Chapter 3: Preparations for the Ceremony

The evening sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a soft golden hue over the royal gardens where Queen Lyra stood. The once vibrant colors of the flowers seemed to dull under the twilight, as though nature itself was holding its breath, anticipating the events of the days to come. Lyra, her elegant frame still, stood by the edge of the gardens, watching the leaves rustle softly in the breeze. The air was warm, fragrant with the scent of jasmine and lavender, but the queen’s mind was far from at ease. Her thoughts, like the leaves, swirled in an unpredictable dance, returning again and again to the upcoming ceremony.

Inside the royal nursery, her son, Prince Zhong, now five months and three weeks old, lay peacefully in his crib. He slept, blissfully unaware of the weight of the expectations and the magnitude of the destiny that awaited him. His tiny chest rose and fell rhythmically, his hands curled into soft fists, as if grasping for something unseen even in his dreams. Queen Lyra often watched him like this, fascinated by his innocence and overwhelmed by her love for him. But today, her heart was heavy. The royal blessing ceremony was mere days away, and with it came the anxiety that plagued her thoughts.

Lost in contemplation, she barely noticed High Priestess Selene approaching. The priestess, dressed in flowing white robes that trailed behind her, moved with the grace of someone accustomed to silence. She carried an air of calm authority, a steady presence that always soothed those around her. As Selene reached the queen, she bowed deeply, her silver hair glinting in the fading light.

"Your Majesty," Selene began, her voice calm and soothing, "the preparations for Prince Zhong's royal blessing are well underway. The temple is being adorned with the sacred symbols of the four deities, and the people eagerly await the ceremony."

Queen Lyra nodded, but her unease did not abate. "Tell me, Selene," she asked softly, her voice barely louder than the whispering wind, "have the gods spoken? Do they foresee any danger for my son?"

The high priestess, sensing the depth of the queen’s concern, placed a gentle hand on Lyra’s arm. Her touch was warm, reassuring, as were her eyes, which held a wisdom beyond her years. "The gods have shown no ill signs, Your Majesty," she replied with certainty. "Prince Zhong will be blessed under their watchful eyes. He will carry their strength, their wisdom, and their protection. The deities will ensure that he is guided in his path."

Lyra exhaled, her breath slow and measured, though her worry lingered just below the surface. The priestess's words were comforting, but the queen's maternal instincts would not allow her to rest easily. "I only want him to grow strong, to rule wisely," she whispered, her gaze drifting back to the windows where her son slept peacefully. "He is so small, so innocent. The world can be so cruel, and the weight of destiny so heavy."

"He is a child of the gods, my queen," Selene said softly, her voice a melodic assurance. "His path is blessed. Trust in their will. They have chosen him for a purpose beyond our understanding."

The queen gave a faint smile, though it did little to dispel the cloud of unease that lingered over her. She knew Selene’s words held truth, but the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on her heart. Soon, her son would bear the marks of the divine—signs that would signal his connection to the gods and the destiny that awaited him. But for now, he was simply her child, fragile and perfect in his innocence.

As the priestess excused herself and made her way back to the temple, Lyra lingered in the gardens, her thoughts still heavy. She trusted the gods, but the future seemed so uncertain. The royal blessing was a sacred tradition, one that had shaped the fate of rulers for generations. Yet, Lyra could not shake the feeling that something was different, something she could not quite place.

With one last glance at the horizon, where the sun was now almost entirely swallowed by the night, Queen Lyra returned to the palace. She moved silently through the halls until she reached the nursery. Standing by the crib, she gazed down at Prince Zhong, his peaceful face lit by the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Her heart ached with both love and fear. Soon, the gods would mark him, and the world would know that he was no ordinary child. But in this quiet moment, he was simply her son—a child of the gods, perhaps, but also a child of hers. And no matter what the future held, she vowed to protect him, come what may.

With a soft sigh, she leaned down to kiss his forehead, the softest of touches, and whispered, "May the gods watch over you, my son."

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