Author note: I used AI to edit this chapter

  Chapter 6: BaptismThe Month of Noel, Day 15, Year 681 of the Second Holy CalendarDominic was currently regretting his life choices. The freezing cold water had seeped into every bone in his body, and he genuinely feared hypothermia. Initially, he had thought it unlikely—he had never heard of anyone dying during the baptismal process, though plenty had died during Awakening. His mind, numbed by the cold and fear, flirted with panic until cold rationalism took over. A priest stood nearby, ready to cast healing magic if needed. He wasn’t going to die. Probably.

  Still, sitting in freezing water for hours was agony. At first, he tried to keep most of his body above the surface, but eventually, he gave up and floated. Thankfully, he could touch the bottom. Dominic was an active person—doing nothing was torture, but this was worse: painful boredom.

  He spent most of the time mentally cursing the Gods, naming every one he could recall—even Noel. No reaction. He wondered if they didn’t care or simply couldn’t hear his thoughts. Then, out of nowhere, he found himself wondering whether The Winds of Winter had been released in the past six years. He’d been a fan of George R.R. Martin, though the book hadn’t been out before Oliver died. Strange what the mind fixates on.

  “How much longer?” he asked Isabel.

  She checked her pocket watch. "Ten minutes, my Lord."

  Pocket watches existed here. They were old-timey Victorian ones. Oliver had always wanted one, and now Dominic—bored royal that he was—could commission a ptinum or gold fantasy version. He considered a ptinum watch but figured gold would match the House of Bck’s colors better. Oliver would’ve been disgusted at how easily Dominic pondered splurging, but circumstances changed people.

  Finally, Isabel gave him permission to leave the pool. Stepping out, he almost jumped back in—the air was somehow colder than the water. He felt no newfound devotion to the Gods, just the dull ache of enduring pointless suffering—a familiar sensation from his previous life.

  Isabel warmed him with spells and guided him through the Hall of Mirrors back into a wide hallway. On one side, double doors faced another set across the entrance hall. Eliana and his guards waited.

  “Dominic, my dear,” Eliana said, pcing a hand on his shoulder. A wave of déjà vu hit him—Eliana and Luce reminded him of Oliver’s mother: overly familiar when something mattered. “Through those doors are over half the nobles of the Kingdom of Bck and representatives from every faction. Remember your etiquette. Remain calm.” Her fingers drummed lightly on his shoulder.

  He understood perfectly. One slip would stain his political career for decades. A fwless performance, on the other hand, would be remembered just as long. “Of course, Mother,” he said. Turning to the doors, he nodded to the guards. Carried away by the atmosphere or perhaps compelled by his demigod status, they opened them.

  The moment they did, hundreds of gazes pierced him like needles. He kept his face neutral, reasoning that most weren’t hostile—they were just staring. Once that registered, it became bearable. Ignoring the nobles, he focused on the deus ahead, where a statue of Noel stood among priests holding poles like the Ark of the Covenant.

  Climbing the steps, he wished—again—for a rger body. At the top, he found the statue was of Hebe. Children surrounded it—unlike most gods, Hebe’s priests weren’t limited by gender. He knelt beside Eliana, who recited a prayer simir to Luce’s at the detached pace shrine. Once finished, she offered him a neckce: a child-protection charm imbued with her mana. Nobles used mana-filled stones like batteries, their colors reflecting the wielder’s energy. Dominic would wear this locket until adulthood.

  A young priestess, about his age, approached with a crown of pale blue winter roses—the flower of his birth season. She pced it on his head, her face flushing when he smiled. He’d forgotten he was considered exceptionally good-looking, even by this world’s absurd standards. His musing ended as Eliana gently turned him to face the crowd.

  He scanned the hall. Factions divided the room: the militant faction and Lepetra merchants to one side; traditionalists and Grastide nobles to the other. Traditionalists funted wealth in bright clothes, while the militant faction wore uniforms. The merchants, to his approval, dressed tastefully—neither gaudy nor drab. The Grastide nobles dispyed a mix, though one group’s style stood distinctly apart.

  Two figures stepped onto the deus: Valerius, his biological father, and Livia Tallwood. Dominic didn’t know how to feel about Valerius—he’d never had a father in his past life, just a parade of his mother’s boyfriends. Valerius, close to Dominic’s previous life age-wise, seemed equally uncertain. Livia, recently retired as Countess Tallwood and now Minister of Military Affairs, was more familiar; her militant faction dealings often involved Luce.

  A priest approached, breaking the staged tension. Dominic accepted a magic stone. "Please, Lord Dominic, show us your power, gifted by the heavens."

  Ah, a Sia priest—Dominic disliked that religion. Still, he raised the stone and focused. Mana flowed easily, swirling bck and gold inside. Thirty seconds ter, it was full. He felt drained but steady. Whispers rippled through the crowd—impressed, but expected. The Bck family was renowned for magic; his cousins’ ck of it fueled bastard rumors Dominic half-believed.

  The priest retrieved the stone. Turning to Valerius: “Valerius Bck, do you promise to guide and protect this child until he comes of age?”

  “I do,” Valerius replied confidently.

  “Eliana Neivul, do you promise to nurture and care for this child?”

  “I do.”

  Why does this feel like a wedding? Dominic thought.

  Raising the stone, the priest spoke in the holy nguage—a linguistic nightmare, in Dominic’s opinion: “Lift your voices and celebrate a new child in the world!”

  Appuse varied. Traditionalists cpped politely; militants and Lepetra merchants cheered, fists raised. Queen Veronica emerged next, fnked by her cavalry. “I will be adopting Dominic as my son,” she decred. A cavalryman handed Valerius a pen and document. Valerius hesitated; Eliana, barely hiding her eagerness, urged him on. No one was surprised—succession ws dictated this adoption. Valerius signed, and the priest officiated it.

  Dominic Theodore Valentinian Bck became Prince Dominic—the Second Prince, fourth in line to the throne. No fireworks. No fanfare. Just ink on paper and a priest’s signature. Strangely anticlimactic. Had he blinked, he might’ve missed the moment entirely.