After a few days of his birth, the skies finally calmed.
The crushing pressure that had wrapped the land loosened its grip, the winds softened, and the earth breathed again. The cries of beasts faded into the distance, and the stars returned to their rightful places as if nothing had happened.
But inside the House of the Salvadors, no one slept.
From the highest elder to the lowest servant, every soul remained awake until dawn—listening, waiting, watching. Each breath was taken carefully, every shadow observed, every sound questioned.
They feared the truth.
That the calamity promised at Damon Salvatore's birth had not vanished…
It had merely chosen to be patient.
Beyond the estate walls, the kingdom itself felt uneasy. Knights kept their armor on even at rest. Warriors trained longer hours, their instincts screaming without explanation. No enemy marched. No demon attacked.
Yet fear lingered—quiet, shapeless, and heavy.
And at the center of it all, a newborn slept peacefully.
The First Year
Time moved forward.
Days turned into months, and months into a year.
No disasters came.
No cities fell.
No blood stained the land.
No prophecy fulfilled itself.
Damon grew like a normal child.
He cried. He laughed. He reached for light and warmth. His body was healthy, strong, untouched by sickness or curse. Physicians found nothing unusual, no matter how deeply they searched.
Slowly… cautiously… the House of the Salvadors began to rest.
The elders lowered their guard.
The knights removed their armor at night.
The servants smiled again.
Relief spread through the estate like sunlight after a long storm.
"Perhaps," some whispered, "the heavens were mistaken."
Rejoicing
When Damon reached his first year, the House celebrated.
For the first time since his birth, music filled the halls. Banners bearing the sigil of the Salvadors were raised high, and wine flowed freely among nobles and warriors alike. Laughter echoed through corridors once heavy with fear.
The birth of Damon Salvatore was no longer spoken of as a calamity—
But as a blessing.
The child was carried before the people, wrapped in fine cloth, his expression calm and curious. When his light-blue eyes met the crowd, a strange warmth settled over them.
They cheered.
They rejoiced.
They believed.
Yet not everyone shared that peace.
Deep within the ancestral halls, the eldest of the Salvadors stood before ancient records, their faces grim. They remembered the words passed down through generations:
"Only one child shall rise to lead the Salvadonias.
A king born of fear, crowned by blood,
Loved by his people… and feared by the world."
They looked toward the celebrations outside.
Toward the laughing child.
And they understood.
Peace had come—but it was fragile.
Because true calamities did not always arrive with fire and screams.
Sometimes, they arrived quietly…
And grew.