The cries of the newborn prince echoed through the grand chambers of the Drakonis Palace, a sound that was both piercing and full of life. Servants rushed about, carrying water, fresh linens, and other supplies, their faces alight with a mix of joy and urgency. This was no ordinary birth; it was the arrival of the heir to the largest empire on the planet of Eldoria.
Inside the opulent birthing chamber, Queen Seraphina rested against a mound of silken pillows, her face pale but radiant. Her long, auburn hair framed her delicate features as she gazed down at the baby swaddled in her arms. Beside her stood King Theon Drakonis, a towering figure clad in ceremonial armor, his piercing blue eyes fixed on his son with a look of wonder.
"He's beautiful," Seraphina whispered, her voice weak but filled with warmth. "Our Alaric."
Theon knelt beside her, his usually stoic expression softened by the sight of his wife and child. "He is destined for greatness," he said, his deep voice filled with conviction. "The blood of the Drakonis flows in his veins. He will be strong, wise, and just."
As the royal couple admired their newborn, Nathan—now Alaric—stirred in the swaddling cloth. His body felt alien, impossibly small and fragile, and his mind was a whirlwind of confusion. Memories of his old life in the gritty streets of his world clashed with the overwhelming sensations of this new one.
Where am I? What happened?
The last thing he remembered was the alley, the fight, and the pain. And then… the light.
Wait… the voice… they said I'd get a second chance.
Alaric's newborn body couldn't move much, but his mind was sharp, alert. He could hear the muffled conversations of the people around him and feel the warmth of the woman holding him. His heart ached at the realization—this was his mother. Not an orphanage caretaker, not a passerby ignoring him on the street. His mother.
The thought was almost too much to bear.
"Look at his eyes," Seraphina murmured, her finger brushing gently against the baby's cheek.
Theon leaned closer, his lips curling into a rare smile. "They're like molten gold. Just like yours."
The infant's golden eyes fluttered open briefly, meeting Theon's gaze. A flicker of recognition passed between them, though Theon couldn't have known the depth of understanding behind those tiny, blinking eyes.
"Golden eyes are said to be a mark of the chosen," Seraphina added, her voice tinged with pride.
Theon chuckled, his laughter rumbling like distant thunder. "Our son was born with the blessings of the gods, Seraphina. He will do great things."
At that moment, the chamber doors opened, and an elderly man in flowing silver robes stepped inside. He carried a staff adorned with a crystal that glowed faintly in the dim light. The servants bowed deeply as he entered.
"Archmage Lorian," Theon greeted him, rising to his full height. "Thank you for coming."
Lorian inclined his head, his long beard swaying slightly. "It is my honor, Your Majesty. The birth of the crown prince is an event worthy of my presence."
Seraphina smiled at the archmage, her weariness evident but her joy undiminished. "Lorian, meet Alaric." She held the baby up slightly, her movements gentle.
The archmage approached, his sharp, intelligent eyes scanning the infant. "Ah, a strong aura already surrounds him," he observed, his tone one of approval. "He will grow to be a powerful mage, if properly trained."
Theon nodded. "He will have the best tutors, the finest warriors, and the most skilled mages at his disposal. No expense will be spared."
Lorian raised an eyebrow. "Strength and power alone do not make a ruler, Your Majesty. Wisdom and compassion are equally important."
"I am aware," Theon replied, his tone firm but respectful. "And I will ensure he learns those as well."
As the adults discussed his future, Alaric's infant mind began piecing together the fragments of his new reality. He was no longer Nathan, the street urchin scraping by in a cruel world. He was Alaric Drakonis, the crown prince of a vast empire. It was a strange and overwhelming realization, but beneath the confusion was a flicker of something else—hope.
For the first time, he felt like he belonged somewhere.
---
The days that followed were a blur of activity. Servants bustled in and out of the royal nursery, attending to the young prince's every need. Alaric spent most of his time lying in an ornate crib carved from enchanted wood, its surface etched with protective runes.
Though his body was that of a newborn, his mind was far from blank. As he watched the world around him, he began absorbing everything he could. The language, the customs, the way people interacted—it was all fascinating.
One day, as a nursemaid hummed a lullaby, Alaric found himself reaching out with his tiny hand. The gesture startled the nursemaid, who gasped and called for the queen.
"What is it?" Seraphina asked, entering the room with graceful urgency.
"Your Majesty," the nursemaid said, her voice trembling with excitement. "The prince—he reached out to me. It's as if he understood the song."
Seraphina's eyes widened as she approached the crib. She leaned down, smiling warmly at her son. "Alaric, my little star," she cooed. "Are you listening to the music?"
Alaric stared up at her, his golden eyes unblinking. He couldn't respond, but he hoped his intent was clear.
"You are special," Seraphina whispered, gently stroking his cheek. "I can feel it."
The warmth in her voice was like nothing Alaric had ever experienced before. It was a stark contrast to the harsh, uncaring world he had come from.
This is what love feels like, he thought.
---
Months passed, and Alaric grew quickly, both physically and mentally. His parents often visited him in the nursery, sharing moments of laughter and affection that were foreign but comforting to him.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Theon carried Alaric to the balcony overlooking the capital city of Aranthia. The sprawling metropolis glittered with lights, its streets teeming with life even in the twilight hours.
"This is your kingdom," Theon said, his deep voice resonating with pride. "One day, you will rule over it. But with power comes responsibility, Alaric. Remember that."
Alaric stared at the city, his tiny hands gripping Theon's tunic. He didn't fully understand the weight of his father's words, but he felt their importance.
"I'll make you proud," he thought, though he knew his father couldn't hear him.
Theon smiled down at his son, as if sensing the determination in those golden eyes. "You'll be great, my boy. I know it."
---
Meanwhile, in the depths of the palace, Archmage Lorian stood in his private chambers, poring over ancient tomes. He had felt a strange energy emanating from the young prince since his birth, something beyond the ordinary.
"Could it be…?" he murmured, flipping through the pages of a weathered manuscript.
The text spoke of a prophecy—a child born under the alignment of the twin moons, marked by golden eyes, destined to lead Eldoria through its darkest hour.
Lorian leaned back in his chair, his expression a mix of awe and apprehension. If Alaric was truly the child of prophecy, the empire's future would be both bright and fraught with danger.
"I must ensure he is prepared," Lorian muttered. "For the challenges ahead will test him like no other."
---
In his crib, Alaric stirred, his dreams filled with flashes of his past and glimpses of an uncertain future. He didn't yet understand the magnitude of his new life, but one thing was clear—this was his second chance, and he would not waste it.