The Pyre
Dawn broke red over Verdantia.
Not the red of roses.
Not the red of sunrise.
The red of spilled blood.
A Kingdom in Panic
News of the birth spread like plague.
The third prince had been born beneath thunder. The sacred flame had dimmed. Crops failed overnight.
And worst of all: there was no mark.
The Seer had promised a sign—the mark that would reveal salvation or doom.
In its absence, the kingdom chose fear.
And in fear, it chose violence.
"Burn the Demon"
The Great Square overflowed.
Tens of thousands gathered before the palace gates.
"Show us the child!""End the curse!""Cleanse the evil!"
These weren't warriors.
They were mothers. Priests. Merchants. Nobles.
All united by one thought:
"If we do nothing, we all die."
The King Decides
King Aldric watched from his balcony, hands clenched.
He had tried to reason. Tried to pray.
But the image of that markless child haunted him.
A child born in silence. Beneath thunder. Unblessed by prophecy.
"If we wait, he will destroy us."
So he gave the order.
"We burn him."
The Pyre
At noon, they brought the child out.
Wrapped in cloth. Silent. Unblinking.
He did not cry.He did not resist.
He was days old.
A priest held him at arm's length, as if even his breath was poison.
The pyre had been built from holy woods—oak from temple groves, ash anointed with sacred oils.
The crowd was silent now.
Not from pity.
From anticipation.
No Mercy
Queen Isabella did not appear.
Nor did her other children.
The infant was placed at the center of the pyre.
Still, he did not cry.
Aldric raised his hand.
The priest lit the flame.
Fire roared to life.
And the people cheered.
"This is mercy," they told themselves."This is safety.""This is right."
The flames swallowed the child.
A Mistake
One minute passed.Then two.Then three.
And then—
A sound.
Not screams.Not silence.
A cry.
Soft.Alive.
The fire still blazed. But the infant did not burn.
The crowd fell into stunned stillness.
"It's still alive.""Why isn't it burning?""It's feeding on the fire!""He's laughing at us!"
Priests dropped to their knees in terror.
King Aldric stepped forward, shaking.
The child sat in the flames.
Crying.
But untouched.
After
When the fire died, the child still breathed.
Skin unburned.
Eyes open.
The crowd stepped back in horror.
Aldric gave no speech.
Only an order.
"Take it. Lock it away. Kill it if you can.But do not bring it near me again."
The guards hesitated.
Then obeyed.
The First Day in the Dark
No name was given.
No records were kept.
They carried the newborn to the lowest dungeon—beneath rats, beneath stone, beneath memory.
A place colder than the grave.
He would not die.
But they would make him wish he had.