A Star is Not Born
The nursery was pristine, devoid of warmth, a grand chamber wrapped in the silence of expectation. No frivolous toys littered the space, no soft comforts marred its clean, disciplined lines. The grand windows overlooked the city below, but the view was of no consequence—nothing outside these walls mattered. Not to Amuncommon.
She stood over the lavish cradle, eyes as sharp as a hawk’s, her expression carved from stone. Inside the silken bedding lay the child that had been so anticipated. The baby inside the cradle squirmed, making soft, chittering sounds, her fur still patchy and uneven as it grew in. She did not cry, did not wail. She merely existed, unaware of the gravity of her birth, of the disappointment already settling into her grandmother’s bones.
Amuncommon had waited for this day. The Ptolemy bloodline, one of the most revered among ancient monsters, had been blessed with the first Titan of this era. She had arranged for the finest scholars, the most powerful sorcerers, the most devout priests to witness the arrival of the long-awaited heir.
A Titan, a god among monsters. The legacy of Typhon continued.
The first Titan born in centuries.
But a girl.
Amuncommon exhaled through her nose, eyes narrowing. The child blinked up at her, impossibly large blue eyes gleaming in the light. Her tiny hands reached upward, waving with innocent curiosity.
Amuncommon did not return the gesture.
"You are smaller than I expected." She murmured.
The baby gurgled, her ears twitching at the sound of her grandmother’s voice.
Amuncommon’s lips barely twitched. "And furrier."
The child let out a tiny, hiccuping mewl, utterly unaware of the way her grandmother’s face remained cold, unreadable.
A Titan should be a colossus, a figure of power that made beings, even gods, tremble. A Titan should have presence, the kind that could bend the very air around them. A Titan should be regal, commanding, the embodiment of strength. The greatest of all monsters. Yet this… creature before her was a bundle of awkward limbs and mismatched genetics.
This child—this girl—was too soft, much too beastly.
Amuncommon sighed, turning to the waiting servants, their backs pressed straight, their eyes downcast.
"This is what happens when bloodlines are left unchecked." She declared. "A Titan should be regal, not…feral." She gestured at the baby's twitching feline ears with distaste.
The servants did not respond. They knew better.
Amuncommon turned back to the child. Her soft features, her rounded cheeks, the clear taint of her mother’s werecat bloodline. It was unmistakable. That woman, that singer who took her son away from her, had already weakened the Ptolemy legacy enough. And now this.
A daughter.
"I had hoped for a boy," Amuncommon murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "A strong heir. A son could have been shaped into something great. But a daughter…" She trailed off, eyes narrowing. "A daughter needs to be perfect in all ways, lest she be considered weak. There is no room for error."
She watched as the infant kicked her tiny feet, oblivious to the weight of the words being spoken over her.
"A daughter…" Amuncommon repeated, her tone sharp and cool. "The first Titan born in centuries, and it had to be a girl."
One of the wet nurses shifted uneasily.
"She is still a Titan, my Lady." She ventured carefully. "She—"
"She is a girl." Amuncommon interrupted sharply, cutting her off without a second thought. "And that is enough of an issue."
The wet nurse pressed her lips together, wisely saying nothing further.
Her gaze fell back to the baby, who had begun to chew on her own tiny toes, oblivious to the weight of her grandmother’s words.
"Where is her magic?"Amuncommon frowned. The girl’s aura was wrong. She should have been radiating power, even as an infant. A natural born Titan’s presence should be suffocating, undeniable—the very air should have shaken with the raw power of her existence.
Titans, and mummies in general, were born brimming with magic, energy radiating from them before they had even drawn their first breath. Even the weakest of monsters, those with the least number of hearts, had some magic.
But this child?
Nothing.
The room fell silent.
The servants exchanged wary glances, but no one dared to speak first.
Amuncommon straightened, her eyes narrowing as she turned to the nearest servant. "Bring me the healer. Now."
The woman bowed quickly and hurried from the room, leaving behind only a thick, uneasy tension.
A Titan with no magic. Such a thing should have been impossible.
Amuncommon clenched her fingers at her side, the only sign of her growing displeasure.
A weak Titan was an insult.
Minutes later, the healer entered. Amuncommon stepped aside, watching as the healer placed their hands just above the child’s small body. A soft hum filled the air, the telltale sign of magic being used. A simple diagnostic spell.
The baby squirmed slightly, letting out a faint noise as the energy brushed over her.
The healer frowned. Their magic pulsed again, stronger this time, wrapping around the infant in invisible waves.
Nothing happened.
The silence grew heavier.
Amuncommon’s gaze sharpened. "Well?"
The healer hesitated, then turned to face her, their voice carefully neutral. "She is… healthy."
Amuncommon’s expression did not change. "And?"
The healer’s throat bobbed. "But I sense… barely anything."
A flicker of something unreadable crossed Amuncommon’s face. "You are saying that my granddaughter, the first Earth Titan in centuries, has barely any magic?"
The healer shifted uneasily under her gaze. "It is… rare. Unheard of, even. But there is no little to no magical signature surrounding her."
She looked back at the healer, her tone laced with icy disbelief. "Are you sure she is a Titan?"
The healer swallowed. "She… she was born with seven hearts."
A Titan's mark. Seven hearts. The apex of monsters. And yet—nothing.
A hollow Titan.
Amuncommon turned back to the cradle, regarding the infant as one might a flawed piece of gold—valuable, but tainted.
"She is weak." Amuncommon stated, voice flat. "And weakness cannot be tolerated."
A Titan with no magic.
A Titan in name only.
The words were a quiet horror that settled into the room, and the servants dared not meet Amuncommon’s gaze.
Amuncommon turned back toward the cradle, staring down at the baby once more.
The child should have been a miracle. A force. Instead, she was defective.
She took a slow breath, her voice carefully measured when she finally spoke again. "This is not a permanent issue, just a temporary setback. The child is still a baby. She is still a Titan and should be treated accordingly."
The servants all bowed. "Yes, my Lady."
She turned to the healer. "You will continue to examine her. If there is even the faintest flicker of magic, I want to know of it. If she is to be the first Titan born in centuries, then she will not be allowed the luxury of failure."
The healer nodded, stepping away from the cradle.
Amuncommon remained where she stood, staring at the infant who blinked up at her, utterly oblivious to the weight of expectation she had already failed to meet.
She would be made into something worthy.
She had to be.
Amuncommon was not raising a failure.
"Begin her regimen at once." She added. "A strict diet, physical training when she is old enough, and daily grooming to rid her of this… beastly appearance." She flicked a glance at Basteta’s tiny, cat ears. "I will not have a Titan who looks like a mutt."
The servants bowed, but one hesitated. "My Lady, she is only a newborn. Should she not be given time—?"
Amuncommon stopped and turned, her expression unreadable. "A Titan is born to rule. If she cannot endure even the first steps of discipline, she is not worthy of being a Titan."
The finality in her voice left no room for further protest.
She would shape this child into perfection, whether she willed it or not. She reached down, pressing a single, bony finger against the baby’s plump cheek. The child instinctively turned toward the touch, her tiny claws flexing as if to grasp onto something.
Her soft, rounded features mirrored her mother’s. The werecat blood was undeniable—the ears, the slitted pupils, the lack of defined mummy traits. There was no imposing regality here, no ancient power that should have coursed through her.
Too much werecat. Not enough mummy. They’ll have to do something about that. More wrappings should help with those hybrid imperfections.
She was meant to be a Titan and would not be subjected to the prejudice that followed most hybrids.
Amuncommon withdrew her hand, the warmth of the child’s soft skin quickly forgotten.
"Send word to the press." She ordered. "Her name will be Basteta. After Bastet, as is fitting for a female."
One of the attendants hesitated. "What if her parents—"
"Her parents don’t know how to raise a Titan. Titans need to be raised as our great King Typhon intended, something the younger generations just don’t seem to understand." Amuncommon silenced them with a sharp glare. "Had she been a son, she would have born the name of the king. But she is not."
There was nothing more to discuss.
The room remained eerily silent, save for the soft breaths of the newborn Titan, still blissfully unaware of the weight of her own existence or that she had already disappointed the one person whose approval she would spend her entire childhood chasing.