An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

The twins did not even realize that their mother had died; her body lay on the cold stone as the only life left within her was to keep her blood alive long enough for their awakenings to be completed. Lost as they were within the inheritance of their bloodline, there was still an unspoken void that seeped into their hearts even within their legacies; a weight of loss wove itself within their hearts, suffocating them in ways they could not tell. It was unnoticed yet inescapable: confusion was the only answer they would ever get until the moment they woke up from the legacy rights.

The first of the two was a young girl, thirteen years of age. Her body was tender, her features already promising beauty that would surpass even that of her mother. Her hair shimmered like clouds, gold so pale it seemed almost white, ethereal rather than real. Her skin bore the warmth of jade, as though concealing a hidden flame. Her eyes remained closed in serene concentration, her breathing even and steady, revealing little to the naked eye.

Beneath her eyes, a symbol resembling flames slowly began to blaze brighter with each passing moment—a mark she had inherited from her mother. And yet, as the minutes etched themselves in the wheel of time, they began to cover her body in marks of dominance, and her aura grew more profound.

Her beauty grew more enchanting with each breath, but clinging faintly to her form was a crimson wraith, a creeping presence that seemed to feed on every breath taken by the other child lying beside her.

Yet, even the mighty Astrel remained unaware of the unfathomable phenomenon taking place before him. His vast wisdom and knowledge might as well have been useless before the mysteries here.

The pool of blood at their feet rippled with an ancient rhythm, pulsing mysteriously as it seeped into their skin. It oscillated between the two children, bridging them in ways Astrel could neither explain nor understand.

Twins were a rarity in the world of the mighty, but the circumstances surrounding these two were beyond comprehension.

Though they shared the same mother, their fathers were as different as night and day. Born from the same womb yet sired by different progenitors, their existence defied logic.

That alone explained the stark contrast between them.

The other child was a boy, similar in age but noticeably leaner. His frame appeared sickly, his bones sharp beneath his skin, as if something unseen gnawed at him from within. Yet, in stark contrast to his sister, his aura held a stability that she lacked.

His hair bore a deeper shade of gold, molten like his mother's, yet crimson streaks were beginning to stain it, growing more visible by the second.

His presence exuded an unsettling depth, and Astrel struggled to decipher what he was witnessing.

He had always known that their bloodlines were potent, but when fused with the might of the imperial lineage, not even their ancestors could predict the outcome. And now, before him were two children with more power than they could possibly wield—and yet, what he sensed within them did not fill him with pride for his kin.

Instead, a cold dread began to seep into his jade heart.

A heart that had never been meant to feel anything. A heart meant to be as clear as jade, as hard as precious stone, as immovable as a mountain within.

Yet, in the brief moments since he had met his sister again, Astrel had felt more than he had in his entire lifetime.

But his worries had nothing to do with the children themselves.

Aeris, the boy of the two, stood now within the void of his legacy world—and it was nothing like what he had expected. He had envisioned his legacy realm to be something that had an aura of his mother, as bright as the skies they never got to breathe under; her light shone on them from the moment they were born, and he had expected that when the time came, he would find a realm of gold, like his mother's hair, jade like her skin, warm like her love, and soft and sweet as her voice, a light filled with her splendor. That was all he was expecting, but coming here, he found something else, something he had not prepared for.

What stretched before him was a stretch of unfathomable aura, a domain filled with a wrath he could feel coil around his soul, constricting him in fury that resonated with the pain that he had felt, seep into his heart, and the weight of loss that he could not name.

It resonated with the wrath, and he felt that his soul might just shatter beneath it. An unease settled on his mind, and he could not want to finish all this faster and see what was making him feel so restless.

He stood in the depths of his subconscious, within a realm so sacred it was reserved only for those who walked the path. He was not yet a walker; he was merely awakening his legacy, still to choose his path. But deep down, he already felt the pull of destiny.

Aeris Light would awaken his legacy and become the Honored of Blood and Jade.

His mental space stretched out like a world drowned in crimson mist. It was not the red of flames nor the red of clayborn ichor. It was something older, something he could not yet name.

But instinct told him that, once he found his gate, he would understand.

Peering through the swirling crimson, he finally caught sight of what awaited him—and could scarcely believe he had failed to notice something so monumental.

Before him stretched a colossal pair of wings, far beyond any scale of measure.

They shimmered gold, laced with shadowed darkness and a crimson so deep it bled into the void itself. The wings radiated a stunning contrast of black gold and red, a beauty untethered by the limits of imagination.

Upon them were scripts etched in an ancient tongue, their meaning older than time itself, yet they pulsed with the authority to rewrite reality.

The feathers, sharp as swords, gave the illusion of blades stacked atop one another. And yet, upon closer inspection, their craftsmanship revealed they were forged not only for battle but for awe.

Beneath the wings lay a weapon—a broken thing, indescribable yet resembling a shattered star. Its fragments shimmered with untold power.

As Aeris laid eyes upon it, the crimson clouds began to shift, and the battlefield of his soul awoke.

Trumpets of war blared. The chant of legions echoed, vast enough to shake the divine. Cries of rage, sorrow, and victory clashed as the sound of blades and torn flesh drowned all reason. Madness threatened to consume him—and yet, he reveled in it.

He felt the chill that represented a mind far gone in the lust of madness, a mind steeped in so much lunacy and delirium that inhibitions were lost to the waves of malevolence that was born of ruin. And he felt... so damn good!

And then, at the center of it all, stood a figure. The one who had been waiting for him.

The being stood motionless, eyes closed in eternal slumber. His features blurred, unknowable.

But his hair—his hair roared like the wrath of the heavens, a cascade of gold streaked with crimson so fierce it threatened to consume the light. Harmony and chaos intertwined.

His skin was an ashen gray, so pale it could be mistaken for marble. Scars marred every inch of his body, so numerous they formed a second skin.

He stood bare, unashamed, his muscles honed to divine perfection, yet inconspicuous before the vastness of the scythe upon which he stood.

That scythe dwarfed even his existence; his entire form could have fit beneath a single feather of the colossal wings above.

The cries of war sounded like worship in the background, a hymn to this being. A throne made of the skulls and entrails of his enemies seemed to take shape beneath him. But it would never form, for it felt... unworthy...

Aeris's mind quaked at the sight. Nothing matched the stories his mother had told him. Even the fabled gates she described from the stories she said her parents had told her did not compare to what lay before him.

Until, finally, he looked further and saw them.

The gates of his legacies.

Symbols of the power coursing through his bloodline, they called out to him, crying out to him to save them, weeping in betrayal of their progeny. They should have stood tall and proud—but now they lay shattered, their ruin an omen of the trials and the secrets his destiny held: fractured legacies, broken lineage, ruined bloodlines. It felt like a challenge from the unknown that represented his legacy now. What would come of this? What would be the tribulation he would face for this sacrilege? He did not know, but he had a feeling that bloomed within, that he would be more excited than he would be scared for his life.

The two gates stood broken below him.

One once blazed fiercely in molten gold and flame, desperate to shine, but now there were just bits and pieces of it suppressed by the crimson mist.

The other, a gate of jade, had once pulsed with an unbearable force but now was a mere memory of what was once mighty. An image had lain within, one Aeris could not recognize, and its oppressive power nearly drove him to scream, but even it was nothing before the might of the horror above.

Both gates lay in ruins. A tale of blood and jade...

No legend spoke of legacy gates being broken. And yet here they were, in tatters, shattered by a force beyond comprehension.

Aeris should have panicked. His legacies were destroyed before he could even understand them.

Yet something within him whispered of a power even greater awaiting him beyond the ruin.

The mist shifted, the sounds of war fell silent—and then one word roared through the void, shaking his soul:

WAR.

The echoes screamed in unison:

"Herald of War, take up your mantle. Take your place as the Scythe of the First Blood of the Entrenched and the Mystified. Accept your legacy—Herald of War. Bloodline of Undoing."