An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

And so, it led to the situation that Miranda had rushed to.

Kyrios stood by the window, struggling to rein in his raging fury at the behest of his Lord. Even when he felt her presence enter the room, he did not move—for he dared not set his eyes upon her, fearing what he might do in a fit of impulsive rage.

So he cooled his wrath, staring out the window, thinking more of his Lord than of the reckless thoughts that could consume him. He never once looked at his sons, who sat happily in the lap of his Lord. Though he had come to accept them as seeds of his bloodline, it did not lessen the fact that they were a stain upon his honour as a man. They were the result of something he would rather forget, and so he refused to lay eyes upon them.

It helped that they, too, were occupied by his Lord, for they would have seen the hatred in their father's gaze, and he would rather not begin their delicate relationship on such a foundation.

"You see, Mother? I told you that Father is awake."

The young girl in Miranda's arms spoke carelessly, unaware of the tension suffocating the room.

Miranda was still reeling, struggling to process everything that had unravelled since the break of day. She barely registered what her daughter had said, nor did she react when the girl leaped from her arms, running towards the very thing that filled her with fear. Like a lamb before a tiger's den, blissfully unaware of the monsters that lurked within.

Miranda almost screamed in panic, almost rushed forward to stop the girl—but before she could take a single step, a force wrapped around her frail form. It caressed every inch of her body in a sickening embrace, twisting her fear into something far greater than anything she had ever known.

"Shhh…"

A voice slithered into her mind, like a serpent whispering secrets in the dark, silencing her attempts to move.

"Don't do something that would make me regret my mercy..."

Her body trembled to its core. The words were strangely sweet—sickeningly so—yet they introduced her to a new level of fear. And that was when she realized just who the 'uncle' her daughter spoke of truly was.

Her knees gave out. She collapsed onto the floor, her wide eyes unfocused, her pupils trembling uncontrollably.

By this time, the girl had reached her destination, skipping across the wooden floorboards in joyful abandon.

"Father… Father…!" she called repeatedly.

The man in question remained motionless, his back still turned toward her.

Undeterred, the girl leaped into the air, arms outstretched to grasp him.

In a swift motion, he turned and caught her before she could hurt herself.

"Why…?"

Aeris was momentarily stunned by her brazenness, his sharp eyes dilating in subtle panic as he scanned her for any wounds.

But the girl only giggled in merriment, oblivious to the turmoil she had caused.

Aeris exhaled, letting go of his thoughts, embarrassed by his reaction. He had been ready to alienate himself from his children—to leave them to the mercy of reality. He would not kill them, but looking at them would only remind him of how they had come to be. And so, he did not want to be in their lives.

And yet, his daughter's mischief had made him worry as though she had been lost in the midst of war.

Desperate for distraction, he spoke.

"What is your name, young one?"

His eyes flickered with something imperceptible.

The girl's golden-grey eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"My name is Estrel. What is your name, Father?"

Kyrios—no, Aeris—was momentarily lost in thought.

No one had ever asked him for his name. Not in his first life, nor in his second. His Lord had always known it, and his twelve siblings had received their names from him so there was never a need for anyone else to ask for his name, and it was quite hard for their enemies to start asking questions like that when they were being slaughtered for their blood.

"Well, your father here is called Aeris of Blood, Jade, and Wrathful Conquest."

He rolled the word 'Father' on his tongue, finding himself less averse to it than he had imagined.

And it helped that they looked nothing like their mother. Otherwise, he doubted he wouldn't gut his own children right then and there.

"And that means you are Estrel of Blood, Jade, and Light—until otherwise."

His voice carried a mock anger, but the girl only grinned, clinging to his neck as she admired his face.

"You are too beautiful, Father," she murmured in awe.

Aeris faltered. He had never been complimented before—not in any of his lives.

In his first, there had been no time for their enemies to admire beauty. Blood and grime had concealed any such thing. And in this life, though imperial blood ran through his veins, the empire loathed him more than they hated the darkness that took the lives of its people I savage fury, he had come to admire on many occasions.

In the annals of history, he was horror incarnate.

Astrea was the way it was because of him and his sister.

But this was neither the time nor place to reminisce about the past.

A faint heat rushed to his sharp, chiselled cheeks.

"Alright, let's go meet your siblings, little one."

His gaze shifted away, but his grip on her remained firm. Kyrios moved forward, stepping past Miranda's slumped form without sparing her a glance, as if she existed on a different plane of reality altogether.

With Estrel clinging to his neck, he approached the one place that seemed entirely detached from the rest of the world. And there, at the heart of it all, sat the object of his devotion.

His Lord. His Madness. His Desire.

On His lap sat Kyrios' two sons, their presence eerily silent under their father's gaze.

Lowering his eight-foot stature to meet them at eye level, Kyrios still found them forced to tilt their heads to look at him, so he descended further. Estrel shifted in his arms, adjusting to find a more comfortable position.

He dared not look upon the face of the being before him—not out of disrespect, but because he lacked the courage. He feared what he might see in those eyes. And so, he kept his gaze lowered, carefully setting Estrel down before turning to his sons.

The tension between them was palpable, their expressions complicated, hesitant.

But the younger of the two was less burdened by hesitation. His voice rang out, breaking the silence.

"Hello, Father."