not survive the night."
The midwife gasped, her arms tightening around the infant as though she could shield him from fate itself. The king turned sharply toward the door.
"Chris!"
At once, a figure stepped forward from the shadows — a knight clad in dark armor, his sword at his hip. He knelt, his head bowed.
"Sire."
The king's eyes burned with urgency. "You will take my son far from here. As far as you can. Beyond the borders, beyond the whispers of this kingdom. Protect him with your life. Do you understand?"
Chris's hand tightened on the hilt of his blade. He looked up, his expression resolute. "By my oath, my liege."
The midwife, trembling, pressed the crying infant into the knight's arms. Chris accepted him with careful strength, tucking the child close against his chest.
It was then — the sound.
Steel clashing against steel. Shouts. The ring of blades striking in the corridor outside.
The king's face hardened. "Go! Now!"
Chris obeyed without hesitation. With a single motion, he turned and leapt toward the window. Glass shattered, and moonlight spilled across his armor as he soared into the night, the infant's cry muffled against his chest. The silver light of the full moon burned upon him like a vow as he vanished into the darkness beyond the castle walls.
The king straightened, drawing his sword. His breath was heavy, his heart thundering, but his resolve did not waver.
The chamber doors burst open. Figures poured in — men armed with blades, faces hidden beneath helms. Yet when their eyes fell upon him, they froze, and then one by one they dropped to a knee, bowing their heads in obedience.
The king's grip tightened on his sword, his teeth clenched. He did not lower his blade.
And then she entered.
The queen.
Her gown trailed behind her, silken and perfect, untouched by the blood that stained the chamber. Her eyes glimmered like shards of ice, sharp and merciless.
Her gaze swept the room, lingering on the lifeless maid, before a cruel smile curved her lips.
She looked at the king, her voice smooth and cutting as a blade.
"Did you truly believe I would not find out?"
The silence that followed was heavier than death.
And in the distance, somewhere far from the palace walls, the cry of a child was carried into the night.