An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the empty hall as Romeon was led behind the Duke, his head focused on the broad back before him, as his heart, though conflicted, lamented just how much he adored the man. The way the Duke carried himself with grace and power was something that had compelled him even back then to accept the Duke's proposal, not that he would have refused. But because of that, the Duke probably gave him the chance to have a choice; there was always going to be a difference between a willing heart and one that was not.

The Duke held a lamp that glowed with a soft, commanding light; his steps were heavy yet gentle, his gait sharp and unyielding, this was a man who had been the lofty mountain he had always chased after...but at the moment Romeon was not quite so sure anymore.

Upon closer inspection, one could see faint flickers of light dancing within the lamp, like tiny stars imprisoned in the confines of the lantern—gentle and subdued, yet dazzling despite their weakness.

The Duke held it aloft as he descended the stairs that had at one point suddenly appeared before them, moving carefully with practiced grace. And yet, for all his poise, there was something unsure in his gait. His presence had shifted, if not so slightly that Romeon even with his sharp instincts, would have never managed to pick out the difference.

Romeon glanced at the lamp more than once, his brows furrowing each time.

There were moments when the lamp's light would dim so drastically it became difficult to see, only for the Duke to give it a subtle shake, which would reignite its glow with fervent brilliance.

Each time, the delicate sound of glass clinking echoed from within the lamp—musical, even sweet—but that was not what held Romeon's attention.

It was the other sound—faint screams, barely audible, drifting from within the lamp; they sounded pained, sorrowful perhaps, maybe despairing. The difference between the lines was so blurred that it caused his mind to shake a little. And just when he felt on the verge of understanding them, they would vanish like smoke in the wind.

"Where are we headed?" Romeon asked, despite his instincts screaming in protest.

"Oh? I thought you'd never ask," the Duke chuckled, sounding amused.

"I'm taking you to see what it truly means to be a Walker—and what our world really is."

"Words may carry much weight, but I've always believed that if you have time to speak, then perhaps the horrors that come with the darkness have never truly touched you."

"We may harness reality and bend it beyond mortal comprehension, but that does not make us immune to death's grasp."

"If one can act, then speaking is a waste of precious life."

"Ironic, isn't it?" he added with a smirk. "I speak so much, yet I advise you to speak less and act more."

"But that's the way of the world, isn't it? What would existence be without a touch of hypocrisy laced into all our actions?"

This time, especially with the last statement he made, it felt less like the Duke was speaking to Romeon and more like he was talking to himself.

The Duke never once looked back, yet Romeon knew he was being observed—closely, he mused why the Duke was so interested in him; he had always been wary of the Duke's true intentions for him, back then and now, the moment where he would gain his answers looked so close by.

The rest of the journey was walked in silence, Romeon's eyes taking in the sparse sights afforded by the flickering lamp.

This passage was unlike the route they had taken to enter the underground cathedral—vague and surreal. Romeon could barely recall any of it.

Every attempt to remember sent his mind spiraling, as if something within him fought back, unwilling to expose him to a truth he was not yet ready to face. Maybe his instincts were protecting him... but he hated it. It felt like his body was no longer his own, and that grated on his pride. Being handheld was probably one of the worst feelings a man could ever go through, among the many things that wounded the pride of men out there.

The surroundings, as far as the lamp revealed, were carved from dark stone, exuding a grim, oppressive atmosphere. There was no chill to raise goosebumps on the skin, but still, his teeth ached, and his chest felt heavy with a misshapen dread, yet the scripts etched on his skin glowed in the darkness; there was a faint heat that spread along his skin, the further they descended.

The descent was long, and at intervals, Romeon thought he saw tongues of flame licking the walls. But each time he turned to look, they vanished without a trace; accompanying this were the sounds of girlish giggles that tickled his ears, causing him to flinch on more than one occasion.

But when he looked to see whether the Duke was experiencing the same, all he would see was the same indifferent back strutting forward.

The only constant sound was the echo of their boots on the steps and the faint chime of glass within the Duke's lantern.

Romeon wondered why the Duke even needed a lamp at all; to insist on using something this inefficient, there were other ways to gain better lighting, no matter how obsessed he may have been with the lamp's craft. Torches could have easily been lit—but in all his years within the Iron Fortress, he had never seen a single flame flicker within its walls.

He would have liked to say that they may have been heretics before; for a family of nobles that were given power by the blood of the Eternal Flame, to disallow its use within their walls was probably insulting in more than many ways.

Yet after that awakening ceremony, he had confirmed some things all on his own, and he did not dare to have any further thoughts on the topic.

No fire was ever allowed within the iron fortress of a castle. Things could never have been simpler than that.

And that, more than anything, deepened the mystery surrounding the Duke, and if his guesses were right, then he was going to see more into the world of the Duke, and while this should have rightfully made him wary of the Duke, he was confident that in the end, despite all that would come his way, he would always be the one to come out on top.

"Watch your step, little Romeon," the Duke said suddenly, startling him.

"We've arrived."

"But I must warn you," he added, his voice grave. "What you're about to see demands a resilient mind. Fail to withstand it..."

A pause that stretched on for far longer than it should have.

"...and you'll prove unworthy of my daughter, no matter how much merit you've earned for the chance to marry her."

There was nothing overtly cruel in the Duke's words; in fact, one could say that they were rightfully said—but something about them twisted in Romeon's chest. His fist clenched. His eyes quivered. His lips pressed into a thin line.

Still, he moved as though unaffected, forcing calm into every step.

But the Duke noticed. The unseen smirk at the corner of his lips and the brief sneer flashing in his eyes revealed as much, probably much more than what should have been revealed.

Romeon remained unaware.

They came to a halt. The Duke raised the back of his hand, signaling him to stop.

And Romeon finally saw it.

What the Duke had meant. What it truly meant to be a Walker. He did not really understand what he was seeing, but that did not mean that nothing within was of the same mind.

Ichor, the color of tarnished gold, spilled from Romeon's eyes, trailing down his cheeks with a feeling of sorrow too deep for even the Duke to comprehend.

Tears of blood.

His blood...

The Duke had expected a reaction—shock, madness, denial—but this... this sorrowful silence was something else entirely.

Romeon stared ahead, unblinking.

The world around him blurred into meaningless shapes. His heart boiled. His stomach churned. His thoughts trembled.

A pain that did not belong to him clawed at his chest.

His instincts stilled. His mind quieted. His soul shivered. A past called out to him, wailing in the river of time.

And yet, outwardly—nothing.

Only the golden ichor tracing his face marked the rupture within, making him look like a tragic god confronted with truth.

The Duke observed closely, but what he hoped to see was absent.

The boy had always been a mystery—ever since the day he found him. He could not explain why he had taken him in, only that some unknown pull had guided him.

He thought his curiosity would end once the boy awakened—but it only deepened.

He had waited long enough. He had hoped if not the awakening, then maybe his daughter, and if even that failed to give him the answers he needed, then this would be the answer.

But now, all he had were more questions.

These are questions he would do anything to have answered.