The night he was born, the sky of Eldora tore apart in a spectacle never before seen.
A river of light, deep red like the blood of the gods, split the heavens above Rainin, weaving through the constellations like a celestial prophecy.
The land trembled, whispers of ancient power coursing through the winds, stirring even the oldest of trees in silent reverence. The Omen had come.
The midwives in the birthing chamber gasped as they beheld the newborn—a boy with eyes darker than the abyss, flecked with golden streaks that shimmered unnaturally.
His cries were unlike any other, carrying a weight, a command, as if even in infancy, he sought to command the world.
The elders knew what this meant. He was marked to be the next Uran, the war leader of Rainin.
But before the proclamation could be made, before the war drums could be beaten in his honor, his mother was slain.
It was a coward's strike, a dagger buried deep into her side while she still lay weak from childbirth.
The child, barely a day old, was now motherless. And worse still, he was now the target of a conspiracy that had long lurked in the shadows of his bloodline.
...…
In the dimly lit halls of the High Clan's citadel, his family gathered. The boy's uncle, Zareth, a man with eyes like ice and a voice that held no warmth, leaned against the grand stone table, his fingers tracing the handle of his ceremonial dagger.
"He must die," he stated plainly, his voice like a death knell.
Across from him sat Lady Maelora, the elder matron of the family, her face lined with age but her mind as sharp as a blade.
"You are quick to suggest bloodshed, Zareth."
"Are you blind, old woman?" Zareth spat. "The Omen has spoken. That child is meant to be Uran! If we let him live, his power will eclipse us all."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber. The boy's existence threatened the balance of power within the ruling clans.
He was meant to unite Yusolo's forces and lead them against the other continents of Eldora.
But to them, he was merely a child born of ill fortune, cursed by the death of his mother, a sign that his reign would bring ruin instead of glory.
Maelora sighed, her fingers drumming against the wood. "Killing him will not be easy. He bears the mark.
If word spreads that we murdered an Omen-child, the people will revolt."
Zareth smirked. "Then we will let the jungle take him."
Maelora
The decision was made. Under the cover of darkness, the infant was taken, swaddled in nothing but tattered cloth, and carried deep into the Jungles of Zun'kai, a place feared for its lurking beasts and uncharted dangers.
The warrior assigned to the task, a man named Sarik, hesitated as he stood before the towering trees, their gnarled roots like twisted hands reaching for the child.
The baby did not cry, did not squirm—he merely stared up at Sarik with those unnatural, golden-streaked eyes.
Sarik swallowed hard. He had slain enemies on the battlefield without remorse, yet leaving this child here felt… different.
But orders were orders.
With one last glance at the boy, Sarik placed him upon the damp earth, whispering a reluctant prayer to the gods before vanishing into the night.
The jungle was merciless. Sharp cries of distant beasts echoed through the dense foliage, the thick canopy above swallowing the moon's light.
Vines curled like serpents, and unseen creatures rustled in the undergrowth.
And yet, the child remained still. Unafraid.
It was in this moment, as the jungle seemed poised to claim him, that the Volx arrived.
A pair of glowing amber eyes emerged from the shadows, followed by another, and then another.
Figures cloaked in tattered, earth-colored robes stepped cautiously forward. The Volx were outcasts, a people abandoned by Rainin's rulers, cast aside for their refusal to follow the war-driven ways of the other clans.
The leader of the group, an older man with braided silver hair and a staff carved with ancient symbols, crouched beside the child. His face twisted in confusion, then in awe.
"This is no ordinary child," he murmured.
A younger woman beside him hesitated. "Should we leave him? He reeks of their blood."
The elder shook his head. "No. Fate has placed him here, abandoned by his own. He belongs to no one but the gods now."
And with that, the child was lifted from the earth and carried away, vanishing into the heart of the Volx's hidden world.
To Be Continued…
A/n: Hi my name is Eric. This is my first fantasy book on the platform. I love this genre and was tempted to write on for myself but I didn't really have much joy reading it since I sort of know what will happen and all that. So you can say I'm here for recognition. Anyways if you love it, don't forget to Subscri- sorry habits die hard. Have fun