An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

It was just after Krael had finished cleaning himself up, just fresh out of the expensive waters that were mysteriously always warm and ready for him, that he found himself mysteriously and suddenly standing in an expansive and seemingly barren field. The ground was dry, cracked, and broken, the result of years of neglect and a lack of proper care. Even weeds did not grow here, as the conditions were too brutal for it to support life.

He could feel the sorrow that drenched the land weaving itself through every single grain and kernel of dirt that made up his field; stones wrecked the land like cancerous growths that would just not heal, and one could feel the frustration the land carried within itself. It cried out to the world and any that would hear it for the healing it so desperately needed. But the cosmos refused to answer. Eons passed, and the land remained unchanged—silent, forsaken, beaten, and dishonored from doing what it was meant to from beginning to end.

And just when it seemed that the land would finally die, crumbling from the weight of having no purpose to its nature, a battle erupted that would change its fate forever.

Like nourishing rain, the blood of two beings locked in fierce combat spilled upon the land in torrents beyond measure, and like a man dying from thirst, the land released a moan of pleasure so intense, Krael could feel its joy even from where he watched unseen.

Pieces of their bones and flesh fell onto the barren earth like stars radiating a might that was simply beyond perception and mortal comprehension, and the ground trembled beneath the weight of what it received. Power, unlike anything it had ever known, was born within it, faint like a fetus, strange and pure for all intents and purposes. And for the first time in what could have been the longest history, life stirred upon the barren land—though even that would take years to truly emerge, blooming in splendor with the anticipation of the land that bore it.

The life that grew was fragile and tender, and the land did all it could to protect it. With all the love it could afford, the land nurtured this life in earnest—with the blood of entities that even now, Krael could not begin to imagine, his mind could not even begin to compute just what those beings were.

All he had been allowed to see—by whoever had granted him this vision—was the revelation that great blood had once been shed upon this land.

'Time' passed. She—whoever "she" was—pulled the chains of eternity across the long journey she had chosen for herself, never resting, never ceasing, always relentless in her sworn duty; her pain meant nothing in the face of duty... and the burden of Time was 'her', and 'she' was it...

Life was finally born. But unlike its predecessors—whatever forms they might have had—this life did not take their shape, nor did it carry the shadows of what they once were, born anew, taking on a form that was solely its own.

It appeared in the simplest of forms, a form that allowed itself to be trampled on by many, one that had lowered itself to become the mat that existence would step on: a single blade of grass. It had no clear color, and yet Krael could somehow perceive that this blade contained all the colors of existence. With each sway with the wind, it would change its skin, taking on a new color different from the last, as the other would not be seen again until the cycle ended and a new one took its place.

And despite all the time and care it had been given, only this single blade of grass grew from the enormous bundle of life that had been sparked within.

That's when the strangeness began.

The blade began to bond, seeking out the nature around it—with the land that had borne and nurtured it, using its cracked and hardened surface to shield it from the weathering of the elements.

It bonded with the warmth—the harsh light that scorched the land by day and shielded it from the night's bitter cold.

It danced with the wind, which taught it how to breathe.

It embraced time, the light of stars that sang it songs of serenity, never leaving it alone, the cover of darkness that allowed it room for thought and expression, and the very blood that had formed its delicate shell, giving it the embryo of life it needed.

A great many forces became fathers, mothers, and kin to this fragile life. And to this devotion, this singular blade of grass gave an opportunity that may have never happened before. These abstract concepts, which were unseen and mostly ethereal in their natures, were given a chance to have offspring—to walk the earth through the union with this singular blade of grass.

And life, for the first time, teemed like never before; the aura of vitality and life was so overpowering Krael wondered if he stood at the impetus of life, at the origin of all Creation.

But something within told him that this could not compare to the beauty of Creation, and yet all he felt within was a great distaste for Creation, for unlike this barren land, Creation had not suffered enough...

As for how and what was born of this union between grass and these abstract concepts, Krael had seen only one, yet still largely elusive.

A cinder spark—born of the blade of grass and the warmth of harsh light.

What it meant or how it related to him, he did not know. But it left an unforgettable imprint in his thoughts, one that the others within found of great interest, mostly so the third and elusive third persona; a great excitement was lit within it.

Then reality snapped back.

He found himself naked, standing before the same mirror he had, for years, sworn to stop looking into—only to fail, spectacularly, every time. He did not seem to notice the ripple that formed on the large wall mirror; it rippled in a dimension he could not see with his eyes, and it would seem he had forgotten about something after he came back from the mindscape.

But today, the strangeness of things was evolving in ways he couldn't understand, each one bigger than the last; everything seemed to be snowballing into a great avalanche. And yet, the one clear thought that remained from the vision was his yearning to cultivate that barren land, call it a calling, a duty, or a profound intention whispered by fate. He felt he could have done better—sown more, loved deeper. Perhaps he could have transformed it, made it bloom so abundantly that it would no longer weep in sorrow but rather struggle to keep up with the sheer life he could coax from it; With his hands he could have grown an entire forest teeming with so much life it would overflow.

No field, no stretch of land, no hill, or patch of fertile land had ever made him feel this way before; his own fire was lit, and soon it would grow into a blaze.

Every other he remembered now seemed like a cheap imitation of the one he had seen in the vision—even before its transformation. He could hardly wait to get out into the fields again. Perhaps he would be surprised by what he found; maybe he too would be able to remake the phenomena he had seen. He might not have blood or ichor at such pervasive magnitudes, but he could start small and see where it took him.

Looking at his body again, he felt something had changed. But like a word lost at the tip of the tongue, he couldn't quite grasp what it was.

He roamed his hands over his form, trying to uncover the difference, but all appeared as it always had, looking to the mirror for answers but to no avail. Eventually, he gave up, telling himself that everything was normal.

In his bedchamber, an outfit had been laid out for him—most likely by Adler. It was the usual attire he wore while staying home.

But he would not wear it today.

Today, he wanted to get out into the field. Yet, oddly, nothing in his closet seemed right.

He searched, but whatever he was looking for was elusive.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt the urge to spend his own money. Adler had always handled everything before Krael even realized he needed it. But today, something had shifted. Ever since last night, he felt like taking the reins to his life more and more, and in time, it would grow all the more powerful, and soon even gods would not be able to dictate his life.

Today, he wanted to go shopping.

It was a notion that his brooding self could never have imagined. And yet here he was—excited, even—at the idea of trying on garments the way noble ladies did, spinning through endless options, perhaps finding something that matched the strange newness he felt inside.