An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

Back in the present, the underground chamber was just as alive as it had ever been. The signs of a ceremony that had looked more like the work of an occult group painted the once pristine walls of the count's chambers in blood and sigils, painted upon all the walls, releasing an aura that would put mortals in a lull of madness, drenching them in horror of the things the light of creation kept at bay.

The atmosphere was eerie and nondescript; the hooded priest added more to the atmosphere with his heavenly presence.

Krael stood with a sharpness that betrayed a man who had come to terms with his reality. He now stood with the poise of a man who had withstood the delusions of a mind far gone in its fantasies. His eyes now held a clarity they had never possessed before, a firmness that showed maturity rare in people of his age. And for the first time, Krael wore a smile—one free from the schemes and shadows that usually lurked behind it.

Adler remained kneeling beside the Count, head bowed. He tried to speak, but no sound came. A mysterious power had long silenced him. He had opened his mouth to form words, yet his voice was… gone. Still, sensing the intent behind the force that took it, he didn't panic. Instead, he remained silent. The aura around him was gentle and contented, this version of the Count was one he was pleased with, and now he was ready to give the Count everything that he was.

To be truly devoted to the young young master in everything that he was. He might have been loyal before, but at this moment, he had no doubts, his mind was at peace, and that made him happier than anyone in the room could imagine. For while the Count had found his answers, the Count's awareness had also given him the anchor he needed.

Krael's gaze, on the other hand, was fixed on the girl. He simply ignored the presence of the butler; even as he knelt beside him, the count's whole attention was on the girl alone. Her eyes were closed, seated upon a makeshift throne that had somehow lost its power and radiance in the wake of the girls' awakening. The throne's luster had faded, its ancient glow extinguished. The chamber around them was crumbling, pieces of ritual and ruin falling away as the rite reached its end.

Yet the structure above remained sacrosanct; this sight seemed to send a message that nothing would be allowed to slight the sanctity of the Queen.

Then, as if lifted by the force now thrumming in her blood, blood that had long shed its mortal roots, to transform into something that would withstand the test of time and the weight of madness. The little girl began to float above the throne—just as it crumbled to ash beneath her.

The ground and the air around her rumbled with might and ancientness that awoke something within the Count, the reason for his curiosity.

The blood that had once concealed her features began to burn with an unseen flame. It flaked away like dust, carried on a breeze that came from the wings of the priest—even though they did not move.

Her body was bare; the rags had long been burnt within the power of her awakening, exposed to the light—until a strange silver-grey radiance began to emanate from within her. It cloaked her form in majesty, not of cloth, but of essence—an aura born of one who had conquered, protecting her modesty.

At that moment, the girl looked like a star descended upon the mortal plane.

The air around her shifted. No longer ordinary—it had transcended. Krael, for once, did not feel inferior. Instead, he believed that his awakening would be even more spectacular. She may have reached that realm before him, like many others their age who had already awakened—but he would not falter. When his time came, he knew the foundations of Astrea would tremble beneath his power.

That he was confident and no matter what would happen, he was sure he would be the person he wanted to be and not one that the thought would dictate.

The girl's features began to change.

Hair that had once been a dull, lifeless brown—greyed from malnutrition and hardship—transformed into ethereal strands of obsidian silver. It was darker than it was bright, yet it still shone, radiant and strange.

Her skin turned alien, like polished bone-silver. Strange glowing scripts began to appear, etching themselves across her body in radiant starlight.

Her hair began to sing—not in any known tongue, but in names that failed to manifest. As if reality had forgotten them. They sang in honor of the maiden who now carried the weight of their memories, the burden of their insanity, and the remnants of their forsaken power.

The power that radiated from her was immense and boundless—yet so subtle, it felt as if she were still mortal. But she wasn't. Not anymore.

She had taken the first step off the path of mortality.

Then, her eyes opened.

Twin voids of silver—so dark they bordered on black. There was an emptiness within them, vast and ancient. Yet deep inside, a spark burned. A spark that spoke of change.

Monumental change.

The emptiness was no longer hollow.

Now, there was something there. Something Krael recognized.

Just as he had, she had found herself.

Was he surprised at how much she seemed to resemble him? Absolutely. Did he question why a girl—who had once been a mere peasant—now stood suspended in the air, like a goddess, as reality itself was torn and burned at its seams? Of course... Was he worried about what it now meant for him, about what he would do with this girl who had proved to be far more than he had ever imagined? Yes...And did he question what hand the entity had played in all of this, whispering behind the veil of fate, nudging threads where no hands should ever touch? Twisting destiny as though she were a pawn under his all-reaching hand! Undeniably...

The answer to all these questions was yes... But the thing was, when a person underwent a fundamental shift in perception—when the very architecture of their mind was rewritten—then the way they approached the world would also change.

So instead of spiraling into fear, anxiety, or anger, he chose to take everything in stride. Because time was still moving, and time always spoke the truth, even if it whispered it slowly. With enough of it, he knew he would understand. He would see what this all meant—what she was, who he was, and how the puzzle pieces would fall into place.

For the first time in an age, the crushing weight of existence no longer pressed down on him. He was no longer the sole bearer of fate, no longer a creature imprisoned by expectations of the mysterious entity, power, or preordained roles. The future was no longer a burden; it was a mystery—one he could and would explore.

And what he wanted now was not control. Not vengeance. Not even understanding. He wanted a path—his path. A way to exist in this changing world that he could call his, not forged by the hands of gods, monsters, or ancient entities, but by his own choices.

"Father...!" The word pierced through his thoughts like a jolt of divine lightning.

He turned, slowly, eyes wide—not in fear, but in something more fragile: disbelief... What was happening? Why in the ten hells would she call him that? But hidden within a place he could not yet name, a joy bloomed; he did not feel it, he did not know of it, but it was there nonetheless.

She had called him something he had never expected to hear. Not at his age. Not in this life. Not with all that he had yet to do; he was just a sixteen-year-old man. How the hell did he become someone's father?

And yet, here it was. A single word that broke through centuries of solitude, guilt, and silence that was not his own—it felt like he had a life before this, and its echoes were reaching out to him, taking over his mind for the briefest of moments.

He didn't speak—not immediately. He simply looked at her, the girl floating like a vision between what was real and what was impossible, and for a moment... he smiled.

It was not a smile of triumph or pride. It was quiet. Gentle. Wistful.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this was the beginning of something greater than any legacy he had ever envisioned. Not a continuation of his past... But the start of something entirely new...

But soon, the feeling vanished, and now there was only a Count that was confused....

What was happening? He felt his mind blank for a moment, and there was that feeling of warmth and the weight of time once again...

Everything felt disconnected, and for a moment he did not know how to deal with it all until he decided he would not. This was part of the things he did not understand, so he would leave it all to time.