Blood of the Divine Wastelands

On the day of the Divine Court's judgment, I was wrapped in a swaddling cloth of starlight and cast out of the divine realm.

As I fell into the mortal world, a dead branch pierced my palm. My blood hit the ground, and wild grass sprang up in a frenzy before withering at once.

The villagers screamed that divine punishment had come, but only an old herb gatherer carried me back to his thatched hut.

As he tore off a piece of his robe to bandage my wound, his withered hand miraculously regained its youthful strength.

Late that night, the old man murmured as he sealed my bloodline: “The last time a divine infant was born was three hundred years ago...”

The candle by the window went out without a sound, and a bronze needle sank into my chest.

Meanwhile, the innate purple aura within me quietly devoured the power of the seal.