The storm had ended.
But the fear had not.
A heavy silence hung over the royal palace of Valenor, suffocating everyone inside. Servants whispered nervously in the corridors. Guards tightened their grips on their weapons. Even the bravest soldiers avoided looking toward the highest tower.
Something unnatural had happened there.
Everyone could feel it.
Inside the royal chamber, the queen held her newborn son tightly against her chest.
Her hands trembled.
Her heart pounded.
She stared at the child's peaceful face, searching for any sign that the healer had been mistaken.
But deep down…
She already knew the truth.
"He has no mana," the healer repeated softly, her voice filled with dread.
The words felt heavier the second time.
In the world of Eryndor, mana was life.
It flowed through every living creature — from the smallest insect to the most powerful king. Without mana, a person could not use magic, could not defend themselves, could barely survive.
A child without mana was not just weak.
He was defenseless.
A burden.
A target.
Suddenly—
BOOM.
The palace doors burst open.
Guards rushed into the chamber, their armor clanking loudly.
Behind them walked an old man dressed in long silver robes. His white beard reached his chest, and his eyes glowed faintly with golden light.
The room fell silent.
Everyone recognized him immediately.
The Royal Prophet.
The man who could see the future.
The man whose visions had saved the kingdom many times before.
Even the king stood up from his throne the moment he entered.
"You called for me," the prophet said calmly.
His voice was low, steady, and strangely cold.
"Yes," the king replied, his face tense. "You must examine the child."
The prophet slowly turned his gaze toward the newborn.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
His expression changed.
The calm in his eyes disappeared.
Replaced by shock.
Then fear.
Real fear.
The prophet stepped closer.
Very slowly.
The closer he came to the baby, the heavier the air became. The torches on the wall flickered wildly, as if reacting to an invisible force.
The queen tightened her grip on her son.
"Stay back," she said.
But the prophet did not stop.
He raised his trembling hand.
Golden light began to gather around his palm.
A powerful spell.
A forbidden one.
The kind used only to see the threads of destiny.
The room grew colder.
The light around his hand brightened.
Then he touched the baby's forehead.
Everything changed.
The prophet's eyes widened.
His body froze.
The golden light around him exploded outward, filling the chamber with blinding brilliance.
Images flooded his mind.
A burning city.
Collapsed towers.
Rivers of fire.
Armies clashing beneath dark skies.
And at the center of it all—
The child.
Standing alone.
Surrounded by destruction.
His eyes glowing like stars.
His power shaking the world.
The prophet screamed.
A raw, terrified scream.
He staggered backward, crashing into the stone wall behind him.
Blood trickled from his nose.
His hands shook violently.
"No…" he whispered.
"No… no… no…"
The king rushed forward.
"What did you see?" he demanded.
The prophet looked up slowly.
His face had turned pale.
His voice trembled.
"I saw the end."
Silence filled the room.
The queen's breath caught in her throat.
"The end of what?" the king asked.
The prophet swallowed hard.
Then spoke the words that would change everything.
"The end of the kingdom."
Gasps echoed across the chamber.
Fear spread instantly.
The queen clutched her child protectively.
"That's impossible," she said.
But the prophet shook his head.
His eyes were still filled with terror.
"It begins with him," he continued.
"He is the spark."
"The disaster."
"The destruction."
The king's face darkened.
A storm of emotions raged inside him — fear, anger, doubt.
He looked at his son.
His own flesh and blood.
So small.
So fragile.
So dangerous.
Then—
The torches in the room suddenly went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
A cold wind swept through the chamber.
And for a brief moment…
A shadow appeared behind the child.
Tall.
Massive.
Ancient.
Watching.
The prophet fell to his knees.
His voice broke as he spoke the final words of his vision.
"This child…"
He looked directly at the king.
"…will either save the world…"
He swallowed.
"…or destroy it."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
The king closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the warmth was gone.
Only cold determination remained.
He turned to the captain of the royal guard.
His voice was quiet.
But absolute.
"Leave us."
The guards hesitated.
Then obeyed.
One by one, they exited the chamber, closing the doors behind them.
Now only the king, the queen, the prophet, and the newborn remained.
The king walked slowly toward the window.
Rainwater still dripped from the stone walls outside.
The night sky remained unnaturally dark.
He stared into the distance for a long moment.
Then spoke.
Without turning around.
Without emotion.
Without hesitation.
"Prepare the execution."
The queen's eyes widened in horror.
Her voice cracked.
"No…"
She held the child tighter.
"You can't mean that."
But the king finally turned to face her.
His expression was cold.
Resolute.
Unmovable.
"I must protect the kingdom."
At that exact moment—
The baby opened his glowing eyes.
And deep inside his mind…
The same ancient voice returned.
Cold.
Mechanical.
Unfeeling.
"New threat detected."
"Survival protocol activated."