In the kingdom of Tyvalon, power and influence were not just the province of rulers, but the very essence of the royal bloodline. The monarchs of Tyvalon, the Vasarian family, had perfected the art of selective breeding over centuries. They carefully matched their blood with only the finest traits—wisdom, beauty, strength, and intelligence—to produce heirs capable of leading not only their nation but shaping the world. For the Aurelians, it was not enough to rule; they believed that their line must remain supreme, untainted by the vulnerabilities of common blood. They were the perfection of mankind.

King Valerius Vasarius, the patriarch of the current generation, had overseen decades of carefully arranged marriages—unions designed not out of love, but of necessity. His only son, Prince Caelum, had been raised in this environment. A cold and imposing figure, Caelum had grown up with the knowledge that his future would not be his own. He was a product of generations of careful planning, a vessel through his duty: to marry a female as a match that would further enhance the family’s power.

There were whispers in the halls of the royal palace, whispers of a future where the old rules would bring humanity to a grand evolution. A growing movement of commoners, intellectuals, and reformers questioned the sheer power of selective breeding. Caelum, though, was indifferent. His focus was on the duties laid before him, his eyes always on the throne.

One evening, as the royal family hosted a lavish banquet, Caelum’s gaze drifted toward a woman standing in the far corner of the room. She was not a noblewoman, not one of the carefully chosen guests. There was something about her that disgusted him. She was here as his bride. Her commoner appearance and clothes, he was many classes above her. He didn’t want her, but he needed her to reach the throne and a heir.

”Don’t touch.” He hissed coldly after one evening. He had injured himself during his practice, and his shoulder was bruised heavily.