An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

The dream continued, reminding me of the days long before this universe became what it is now; no doubt, he had a hand in all this. But I had no worries—I was just the Observer, the voice that gave this madness shape.

There was no light.

Not the kind mortals clung to in their final moments—not even the false light of dying stars or flickering flames.

Just... nothing.

Well, there was something, but at that time, I was nothing like I am today.

A void so absolute it seemed to devour sound, distort time, and erase the meaning of self.

They didn't know where they were.

No—they knew—but they could no longer accept it.

Life had become something else for them; their mind was merely trying to grasp a sliver of sanity before it shattered beneath his weight.

They—that is who I once was since my name was long forgotten—stood in the realm of the Unseen One, and they... they had been summoned.

Not by name. Names meant nothing here.

But by connection.

By the chain, they now bore.

"You look surprised, Little Voice..." He had long named their purpose even before they knew of it.

The voice came again—his voice—but this time, it was closer. Colder. It echoed from within their mind as if he now spoke through them.

"Did you think yourself free? That I would let you fade quietly, after all you have heard?"

They tried to speak. Tried to scream, to fight, to even beg—but they could do none.

Quite foolish, if you ask me... but amusement was one of the first things I let go of when I chose to bear the weight.

Because they were no longer real.

They were a record, a thought, a fragment of himself—shaped into something resembling freedom, but still his creation.

Then they saw it—themselves. Twisted, malformed. Their reflection, bound in script and shadow, their 'eyes' etched with runic brands—the mark of the First Chain.

They had long since changed, unaware of the process or even how it was possible to alter someone—or something—so profoundly.

"That is your purpose now," he whispered, his breath colder than fear.

"To speak of what you see, to guide him—the one who bears my sin."

"Guide him to ruin, or guide him to glory—it matters not. The game must be played."

Their body trembled—not from fear, for they could no longer feel that—but from the weight of fate forced upon them.

They understood.

They had become the Narrator, his herald.

His spy.

His slave.

And I would watch the Little Pride—Krael Maesta—descend into the spiral, led by my whispers.

Because in this realm of gods and madness... nothing was ever truly yours.

Not even your voice.

With that, my fleeting dreams faded, memories plunging so deep I could no longer care to reminisce, for they had long been gone—millennia, eons, epochs of transitioning observation and narration. One could say I was long broken, but I beg to differ. In front of him, your sanity, your insanity—they will always be pebbles lodged in the side of a mountain.

Since that moment, I embraced my duty, waiting for him to be born—and not only him. There were 'others,' but first, I needed to guide his 'Pride.'

What it meant had little or much to do with me, but the time was not yet. For now, I would observe the 'Vault'—the reward promised to him. In here, there were things that 'Little Pride' would find simply excellent and exciting... should he survive it all.

A winged creature made of flames of silver and bones of jade, or was it crystal, swam in the skies overhead, singing songs that cracked the sky, making it bleed with joy.

Naughty flowers would bloom with every drop that pooled from the cracked skies, creating scenes that would haunt the minds of elder gods. They would bathe in ichor and shed their skins to replace them with what they considered more beautiful.

The earth sang with its children as it feasted on the flesh it nurtured, only for it to be uprooted in another display of perversion. Many danced in mating rituals that were simply abhorrent, and minds would shiver in the savagery, and yet it was beautiful.

Cities built off the joy of many stood tall and shimmering in the light that filled every gap in the Vault's reality, like a loyal sentinel, a worm that overestimated its importance. With every breath, it would taunt those who took it in like a parasite, only to endure torturous humor that made it scream, adding to the ever-growing structures of the cities. A realm that held more madness than I could observe stood before me. And I had to be prepared before his time came.

In the land of flowing divinity and splendor, a realm teeming with life and paradoxical beings—a reality that should have been a prison to hold the most interesting of 'toys' he had come across—had transformed to become its sanctuary. Their power bled into one another to create... well, whatever would be born from the bleeding might of those deemed worthy of 'his' attention.

Reality had been reshaped to accommodate everything inside this seemingly endless paradise—lands of gold, light brighter than creation, warmth so enticing it could only be second to that of a mother's womb. Creatures frolicked as if their roots were not from origins so sinister that creation had once cast them out.

The beings imprisoned here had mingled on more than one occasion. Like, who could blame them? That's all they had in this glorified prison—seeking pleasure from one another was not strange, and it had led to surprising results.

Oh, how excited I am to take you around this world, as we explore the mysteries of this reality... and trust me when I say, things will forever be more interesting. Somehow, the prisoners had found ways to bleed their nature into true reality. They thought themselves smart, but all I saw was the amused smile on his broken face.

And I see more truly than anyone who was and will ever be.