The town buzzed with life. The narrow cobblestone streets were alive with the sound of fiddles, flutes, and the rhythmic beat of drums as townsfolk danced in joyous celebration. Vendors called out, selling freshly baked goods and spiced wine, while children weaved through the crowd with wooden swords, reenacting tales of celestial warriors. Near the tavern, clusters of men and women gathered with mugs in hand, their voices boisterous. "I’ll give it to King Arren," one man slurred, raising his tankard. "He’s got guts to announce something like that in broad daylight." "Guts, or madness?" another retorted, frowning over his ale. "Mark my words, this’ll bring trouble from the other kingdoms. They won’t take kindly to it."

Further along, a group of women stood under the glow of lanterns, their voices low but sharp. "It's not just about the decree," one said, adjusting her shawl. "A prince without celestial powers? How can he lead us, let alone protect us, if the need arises?" Another woman, younger and more spirited, crossed her arms. "Maybe it’s time we stopped relying on celestial marks and started looking at what a person can do. The king’s taking a risk, sure, but it might be worth it." All the people who heard her looked at her in disbelief. The older woman shook her head. "Tradition exists for a reason. People without the mark of the celestial blessing is a bad omen" The conversation drifted into murmurs, drowned out by laughter and the clinking of glasses. 

Inside the Castle

The dining hall was warm and filled with the savory aroma of roasted meats and spiced desserts. A long table stretched across the room, though only a small portion of it was set for three. At one end sat King Arren, his imposing frame softened by a rare smile. At the other end sat Queen Lysandra, her radiant appearance marked by the soft curve of her belly. Between them, little Caelum wiggled in his oversized chair, his legs too short to reach the ground. On the table before him sat a bowl of pudding, a piece of bread, and a small slice of fruit. But rather than eating, Caelum was intent on playing with his food. He poked the pudding with a spoon, then smeared it on the edge of the bowl with a giggle.

“Caelum,” Queen Lysandra called gently, her voice laced with patience. “What are you doing, my love?” Caelum’s large, expressive eyes looked up at her. He held up his spoon, now dripping pudding, and babbled something unintelligible. “Puh...puhtsing!” Tsk I can't even pronounce it right, Caelum thought. I'm so bored, I can't do anything with this body let alone speak he complains. 

“Pudding?” Lysandra asked with a soft laugh. “Yes, darling, it’s pudding, but it belongs in your mouth, not on the table.” Caelum responded with a determined, “No!” and defiantly plopped the spoon back into the pudding with a splatter. Arren chuckled from his seat. 

“He’s got your stubbornness, Lysandra.” She sighed, shaking her head as she reached over with a napkin to clean her son’s messy cheeks. “And your flair for dramatics, Arren. Look at him. He’s already staging a rebellion against proper dining etiquette.”

 The three of them finished dinner warm and cozy, but it didn’t escape Lysandra’s notice—the flicker of unease in Arren’s eyes. She had known him far too long to miss the signs.

Inside the Royal Quarters, King Arren closed the door softly behind him, cradling a now-sleepy Caelum in her arms, releasing a long, weary sigh as he rejoined Queen Lysandra. Lysandra's keen gaze met his. "Arren," she murmured, her tone soft yet firm. "What happened in the council? I can see it didn’t go as planned." Arren rubbed his temples, his eyes briefly glancing at Caelum at his shoulders, who was blinking drowsily but still alert enough to watch him. He seemed to hesitate, as though unsure of how to say the words. "It’s about Caelum," he began, his voice low and rough. "They... They agreed to support him, but only on one condition: he will forfeit his right to the throne."

Lysandra’s eyes widened. "What?" Her voice was barely a whisper, carrying both anger and heartbreak. "Why did you agree to that, Arren? How could you?" Arren’s shoulders slumped, his gaze falling to the ground. "It’s not because I want this for him, Lysandra. But if he’s named heir without celestial powers…he’ll be a target, not just here but to every kingdom around us. They would see him as weak. They’d exploit that weakness, Lysandra. Our kingdom would be torn apart by external threats before he even had a chance to rule."

Lysandra’s expression softened, though her eyes remained troubled. She glanced down at Caelum, who is now awake and pretending to sleep trying to understand their somber conversation.

 Oh great, Caelum thought sarcastically, I’m three, and I’m already considered the weakest link in an empire. Just brilliant.

Arren continued, "After thinking long and hard, I came to a difficult decision, Lysandra , it's best for him to forfeit the crown. If he were to become the crown prince, those conniving nobles would surely rally against him, seeking to exploit his weaknesses. Form a faction and use his sibling to vie for the throne. The last thing I want is for them to drag the siblings into their ruthless struggle for the throne." Lysandra’s face went pale as she finished his thought. "It will be a bloody fight for the crown." As she caresses her baby bump. Arren nodded, regret clouding his expression. "If only they’d let him inherit as tradition dictates. But…they refuse to bend. This way…he has a better chance of growing up without the immediate threat of being targeted as a ruler."

Lysandra looked down at Caelum who now opened his eyes, her eyes glistening with tears. "He’s only just been born, Arren. How is it that he already has enemies?" Her voice cracked slightly, a tear slipping down her cheek. Caelum gave a small, almost defiant yawn, as if unimpressed with the dire words exchanged around him. Then he did something that made both parents pause. He grinned—a big, goofy, baby grin—and reached out a chubby hand toward Arren, “It’s okay” giving them encouragement in his baby voice.

Arren blinked, then chuckled, his hand covering his face to hide his amusement. "Well, look at that. Our little troublemaker isn’t giving up that easily, it seems." Lysandra managed a laugh too, her earlier worry melting just a bit. "Already rallying his forces, isn’t he?" She cradled Caelum close, brushing her hand over his hair. "He'll be alright, Arren." 

As Caelum lay in his mother’s arms, his eyelids growing heavier by the moment, King Arren knelt beside them, brushing a hand over his son’s soft hair. His earlier tension seemed to ease as he gazed at the child who, despite his young age, was already at the center of so many burdens. "Don’t worry, Caelum," Arren said softly, his voice steady but filled with warmth. "Making this country accept the unmarked has always been part of my plans. I had already intended to change things, to make this kingdom a place where people without marks could thrive. I just…didn’t expect to do it so soon." He paused, his tone growing serious but kind. "You’ll face challenges because of this, my boy. There will be those who resent you simply for existing. But you won’t face them alone."

Yes, Father, I absolutely understand every word of this inspiring speech. Truly moving, Caelum thought dryly, though he couldn’t help feeling a flicker of gratitude at the man’s determination.

Lysandra placed a gentle kiss on Caelum’s forehead, her expression a mixture of worry and pride. "We’ll protect you, Caleum. No matter what, you’ll grow up knowing you're loved and supported."

His inner monologue chimed in one last time. Yes, yes, very poetic, Father. Now, if you’ll excuse me.

Caelum yawned loudly, his baby-sized way of signaling he’d had enough emotional conversations for one evening. Both parents chuckled softly. "You’re right," Arren said, his voice now carrying a hint of amusement. "We’ll let you rest, little prince.