CHAPTER 229: THE CHILD OF CAELUM

The House of Caelum was a name carved into history with sunlight. For generations, their children were born beneath pale hair kissed by gold, eyes bright as dawn. To the world, the Caelum line was proof that heritage itself could shine. Where others fought for scraps of legacy, Caelum blood was an inheritance of radiance.

And on this night, another child had been born.

The great hall of Caelum Manor glowed with lanterns of silver flame. Servants hurried to prepare feasts, banners of white and gold hung from high beams, and the family’s elder crest—a winged sun encircled by spirals—shone proudly above the hearth.

"Another heir," said Aunt Lira, her laughter sharp but fond as she swept into the chamber, hair like a waterfall of platinum strands. She carried herself like the wind itself—swift, untamed, endlessly graceful. "Brother, you’ve truly blessed our house again. The cradle of Caelum is far from empty."

Lord Darius Caelum, tall and broad-shouldered, turned from the window where moonlight outlined his stern profile. His hair was the same pale gold, though streaked with the faint silver of age, and his deep-set eyes carried both gravity and pride. "This one..." He rested a hand on the carved crib where the newborn slept. "...this one feels different."

Cousins gathered at the edges, whispering. Some leaned in eagerly, eyes gleaming like mirrors of their elders. Others whispered with suspicion, as if waiting for the first signs that the newborn would match—or fail—their shining standard.

Lady Selene, the child’s mother, lay back upon her pillows, exhaustion softened by joy. Her beauty was quieter than her sister Lira’s wild grace, her smile gentler, her pale-golden hair bound in simple braids. She reached to brush the child’s cheek, her voice a murmur like summer rain.

"He has your brow," she said to Darius, "and your stubborn mouth."

"Stubborn?" Lira arched a brow, laughing. "Then perhaps the world is in danger already."

The cousins chuckled. One, a boy of twelve with sharp green eyes—Lucian—stepped forward. He tilted his head, inspecting the infant as if the newborn were a puzzle to be solved.

"Will he burn with the sun like us?" Lucian asked. His tone held the curiosity of youth but also the unshaken arrogance of one who had never known doubt. "Or will he be pale only in hair, without fire in his blood?"

The room stilled.

The unspoken truth weighed heavily: in this world, blood was everything. The Caelum family had never produced a Hollowborn. But every birth brought the risk.

Lady Selene silenced the whispers with a single look. "He will grow as the Caelum do. Strong, radiant, unshaken. Do not curse him with your doubts, Lucian."

Lucian bowed stiffly, but his smirk lingered.

The child stirred then, a faint sound in the cradle—neither a cry nor a laugh, but something that hushed the air for a moment. As if the night itself had paused to listen.

Selene leaned closer, whispering the name chosen for him.

"Zane."