Thunder rolled across the capital like a warning that came too late.
Lightning tore through the sky, white veins splitting black clouds, illuminating the palace towers for a heartbeat before plunging them back into shadow. Rain hammered against stone and glass, turning the capital into a shivering mass of noise and fear.
Inside the palace, panic moved faster than the storm.
Footsteps echoed through marble halls. Servants rushed past one another, robes gathered in shaking hands, voices cracking as they shouted orders that barely made sense anymore.
"The Queen—!"
"Get the midwives—now!"
"Another contraction—she's not slowing!"
Doors were thrown open.
The royal chamber glowed with gold and candlelight, but the warmth felt fragile, like it might shatter at any moment. Heavy curtains swayed as thunder shook the walls. The air smelled of incense, sweat, and blood.
The Queen lay atop a grand bed carved from sacred stone, her fingers gripping silk sheets hard enough to wrinkle them. Her breathing was ragged but steady, each inhale controlled through sheer will. White hair—once pristine—clung damply to her temples, streaked with silver that glimmered faintly even in the low light.
Power hummed beneath her skin.
Not wild. Not violent.
Contained.
Beside her stood the King.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. His black armor had been stripped of its helm and gauntlets, crimson cape discarded on the floor like a fallen banner. He held her hand with both of his, knuckles white, jaw locked tight as if refusing to let the world see him falter.
"Stay with me," he murmured, leaning close enough that only she could hear. "Just a little longer."
She turned her head slightly, lips pulling into a faint smile despite the pain carving lines into her face.
"You always command storms," she whispered. "This one is no different."
Another cry tore from her throat.
The midwives moved quickly.
The first child arrived with a sharp cry that cut through the chamber like flame. Red hair slick with birth, tiny fists clenched tight, eyes already glowing gold when they opened.
The air warmed.
Candles flickered higher.
Fire.
The second followed moments later. Blue hair, skin cool to the touch, eyes reflecting candlelight like still water. The rain outside softened, as if listening.
Water.
The third came quietly. Green hair, calm emerald eyes, breath steady as roots digging into soil. Vines along the chamber walls trembled faintly, leaves unfurling where none had been before.
Nature.
The fourth arrived heavier, slower. Gray hair, solid brown eyes that stared without fear. The stone beneath the bed vibrated once, deep and low, before settling.
Earth.
By the fifth, the chamber buzzed with unease.
Yellow hair sparked faintly as the baby cried, silver eyes flashing open as thunder boomed in answer. Lightning cracked outside, closer this time, rattling the stained glass.
Thunder.
The midwives stepped back, hands shaking, breath caught in their throats.
Five infants lay swaddled before the King and Queen.
Five elements breathing quietly in unison.
No one spoke.
Even the storm seemed to hesitate.
Then the temperature dropped.
Not slowly.
Instantly.
Candles dimmed. Flames bent inward. The warmth drained from the chamber as if pulled through an unseen crack in the world.
The Queen's body arched, a final scream tearing from her chest—raw, desperate, powerful.
The sixth child was born.
No cry followed.
Jet-black hair lay smooth against pale skin. White pupils stared upward, unblinking, reflecting nothing. The shadows in the room thickened, stretching toward the child as if drawn by gravity.
The King took an involuntary step back.
"…Darkness," he breathed.
The Queen turned her head with effort, eyes finding the child. Despite the blood at her lips, despite the tremor in her body, she smiled.
"He is the strongest," she whispered.
Her hand lifted—shaking—reaching for the King's arm.
But the words never finished forming.
Blood spilled from her mouth, staining the silk beneath her. Her grip loosened. Her power flickered—once—then vanished.
A servant screamed.
The King caught her as she fell, lowering her gently back onto the bed, calling her name with a voice that cracked despite all his strength.
She did not answer.
The storm outside howled.
Silence followed inside.
The King stood slowly, lifting the sixth child into his arms. The baby did not resist. Did not cry. Did not blink.
Servants dropped to their knees as one, foreheads pressed to the floor.
Whispers spread like disease.
"Six elementals…"
"This was forbidden…"
"The cycle—"
The King's grip tightened.
"No one speaks of this," he said.
His voice did not rise. It did not need to.
"He never existed."
Eyes lifted in shock.
The King looked down at the six children—five glowing softly, one swallowing light whole.
"If the world learns darkness was born," he continued, voice hollow, "it will tear itself apart again."
His jaw trembled once.
Then hardened.
"Hide him."
The chamber obeyed.
And somewhere, far in the future—
Darkness slept.