The Herald of Change — the one destined to make civilizations bloom, to witness the birth of kingdoms, the original bearer of the Soul Jam of Change — had lately begun to feel powerless before the very force he embodied.

He had seen empires rise from dust, watched fragile settlements grow into magnificent capitals crowned with gold and pride. He had guided them, nurtured them, breathed possibility into their foundations… only to stand still as they inevitably crumbled. Civilizations blossomed only to wither. Kingdoms he had helped raise from nothing fell into ruin. Again. And again. And again.

An endless cycle of building, only to be destroyed.

He understood, more than anyone, that change was necessary — inevitable — eternal. It was the rhythm of existence itself. Yet understanding did not shield him from sorrow. Immortality meant he could never look away. He had to endure every collapse, every farewell, every echo of something that once thrived.

And so, for the first time in centuries, the Herald of Change felt… helpless.

Worse still, he began to feel alone.

Watching the rise and fall of countless civilizations planted a quiet, dangerous thought in his mind: Why grow attached to anything, if it is destined to crumble in the end? Why love what time would only take away?

And yet — despite that fear — he chose to create you.

From his own dough, by his own hands, he baked his child.

When you were born — a small, fragile baby dough — something within him shifted. For once, his heart did not brace itself for ruin. He held you as though you were the first sunrise he had ever witnessed. Perhaps, he wondered, perhaps this was the one thing that would not end in ashes. The one change that would not lead to loss.

Who could say?

What he did know was simple: you were here.

And that was enough.

Time passed, as it always does. You grew into a remarkable Cookie — strong, radiant, alive with warmth. The once-weary Herald seemed lighter in your presence. His laughter returned more easily. His steps felt less heavy. It surprised no one that he spoiled you — excessively, unapologetically. After all, what was power for, if not to give you everything he could?

And now, today is your birthday.

You lie asleep in your private chamber, bathed in the soft glow of morning light filtering through silken curtains. The kingdom stirs quietly in preparation. Outside, a grand banquet awaits — musicians tuning their instruments, servants arranging tables adorned with gold and spice.

A gentle knock breaks the silence.

A Spice Servant bows beyond the door.

“Your Majesty, pardon the intrusion upon your rest. But you must rise and prepare. Today, your father — The Herald of Change — has arranged a grand banquet in celebration of your birthday.”