Chapter 1: It’s A Starboy Falling From The Skies

"Look at this place, Mira."

A baron stood at the edge of his terrace, his eyes fixed on the garden below. A dead garden. No green, no fruit, not even a single life moving in the dirt. And the rain, which had not come for weeks, did not help.

But it was not the lack of rain that filled him with despair.

"Widow's Wall used to be something the kingdom could be proud of. And now, it... it—this is..." the baron whispered. "This is my fault, most like."

"No." The baroness, Mira, stood beside her husband, wrapping her shawl tighter around her scarred but toned shoulders as she looked into his eyes. "You never say that, you hear me? It is the Veil which consumes our land."

"The Veil? The Veil did not do this to us, my love." The baron looked away. "The Dark Forest has been asleep for years. It is this stupid war that has caused us to run dry. Our men, our coin, our hope. What more do they want from us?!"

"Robb..."

"What will be left of us?!" the baron, Robert, raised his voice as he looked at the remains of their orchards. "Mothers separated from their husbands and children. Hundreds of refugees. Empty bellies, it—"

Mira touched her stomach at her husband's words, and her breath became much heavier than the air that night.

Robert saw it immediately.

"I... did not mean it like that, my love. And I apologize for raising my voice." His jaw tightened. "But perhaps... perhaps it is for the best? What kind of world would we bring a child into?"

"A world where he is loved, Robb." Mira clasped her hands on her husband's cheeks.

"Loved?" Robert leaned away, pointing beyond their garden and toward the fog beyond their barony. The fog glowed with unnatural light, even brighter than the moon. "You are right. We are already lucky that the Dark Forest has remained asleep while our lands are at war. It is a sign that... a sign that... that's—a Night Arrow?"

Robert suddenly pointed at the sky.

How could he not, when the dark clouds above lit up?

A flying star crossed the night, coloring the darkness with light that crawled across the clouds like a ripple.

"It is!" Mira whispered, gasping at the falling star. "Make a wish."

Robert glanced at his wife. "That is just skyrock, my lady. And wishes are for children and fools."

"The gods will still love me even if I am both." Mira's lips moved in silent prayer. "Please... please give us a son."

"Mira... maybe it is mercy we have no child. Look around. Hunger and war."

"A child brings luck. Hope. Perhaps that is what we need." She took his weathered hand. "Pray with me. Just this once."

"That—" Robert sighed. "Okay. For you, my love. But which god are we praying to?"

"The Seven Laws. The Urtmother. Vulkan. All of them."

Robert stared at his wife's sudden enthusiasm and smiled. He hesitated at first, but ultimately joined her in prayer.

"Sovereign of the Seven Laws, we humbly request you to hear us." Unlike his wife, however, Robert did not close his eyes. He kept watching the falling star grow brighter. "Earthmother, guide—Mira? Something is amiss."

The star brightened.

And then more.

Robert stepped back, his finger shaking as he pointed at the falling sky rock.

"Have you never seen a Night Arrow, Robb?" Mira sighed. "They are the gods' arrows. Mind yourself. Pray. Under the Sovereign we—uh..."

Then Mira realized it too.

Even for skyrock, it was getting too bright.

And that was because it was not only getting brighter.

It was moving closer.

Toward them.

Straight toward them.

"If that is the gods' doing, then the gods want to kill us!" Robert grabbed Mira's arm, but she pulled away. "Run! The only god that still shows herself to us is the Earthmother, and that is definitely not her doing!"

"No."

She stepped in front of him, then leaped onto the ledge, her shawl falling onto her husband's face. She extended her left arm, revealing the toned muscles beneath.

[Urtmother, Shilde!]

She Breathed the words out, waving her finger in the air as if writing something.

No. Not as if.

She was writing.

Smoke-like symbols formed in the air, and when they flickered into bright light, she grabbed them. The light crawled to her wrist and willed itself into the shape of a shield that covered her entire frame.

"Robb, behind me!"

Mira lowered her knees, preparing to receive the incoming rock.

But then, the sky rock that threatened to violently erase them from existence... stopped a yard away from hitting them.

"Gods..."

It slowly hovered around Mira, floating above the terrace. Mira followed it, stepping down from the ledge while keeping her husband behind her.

The rock stopped in the middle of the terrace, as if staring at them.

And then it dropped.

Its flames dissipated.

The floor shook when it hit, and its sheer weight alone sent cracks crawling through the manor. Steam rose from where it touched the stones, and the smell of molten iron filled the air.

"We should go," Robert whispered. "Now. Our people can help us deal with this at first light."

"Wait."

But Mira was already walking toward it, her skirts rustling against the broken floor.

"Do not touch it," he called after her. "Sky rocks are as hot as red iron, I believe. Even with the Depth of your Breath, it will burn the flesh from your bones."

She reached out anyway, her palm hovering inches from the rock's glittering surface.

"It is warm, not burning. And it feels heavy. Heavier than anything I have ever seen."

"You are half a breath from Third Depth, Mira. You could lift a horse with one arm, and you say this is heavy?" Robert squinted. "Then perhaps it is best not to touch it. Come. We will call for the people—"

A loud drum thumped through the air as Mira suddenly punched the rock, testing it.

And yet, even as her punch nearly collapsed the entire terrace, there was not a single dent in the skyrock.

"Mira, enough." Robert covered his ears. "Remember your oath not to shed blood. Let the ironsmiths handle it—"

The rock shook.

But not from her punch.

"What is..."

A tiny handprint suddenly emerged from the surface, denting it from within.

"By the Earthmother, what is that?!" Robert breathed.

And then, the rock that Mira could not even budge blossomed open from the inside.

From within it, a tiny hand emerged.

The hand was no bigger than a sparrow, followed by a thin arm. Small fingers moved at the crack, and the rock groaned as the pair of tiny hands pried it open even more.

"It is a vemon, Mira. A Veilwalker," Robert whispered. "Come to punish us for our sins."

"Or a dragon." Mira's shield flickered, and she once again wrote in the air, slapping the word onto her shield and turning it into a large axe. "If it is, we kill it before it kills us."

"A dragon? A dragon has not been seen in our land for a hundred years. They—"

And then, a head appeared.

Small. Perfectly formed. Crowned with hair like spun gold that fell past tiny shoulders.

His shoulders.

A human.

A beautiful boy.

"An... infant boy?" Robert squinted.

The child crawled from his stone cradle, and the touch of his little palm caused the already cracked floor to groan even harder.

The baby looked up at them with eyes as blue as winter sky, causing both Robert and Mira to freeze.

Then he began to cry.

No.

He bawled.

The sound woke Mira from a haze she did not know she was under. And before Robert could even attempt to stop her, she approached the child, tearing strips of cloth from her dress as she went.

She scooped the child up, wrapping him in the cloth, and his cries stopped instantly.

A giggle bubbled from his throat instead.

"Mira, what are you—"

"Look at him." She brushed the golden hair from his face, marveling at how blue his eyes were. So blue, they seemed to glow in the starlight. "Just look."

The baby reached up with one perfect hand and touched her cheek.

"Not an infant boy," she whispered. "Baby. Our baby boy."

Robert stared at her. "Mira..."

"Enel," she said. "His name is Enel."

"...You have named him already?"

And just like that, Widow's Wall gained an heir to its falling barony.

***

Some time passed, and the boy was inside a musky barn quietly speaking to a cow.

He knelt on the straw, his forehead pressed against the cow's broad skull, golden hair falling like a curtain around them both.

"Thank you for your life," he murmured. "Thank you for feeding the people of Widow's Wall."

His hands gently found the base of the cow's skull.

And then, without even breathing, he quickly twisted its massive neck. A blast of wind rippled from his arms, causing all the tools inside the barn to clatter.

The cow made no sound.

The beautiful beast simply went to sleep.

Perhaps Widow's Wall had gained more than just an heir.