Apparently, the universe decided to hand out these magical marks like party favors, and somehow, I got left out. Everyone with a mark can wave their hands and bend the very fabric of reality to their will. And me? I’m over here struggling to bend the corners of my blankets. What’s the point of being reincarnated into a magical world if I can’t even use magic? Did I tick off some cosmic being in a past life? Was this a joke? Because it’s not funny. 

Honestly, I half expect the constellations to show up in person just to laugh at me. “Oh, look, there goes Caelum, the magic-less wonder, defying all odds by doing absolutely nothing extraordinary.” Bravo, universe. Bravo. Really went out of your way to make me the underdog in this story. But hey, every tale needs one, right? So here I am, the star of the “Let’s Watch Him Struggle” saga. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. What a plot twist.

Caelum sat quietly as the maids dressed him in layers of fine fabric, silver and blue hues around him. He was perched on a small velvet-covered stool, legs dangling, hands folded as he tried to ignore the ticklish feel of lace around his neck. Today, his attire was far more extravagant than usual, each detail carefully chosen to mark the occasion, it was his birthday, after all. His obedience made the maids smile, and they gushed over him, unable to contain their admiration. “Isn’t he the most handsome little prince?” one maid murmured, adjusting the collar with a proud smile. “And so well-behaved, too! Not a peep of complaint,” added another, brushing a few locks of his hair to perfection. “My nephew could never sit still like this. I was dressing him for his sister’s naming day, and he kept pulling at his sleeves, saying they were itchy!” The others chuckled, exchanging knowing looks. “Boys can be a handful, but look at our prince! Such composure.”

Caelum listened with a faint smile, holding back the urge to wriggle. Though only three, his mind was far sharper than his age let on, and their chatter amused him. They’re right about that, it’s the mark of a true gentleman, not to complain, he thought proudly. At that moment, his mother entered the room. The maids immediately stepped back, bowing low as she approached, her hand resting gently on her rounded belly. “Good morning, Your Grace,” they greeted in unison. “Good morning,” Lysandra replied softly, her gaze falling on her son with warmth. “And how is my Caelum today?” One of the maids stepped forward with a glowing smile. “Oh, Your Grace, he’s been a model of good manners. He let us dress him without a single complaint!” Lysandra laughed, her eyes shimmering with pride. She knelt down before Caelum, her hand gently cupping his cheek. “My dear Caelum, today is a special day. Today is the day your father and I will make a place for you in this world.”

Caelum tilted his head, sensing a deeper meaning in her words. Before he could ask, his father entered, his presence commanding yet filled with warmth as he smiled down at his son. Caelum straightened instinctively, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and excitement. Suddenly, the distant sound of trumpets drifted through the castle corridors, growing louder. Cheers echoed outside, filling the air with a festive energy that made Caelum’s heart race. “It’s time,” his father said with a proud nod, scooping Caelum up effortlessly. He held him securely, guiding him to the window. Caelum’s eyes widened as his father pushed open the ornate glass panes, revealing a grand balcony overlooking the courtyard. Below, a massive crowd had gathered, their voices swelling into cheers as they spotted him. The royal announcer’s voice echoed across the grounds, his tone ceremonial and clear. “We welcome the king and queen of Andromeda kingdom, Queen Lysandra, the Radiant and King Arren, the Wise. The room erupted into a symphony of bows and curtsies as the royal pair entered with the grace and dignity befitting their titles. "Together with his highness, Prince Caelum, the First Star of the Royal Line, eldest heir of the celestial blood!"

The crowd’s cheers rose in intensity, and Caelum felt a strange warmth in his chest, a feeling both foreign and familiar. They’re here for me, he realized and felt awkward. Arren raised his hand, the crowd quieting as his voice filled the air, resonating with conviction. 

“Today, as we celebrate our son’s third year, I also declare that our empire will welcome those who do not bear a celestial mark. For too long, we have isolated our own. No longer!”

"No you did not," Caelum thought as watches the chaos unfolding.

The crowd erupted in chaos, some with enthusiastic approval, while others shouted in opposition, their discontent audible. Arren’s expression hardened, his gaze fierce. “The heavens do not guide us to divide ourselves. My son, born without the mark, stands before you today as proof of the strength within all our people.” 

Umm…Dad, how about you stop there.

Gasps rippled through the crowd like a rising tide, disbelief etched into every face. The king's revelation had struck the people like a thunderclap. "His Highness is unmarked?" someone whispered, their voice laced with shock. "A royal, of all people!" another murmured, the disbelief spreading like wildfire. "An unmarked... that's a sign of bad luck," a woman said, clutching her shawl as if warding off some unseen curse. The murmurs grew louder, swelling into a wave of unease. "Not only is the eldest of the royal bloodline unmarked," a man declared, his voice sharp with indignation, "but now the king wants to open the gates to those people?" A chorus of agreement rose in response, a low roar of discontent echoing through the hall. "Yeah!" someone shouted, fueling the crowd’s growing fervor.

"Enough."

The king’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade, cold and commanding. The people fell silent instantly, the weight of his authority pressing down on the restless crowd. Eyes turned toward the king, his gaze steady and unyielding, daring anyone to speak out of turn.

Caelum looked down at the people, observing the mix of reactions. "It seems I’m already causing waves, just by existing," he thought, a flicker of irony in his mind. He glanced at his mother, seeing the pride and resolve in her face, her hand on his back as if to assure him. And his father, standing firm, willing to face an empire for him. Soon, a few voices rose above the crowd, cutting through the air. “But he’s not marked!” one voice cried out, echoing the unease of those around. “He has no power, no protection of the stars! How can he lead us?” another shouted, his tone filled with doubt.

Arren held Caelum firmly, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, unyielding. “For too long, we have chained our own future to a mark, to something that does not define one’s courage, intelligence, or strength. A celestial mark does not make a person worthy, nor does its absence render them weak.”

An older man in the crowd, wearing the robes of a noble, shook his head, calling out, “Your Grace, tradition has guided us for centuries! You cannot overturn it for the sake of sentiment!” Arren’s eyes narrowed, his voice taking on a steely edge. “Tradition should never hinder progress. We are more than followers of the stars, we” he emphasized, “are creators of our own destiny.” The voices of disapproval continued, but they grew hesitant, uneasy in the face of their king’s firm resolve. Arren’s expression softened slightly as he looked over them, but his words remained resolute. “By excluding those without marks, we have squandered gifts that had nothing to do with celestial power. From this day forward, we will value all talents, all strengths. My son, who stands here without a mark, will be the symbol of a new future.” The murmuring persisted, though quieter, like a reluctant wave receding.

Lysandra, who had been silent, stepped forward, her voice clear and unwavering. “I know many of you are afraid,” she began, her violet eyes scanning the crowd with calm authority. “But I ask you to look beyond his mark—or lack thereof. This boy, this precious life, is our son, born from the heavens’ design just as surely as any of you.” The crowd fell silent, captivated by her words. Lysandra’s hand rested gently on her belly, a soft but unmistakable gesture of reassurance and defiance. “And know this,” she added, her tone fierce and full of conviction, “as long as I breathe, I will protect him. We will protect him. And if anyone dares to lay a hand on our child you will face the wrath of the royal family. Her words lingered in the air, and a hush fell over the crowd. Even the doubters became silent, afraid of angering the queen.

Caelum, nestled in his father’s arms, looked at his mother with a newfound awe. Though I'm troubled they’re willing to face an empire for me… he thought, the weight of his family’s devotion settling into his young heart. As the family turned to exit, ruckus began again. He peeked back burning in his eyes the scene before him, "Of course even if it's the royal family, the masses won't just let it be."

That day, on Caelum's 3rd birthday on the year 897, a new era has begun. 

Caelum's corner

Let’s take a peek at little Caelum’s head throughout the day.

Three years in, and I’ve already mastered the art of sitting still and pretending to enjoy being a human mannequin. If reincarnation has taught me anything, it’s patience or at least the ability to not scream every time someone ties a bow around my neck. Seriously, what’s with all the lace? Who decided toddlers need to look like miniature dukes at all times? I’d like a word. No, scratch that I’d like a refund. Plain, unimpressive me, just stuck in this over-decorated, itchy attire with lace threatening to strangle me. I’m the star of a cosmic flop.

And the maids? Oh, they’re loving this. “Look how well-behaved he is!” Yes, because if I so much as twitch, they’ll start comparing me to their itchy, squirmy nephews. Newsflash, ladies: I’m not itching because I’ve ascended to some higher plane of toddler zen I’m itching because this outfit is one sneeze away from strangling me.

But you know what? Let them have their fun. I’ll play along. Smile, nod, and endure the endless gushing. “Such composure,” they say. Of course, I have composure. I’m mentally thirty-something years old, trapped in a three-year-old’s body. I’ve done job interviews and taxes. This? Child’s play. Literally.

Now let’s talk about my parents. Lovely people, truly. They’re ready to go full gladiator mode on anyone who dares insult their precious unmarked son. I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, but… maybe tone it down a bit? They’re practically waving a giant target over my head.

The king’s speech? Inspirational. Powerful. Definitely stirring. But you know what I heard? “Blah blah, my son is strong, blah blah, new era.” Don’t get me wrong, I love a good motivational speech, but I’d much prefer being a powerful celestial prince over a motivational poster.

Her “special day” speech? Classic mom. Poised, elegant, very mindful, very demure and completely oblivious to the fact that I’m one sneeze away from a wardrobe malfunction. Oh, and her hand on her belly? Subtle. Real subtle. Because nothing says “special day” like the promise of an heir who might actually get a celestial mark. No pressure or anything.

And then there’s the crowd. Oh, the crowd. Watching their faces go from cheerful to scandalized faster than you can say “no magic” was comedy gold. “What do you mean the prince is unmarked?” I could practically hear them clutching their pearls. But hey, it’s not every day you witness the downfall of centuries-old traditions, orchestrated by a toddler who hasn’t mastered walking in straight lines.

But hey, this is my life now: charming toddler prince by day, cosmic reject by night. Welcome to the Caelum Show, being paraded in front of people who are likely betting on whether I’ll trip on the way out. Let’s see how long I can keep this act up before someone notices the sarcasm in my smile.