Prime Elder Garfunkel stood before the ceremonial altar, his expression unreadable as he extended a hand toward Aliena. She stepped forward, her grip on her child firm yet hesitant. For the first time that evening, a flicker of something crossed her usually composed expression—contemplation, reluctance, perhaps even protectiveness. Her golden eyes drifted over the shimmering water, the subtle energy pulsing beneath its surface, whispering possibilities unknown.
She had known this moment would come, had prepared herself for it. And yet, as she looked down at the small life cradled in her arms, something deep within her stirred. Once placed into the ceremonial bath, there would be no undoing what was revealed. No rewriting fate.
A breath. A second longer than necessary.
Then, with a slow exhale, she lowered him into the water.
The moment his small form touched the surface, the enchanted liquid surged around him, wrapping him in a cocoon of flowing energy. It writhed and shifted, not like a simple veil but like millions of invisible threads weaving and unraveling in a never-ending pattern. Some in the audience saw the movements as chaotic, others as eerily natural—like the unseen currents of wind or the way roots silently claimed the earth beneath them.
A breathless silence overtook the hall, each noble, dignitary, and guest transfixed by the spectacle. Seconds stretched, fleeting and unsatisfying, leaving some feeling as though they had only glimpsed something monumental before it was yanked away. Among the younger generation, there was an unspoken sense of disappointment—as if they had expected more, something grander, something explosive. A few exchanged glances, their curiosity barely sated.
Then, a whisper.
Not from the child. Not from Garfunkel. Not from any voice known to the gathered audience.
It was something beyond, something unknown. A breath of wind without a source, a resonance that was felt rather than heard.
The name emerged first, not announced, but understood.
Alexidrin Finch.
A shift ran through the audience. A name spoken in ceremony became history, binding a life to the empire forever.
A noble near the front exhaled sharply, as if only now realizing they had been holding their breath. A scholar muttered the name under their breath, as though testing how it felt on their tongue.
Then, as if the voice had settled into the space itself, more followed.
Gifted with Telepathy.
A ripple ran through the hall. Whispers of speculation broke the fragile silence. Some had suspected it, others had doubted. Now, it was fact.
A seeker of Prosperity.
Confusion flickered across many faces. A noble near the front stifled a chuckle, while a merchant representative shifted with visible interest. Was this a jest? Or was it a fate far more intricate than they could yet understand?
Never to be an Emperor.
This time, the silence returned with weight. Some nobles exchanged knowing glances, others whispered, debating what this meant for succession. Among the royalty, a few of the younger princes and princesses reacted with intrigue, while some of the elder generation concealed their thoughts behind practiced expressions. A few foreign dignitaries remained still, but their interest was unmistakable. Samuel and Aliena remained outwardly composed, but for those who had spent years watching them, there was a fleeting moment where something unreadable passed between them.
A body unshackled by limits.
Gasps, murmurs, widened eyes—this was no minor revelation. 'He', who had remained still until now, slightly adjusted his posture, his gaze sharpening as if reassessing something crucial. A few scholars immediately began whispering among themselves, trying to decipher what such an unbounded physique could mean. Even some of the empire's veteran warriors looked on with a mix of respect and caution, understanding that 'unshackled' could mean something that defied the very limits of cultivation, strength, or endurance.
A harmony with all energies.
The mermaids, who had been observing in detached curiosity, shifted almost in unison. A ripple passed through their delegation, their spiritual attunement picking up on something that no other race could. Among the insect clans, particularly the hive-minded collectives, faint clicking sounds spread through their ranks—a subtle, instinctual reaction to something they had not encountered before. Some viewed the revelation with awe, others with wariness. What did it mean for a single being to be accepted by all energies? Could it be a blessing—or a curse?
Then, the whisper deepened.
One day, his fate shall be severed by the hands of one blessed by the world.
The hall did not remain silent this time.
Gasps rang out, hushed yet impossible to stifle. A few nobles immediately cast uncertain glances toward the high-ranking priests in attendance, while others instinctively stepped back, as though distance could protect them from the weight of such a declaration. A minister clutched the pendant around his neck, whispering a quiet prayer under his breath. Some younger nobles looked around in confusion, uncertain of what the final words truly meant. But among the elders, the experienced, and the powerful—there was only cold realization.
Cecilia, who had been composed throughout the ceremony, visibly tensed. Her fingers curled against the fabric of her robes, and for the first time in years, a flicker of instability crossed her usually serene expression. Her breathing was measured, yet those closest to her could see the struggle beneath the surface, the weight of words she could not dismiss.
Aliena did not wait. Without acknowledging the murmurs, without giving space for doubt or deliberation, she stepped forward, reaching into the water with steady yet trembling hands. She lifted Alexidrin from the shimmering liquid, cradling him close. With slow, deliberate movements, she cleansed and dried him carefully, but there was hesitation in her fingertips, an occasional shake in her grip. She hesitated, then held him against her chest, closest to her heart, as if to shield him from the words that had been spoken.
She said nothing.
She did not need to.
With a single, silent nod to the gathered audience, she turned and left the hall, her steps controlled but purposeful. The silence of the crowd did not break as she moved, nor did anyone attempt to stop her. The weight of the moment, the finality of it, held them all in place.
Cecilia followed moments later, her own expression unreadable, though those who knew her well saw the storm behind her eyes.
Aliena's close friends instinctively moved to follow her, but as they stepped forward, members of their own tribes subtly intervened. Some placed a hand on their arms, others gave them a measured look—silent gestures urging restraint. Yet, despite the hesitation, one by one, they moved after her, each reacting in their own way—some defiant, some uncertain, but none willing to simply watch.
As they departed, the murmurs began anew, low but undeniable. Speculation, concern, awe—each voice adding to the growing storm of unanswered questions. The ceremony had ended, but its ripples would stretch far beyond the walls of this hall.
For now, the ceremony was over.
And with them, so too would the fate of Alexidrin Finch.