**"This is Preposterous!"**
James flailed his tiny limbs, his little fists striking the air in a futile rebellion. He kicked, squirmed, and let out a frustrated wail, his newborn body refusing to comply with the hands trying to dress him.
"I don't understand any of this—let me go!" he screamed in his mind, though the only sound that left his lips was an indignant cry.
The maid struggling to clothe him sighed, rubbing her aching forehead.
"Why is this child so unruly?" she muttered to her colleague. "He fights like a wild animal."
For seven days, James had been nothing short of a nightmare. He was too active—kicking, wriggling, making strange noises as if trying to speak. His strength was unsettling, his gaze far too intelligent for a newborn. And then there was the tattoo on his shoulder—an intricate, unknown sigil that no baby should have. The maids whispered in hushed voices, unsure whether to be in awe or fear.
"Just stay still, little one," the maid pleaded as she finally fastened the ceremonial cloth around his small form. The fabric was embroidered with the symbol of the white lion—his clan's crest, woven into the finest silk.
At last, she sighed in relief.
Soft footsteps echoed through the chamber. A presence entered, commanding without a word.
His mother.
She approached with grace, her long, flowing robes trailing behind her like liquid light. There was something timeless in the way she moved—like an echo from a grand past, mingling futuristic luminescence with ancient heritage.
"My little warrior," she murmured as she lifted him from the maid's arms. The tension in his tiny body eased—her warmth was familiar, soothing, though his mind remained clouded with confusion. Gently, she adjusted his white swaddling cloth, loosening it slightly so he wouldn't feel confined, and brushed her lips against his forehead in a tender kiss.
"Let's go," she whispered, turning toward the entrance where the ceremony awaited.
---
Outside, the hall of the Barpoi Clan shone with grandeur. The grand city that housed their people was a striking blend of futuristic design and ancient artistry: soaring spires adorned with intricate engravings, floating lanterns drifting in the twilight, and banners in pure white and silver that billowed in an energy-infused breeze. Family, friends, and well-wishers had gathered, their faces aglow under the radiance of ceremonial lanterns and holographic displays that mixed tradition with modernity.
At the center of it all stood the family elder, Tridnya. She was a vision of ethereal beauty—her flawless alabaster skin faintly luminous, her deep violet eyes exuding both mystery and command. Her hair, a cascade of obsidian, flowed past her waist even when neatly bound in a regal knot. Draped in a flowing white gown that shifted like liquid silk, she embodied both ancient grace and the promise of tomorrow.
As Tridnya stepped forward, the gathered crowd fell silent. With measured reverence, she took the child from his mother and lifted him high above her head. Her voice, solemn and powerful, echoed throughout the hall:
"May the mirrors of destiny reflect only light upon you, little one.
May shadows break before your innocent gaze,
And may the winds of change whisper wisdom into your dreams.
The stars have bent low to witness your arrival,
Their glow woven into your spirit.
The Guardian shall stand watch over you,
Guiding your steps with truth and strength.
May your heart always find wonder in what others fear,
And your path be mirrored not by fate, but by the choices you carve.
Welcome, child of hope, into a world waiting for your brilliance."
A chorus of voices joined in unison, "So be it."
A beautifully carved podium, its surface inscribed with ancient symbols that glowed faintly in the lantern light, stood at the center. The child's parents accepted gifts and offerings with warm, sincere smiles. Then came the final rite.
Tridnya moved to another podium where three small vials, each set in ornate recesses, awaited. With deliberate care, she dipped her finger into the first vial—clear water that shone with an almost holographic clarity—and gently placed a drop on the baby's tongue.
"This reflects the fairness of this world—nothing too hard, nothing too easy. There is balance in all things," she intoned.
Next, she offered a vial of bitter liquid. The moment it touched the baby's tongue, his tiny face scrunched in protest. *What is all this? Is she trying to poison me?* His reaction brought a few soft chuckles from the onlookers, but her tone remained somber.
"This bitter taste grants you your first lesson in life. Nothing is ever truly fair—life will always find a way to bring you low, no matter how high you soar. Learn to conquer your fears, rise from your struggles, and transform your mistakes into beauty."
Finally, she presented the third vial—a golden, sweet liquid that seemed to capture the warmth of a long-forgotten sun. "This is the light at the end of every tunnel. You will succeed, for you are a child of the Barpoi Clan. We were all born to succeed. You will rise above everything... you will—"
And then, without warning, a deafening explosion shattered the moment.
**BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.**
Screams erupted as the ground trembled violently beneath them. In an instant, Tridnya's protective instincts surged forth. She swiftly raised a shimmering barrier around the baby, encasing him in a radiant cocoon of light.
"What's happening?" someone cried out as panic swept through the hall.
"We are under attack!" a voice bellowed. "If you can fight, reinforce the defenses! If not, seek immediate shelter!"
James' mother turned toward the elder, her eyes wild with fear. His father had already moved to join the warriors who were forming defensive lines amid the chaos. "Who dares attack us in our own home?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of terror and indignation.
"I don't know," an elder replied grimly, "but they must be formidable to strike here. We must reach the safety chamber—its defenses will hold."
"But we haven't even finished naming him!" she protested, eyes welling with tears. This was supposed to be his day—how could fate be so cruel?
The elder led her through winding corridors until they reached a fortified chamber. The heavy doors sealed shut behind them, reinforced with protective enchantments.
"Safe," Tridnya exhaled.
The room was silent, save for the distant echoes of battle outside.
Then—
"Tu. Tu. Tu. Tu."
A rhythmic sound, slow and deliberate, resonated through the chamber.
James' mother stiffened. She and the elder exchanged wary glances.
From the shadows at the far end of the room, figures began to emerge—figures that should not have been there.
The last exit was sealed.
The door behind them was locked tight.
They were trapped.
James, despite his protective barrier, felt a chill run deep down his newborn soul.
"We are damned big time."