Chapter 2 - Birthday

A thousand years had passed since the fall of the Royaume Empire.

In the heart of the Ject Kingdom, behind Castle Holt, lay hundreds of small houses reserved for visiting dignitaries, servants, and lower-ranking members of the royal court. These modest homes, with their simple and unadorned facades, rarely drew anyone’s attention.

Today, however, in the courtyard of one of these houses stood four men. While the sight of four men in a courtyard wouldn’t normally be noteworthy, what set these four apart was that they were unequivocally the most powerful men in the Ject Kingdom.

The narrow road outside the house was lined with at least two hundred knights of the royal guard, and archers occupied every rooftop in sight. The intense gathering of soldiers gave the area a charged atmosphere, almost as if it were a battlefield. Yet, the tension outside the courtyard was mild compared to the palpable, heavy silence within it.

The first man, appearing to be in his late fifties, wore a golden shirt with matching trousers. His hair was an oceanic shade of blue with a hint of green, contrasting sharply with his pale complexion and sharply defined jawline. But his eyes—jade green and deeply familiar—were his most striking feature, holding a calm yet commanding presence.

To his right stood a large, muscular man in full armor, with two massive swords crossed on his back. He was at least half a head taller than the first man, and though his eyes were also jade green, they were far sharper and more intense. While the first man’s gaze could put one at ease, this man’s stare could inspire a feeling of pure dread.

The third man stood to the left of the golden-clad man. Unlike the others, he exuded a more amiable aura, wearing a white robe that glimmered under the sun, lending him the appearance of a scholar or doctor. His long, dark hair fell almost to his shoulders, partially obscuring his face.

Lastly, the fourth man stood slightly behind the others. An older man with short gray hair and a stubbled beard, he seemed almost like a shadow. His eyes were closed, his posture slightly slouched as he leaned on a dark cane with his left hand, while his right held a thick book.

The four men stood there, motionless in the small courtyard, as if they were statues, all of them staring intently at the wooden door of the house before them, awaiting a decision from the heavens. They exuded an air of royalty that was intangible yet powerful enough to make one’s heart tremble and one’s gaze lower. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, each passing second weighed down by silence, none daring to break it.

From time to time, a scream—high-pitched and filled with agony—would echo from inside the house. Normally, such sounds might be dismissed, but in that charged silence, each scream felt like a bolt of thunder, making the men flinch despite themselves.

After half an hour of waiting in that oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional scream, the door of the house creaked open. All four men looked up immediately, and as they watched the door slowly open, it felt as if time had ground to a halt. Eventually, the door swung fully open, and a small maid stepped out.

As she approached, her bright smile became visible. The golden-clad man’s heart tightened at the sight of it, and he trembled slightly. As soon as she was within earshot, he spoke, his voice firm and melodic, carrying a weight of authority yet barely concealing his excitement.

“Speak.”

The maid walked closer until she was three feet from the man, then she finally announced, “It is a boy, Your Majesty.”

The golden man felt euphoria surge through him. How many years had he waited, hoping for this moment but finding only disappointment? Now, at last, he had a son. After forty years on the throne, three queens, and countless concubines, he finally had an heir. The relief was evident on his face as he felt the burdens of his rule lighten.

Without delay, he moved toward the house with hurried, dignified steps, his air of royalty unmistakable. As he neared the entrance, countless thoughts flooded his mind, and he couldn’t help but show a jubilant, bright smile.

This man was King Edmund Holt, the thirty-first king of the Ject Kingdom. Known throughout the realm for his fairness and kindness, he was respected not only within his own kingdom but also by the rulers of the neighboring kingdoms for his clear-minded, diplomatic approach. In the forty years of his reign, aside from minor border skirmishes, he had kept the kingdom largely at peace.

However, Edmund had often faced criticism for his inability to produce an heir. Known derisively as "the aimless king" behind his back, he watched as influential figures in the royal court began currying favor with his younger brother, Robert Holt, whom they believed was destined to be the next king. This shift caused Edmund considerable stress, but today he had finally achieved his ultimate goal: he finally had a son.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Edmund found himself standing beside a bed where a pale, exhausted woman lay. His attention, however, was captured not by her but by the tiny, crying bundle in her arms. As he looked at the infant as though gazing upon a godly treasure, a glint of emotion filled his eyes, and they began to well up with tears.

Barely managing to collect his thoughts, Edmund reached for the small gray bundle and gently, but with a certain desperation, took it from the woman’s arms. She looked ghostly pale, beads of sweat dotting her forehead, and one couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. Yet Edmund paid her no mind, his thoughts consumed entirely by the little life in his arms.

Holding his son, Edmund felt a surge of happiness unlike any he’d known. He gazed at the child, noticing the faint strands of the Holt family’s traditional blue hair. His eyes glittered, and he felt as if he could almost take flight—were it not for the fear of harming his little treasure. Behind Edmund stood the other three men. Both the armored warrior and the man in white robes wore broad smiles, while only the dark-robed old man remained stoic. It was the warrior who eventually broke the silence.

“Brother, what will you name him?”

Edmund was startled by his younger brother's question. In his overwhelming joy, he had forgotten to consider a name. After a brief pause, an idea sparked in his mind. Smiling proudly, he declared in a clear, resounding voice:

“Wesley. His name will be Wesley Holt.”

At his words, both the armored warrior and the white-robed man frowned, their once-bright expressions darkening. Only the old man in dark robes remained unchanged.

Though Wesley was not an uncommon name, it held a significant place in history. Only one Wesley had ever risen to fame beyond others with the same name: Wesley Royaume, founder of the Royaume Empire, its first emperor, and the greatest conqueror the world had ever seen.

For a child of the Holt family—a family that had spent the last thousand years distancing itself from any association with the Royaume Empire—this was, in the eyes of many, the worst possible choice of name. Just as the two were about to voice their objections, however, the old man in dark robes stepped forward.

As he moved next to Edmund, the dark book he held in his right hand floated into the air. It was a sight to behold; though mages were rare, they were not entirely unheard of. However, the rarity of mages made them account for barely a fraction of the population. This seemingly frail old man, though, was considered the most powerful mage in the Ject Kingdom—and, by some accounts, in all four kingdoms. He was known across the world as Rale the Keeper.

The old man began writing something in the dark book as it hovered in midair. After a moment, he spoke softly:

“By giving him the Holt name, you now legitimize the child.”

His words sent a shock through both the armored warrior and the man in white, but neither dared to respond. They simply shook their heads in reluctant acceptance and forced faint smiles. Seeing no objections, Edmund nodded, still smiling as he gazed at his newborn son.

[In the year 8134 of the Common Calendar, Wesley Holt was born.]