The courtyard's festive hum fell into a respectful hush as Patriarch Arcturus raised a hand, his Core Formation aura subtly pressing the air to command attention without overwhelming the guests.
"Kin of the Veil, honored allies, valued friends," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly through blood Qi amplification, warm yet laced with unyielding authority. "Tonight, we cast aside the shadow of recent sorrow to embrace the light of new life. The Voss Clan has endured trial, but from it rises anew and stronger. I present to you my son—the heir to our bloodline, Kairos Voss."
Lady Seraphina ever beautiful and strong stepped forward beside him, cradling the infant in arms adorned with flowing crimson silk. She gently turned Kairos toward the crowd, the soft lantern light catching his features in a way that drew collective breaths.
The child was breathtakingly serene for one so young. His skin held a subtle, natural luminescence, as if lit from within by the purest Qi, giving him an ethereal glow that stood out even amid the courtyard's splendor. Faint golden veins pulsed gently beneath the surface, visible only in fleeting moments when the light shifted, like hidden rivers of starlight coursing through his tiny form. A soft crown of jet-black hair framed his face, and when his eyes opened briefly—alert and curious far beyond his days—they revealed irises of deep violet swirled with flecks of crimson, resembling twin nebulae trapped in eternal motion.
A ripple of awe spread through the guests. Branch patriarchs bowed deeper than courtesy required. Sect leaders exchanged glances, sensing the extraordinary Qi purity emanating from the child. Merchants murmured appreciatively, already calculating future alliances.
"He is... remarkable," one Ruby Shore sect leader whispered to his companion. "Such aura in an infant—"
Seraphina smiled with quiet pride, her voice carrying softly yet clearly. "Kairos is our blessing, born into a time of both trial and promise. May his path strengthen the bonds that unite us all."
The crowd raised cups in a resounding toast, essence wine glinting under the chandeliers. "To Kairos Voss! To the Voss Clan's enduring glory!".
Musicians struck a triumphant chord, illusions of blood dragons soaring higher across the sky. The celebration resumed with renewed vigor—guests approaching the dais in orderly lines to offer gifts and congratulations. A branch patriarch presented a jade pendant infused with vitality essence, "For the young master's future health." A merchant alliance leader unveiled a crate of rare blood-nourishing herbs, "To nurture the heir's Dao foundation." Sect representatives offered defensive talismans and formation flags, their words laced with subtle pledges of support.
Conversations flowed naturally, laced with careful curiosity. Guests inquired about the "tragic incident," receiving consistent replies: "Thorne's ambition surfaced after the planetary signs, during the chaos of birth. He had organized a coup with few our clan members but was taken care of swiftly by the patriarch and the clan members. Heaven's judgment was swift." Questions about timing were met with calm assurance: "Hours after the phenomena faded, in the midst of strife—a quiet arrival amid turmoil."
No one pressed too deeply; the grandeur, the festival's joy echoing from the continent, and the Voss Clan's poised strength discouraged it.
As the night deepened, spirit dancers took the central platform, their movements weaving illusions of legendary blood warriors battling and triumphing. Fireworks—controlled bursts of crimson and gold—lit up the skies, forming beautiful runic images that dissolved into sparkling mist. Guests mingled freely, forging quiet deals and reaffirming ties over essence wine.
In a private moment on the dais edge, Arcturus and Seraphina watched Kairos, now dozing peacefully despite the revelry, his tiny hand curled as if grasping at the skies.
"He commands attention in the room without a word," Seraphina murmured.
Arcturus's eyes scanned the crowd. "And the world will follow soon. But tonight, the veil holds."
The grand unveiling concluded with final toasts as the stars above shine brightly lighting the sky. Guests departed with gifts and memories, the continent's festival winding down in distant cheers.
The Voss Clan had shown its face—strong, united, unbowed.
But in quiet chambers across Lunara, reports began to flow.
A Prodigy had been unveiled.
And the true game had only just begun.
…....…..
Far to the northeast, on the jagged Iron Fang Continent—a medium sized landmass at least ten times the size of Crimson Veil continent, covered with jagged peaks of black volcanic rock like fangs of some ancient beasts. On the largest peak near the center of the landmass—the Iron Fang Clan's fortress stood encircling the peak in the center like a tattoo with some meaning on the teeth of some extinct primal beast, piercing the sky.
In the dimly lit war chamber, Clan Lord Garrick Ironfang paced before a table strewn with intercepted talismans and scout reports. Garrick was narrow-minded and cunning, a man who saw every event through the lens of personal gain and threat. His face was a map of old scars, his eyes small and calculating, always searching for weakness to exploit. At late Core Formation, his Dao of metals—focused on ruthless penetration and unyielding offense—mirrored his personality perfectly.
"Those Voss weaklings throw a feast while the world trembles?" he snarled, crumpling a report in his fist. "A 'grand unveiling' after their little 'coup'? Thorne was our contact—useful idiot—and they claim he turned traitor? Lies. They purged him to hide something bigger."
His chief advisor, a sly Nascent Soul elder named Vark, nodded. "The timing stinks, my lord. Hours after the planetary signs? And the child—reports say he glows like a spirit treasure. Too pure. Too strong for a minor clan."
Garrick's lips curled into a predatory grin. "Exactly. They're hiding a heaven-born. Weak bloodline, weak continent, but suddenly a prodigy? We'll take it from them. Quietly at first—more spies, bribe their merchants, stir discontent among their branches. When the time comes, we strike. The boy becomes ours, or he dies. The Voss Clan crumbles, and their blood resources fill our coffers."
Vark bowed. "Wise, my lord. The Luna Clan watches from afar; let them think us beneath notice while we sharpen the fang."
Garrick laughed, a harsh bark. "Let the Voss celebrate tonight. Tomorrow, the hunt begins."
In the distance, thunder rumbled over the Iron Fang Continent—a promise of storms to come.