SINS OF THE FATHER,
BLADE OF THE SON
A Divergence Narrative
Secret World Legends — Custom World Arc
Aeolian · Chnoph · Agora · Brightburn · Kealo · Tristan
BIG APPLE
✦ ✦ ✦
As I stepped cautiously through the ruin-strewn streets, the devastation sprawled out for countless blocks in every direction that I could see. I forced down the bubbling anxiety of my situation with an iron will, cultivated over the years. Pressing the collar of my leather jacket upward to block my face from some of the swirling dust that threatened to coat my lungs, I pressed forward.
The city was a graveyard of twisted steel and shattered glass, skyscrapers looking like gravestones against an overcast sky. Flickering neon signs cast a sickly glow over the cracked pavement, their messages of past prosperity now taunting echoes in the void. Pools of inky black ichor stained the concrete, remnants of some unnatural horror that had clawed its way through the streets.
Ahead, grotesque tendrils of an eldritch monstrosity sprawled across the cityscape, pulsating as though breathing with a life of their own. The creature, an unholy fusion of shadow and nightmare, loomed over the ruins, its mass distorting the air with an unnatural hum. Survivors gathered in hesitant clusters, their weapons clenched in white-knuckled grips, eyes darting between each other and the abyssal horror that had claimed this place.
A distant explosion sent tremors through the asphalt beneath me. I could hear the faint echoes of gunfire and the guttural screams of something not entirely human. I wasn't alone in this fight.
I tightened my grip on my weapon. The time for hesitation had passed—only resolve remained.
[ T-MINUS: 10 MINUTES ]
The towering eldritch abomination stood before us, its gaping maw towering stories above us. Its grossly slick skin, black as pitch and leathery in appearance like an eel, stood like a wall. Its countless tendrils seemed to erupt from underneath the earth where it stood, its 'bottom half' lost somewhere in the twisted stone of the subterranean abyss that it had torn free from, or perhaps it sat amidst a dark vortex of coalescing arcana that led to its actual dimension. Regardless, the nature of the beast was of no matter; what mattered was that we strike it down before it caused any more mayhem.
With Agora standing side by side with Kealo and Brightburn, my headstrong will propelled me to the forefront of the charge, my blade held aloft as I faced the beast head-on, with Chnoph standing ready, his fingers glowing with a pale luminescent light, the old mafioso strangely enough dedicated to the healing arts.
As it howled a horrifying cacophony, a screech comprised of thick, wet sounds from the depths of its throat, accompanied by a horrid wrenching noise not unlike the gears of a clocktower coming to an immediate and destructive halt by the addition of a wrench, the group stood tall and charged toward the behemoth that practically filled the sky before them.
It thrashed around wildly and seemingly unintelligibly: it seemed to crave only aggression and destruction, hurling out at anything near it without volition, be it person or building. This made it no less of a danger as the group approached, its massive appendages heaving chunks of stone and vehicles as it flung them with careless abandon, while its 'arms' moved like iron whips with such velocity that they seemed to cause a brief 'boom' as the air displaced, and its hammering flails tore through the surrounding buildings as if it were a sword slicing through paper.
A dark resonance of whispering seemed to rise from below us, from a manifestation of a stygian darkness that appeared to be composed of the same slick, dark material as the creature itself. As I forged ahead, each step a defiance against the encroaching darkness, I drew the creature's gaze upon myself. With skill and determination, I maneuvered through the swirling abyssal tendrils, ensuring they did not ensnare me completely, while Kealo and Agora assaulted the creature from my flanks with a hail of arcana-infused artillery. Brightburn was delivering his own ferocious assault, positioned opposite me, attempting to divert the creature's attention between us, with Chnoph making his efforts, between evasive maneuvers, to curtail the damage from the wailing tentacles of the eldritch creature that nearly enveloped us.
AEOLIAN
Part I
✦ ✦ ✦
I've spent the last fourteen years leading up to this moment, tracking down the remnants of my ancestry. Born in Bhopal, the capital of Madhya Pradesh in the heart of India, to two rather unassuming parents, I've always felt removed from others. From the kids at school to the roommates I had during my brief time in university, I've never felt a truly personal connection with anyone that's kept me around for very long.
I love my parents dearly, don't get me wrong, but I've always felt there was something off about them too: nothing malicious or worrisome, just an aura of difference. Like we were in some way markedly different from the rest of our neighbors and others in the city of lakes, yet as far as I could tell, it was something only I ever seemed to notice. My parents kept to themselves fairly well, operating a small shop where they carved intricate wooden figures for interested customers and tourists alike, relying on a hired hand while preferring to stay in the back with their carvings.
I grew to believe this innate feeling of 'unbelonging' was something I had just created for myself in my head, and I spent an exhausting amount of effort during my teenage years trying to make up for it. It was around the time I left university, not more than a few months into my enrollment, that I decided to shed the exhausting façade of pretending to fit in and embrace that old feeling that had plagued me since childhood.
The time that had passed had done enough for my perspective, as well as meeting others well enough to make it to university and still lacked any personal connection with the lot of them, I had simply decided to embrace that feeling within. Heading back to my parents' home a few weeks early from break, I knew there was no chance I could come up with any sort of convenient lie to explain my presence.
I expected to be badgered for my sudden presence, or at the very least questioned why I was here instead of making the most of my scholarship and embracing university life. But my mother looked up at me with knowing eyes and a soft smile, making me feel as if she had already known, perhaps even expected it.
I sat across from the small knee-high table where she spent most of her day carving, polished figures standing ready on either side of us, awaiting a final coat of varnish before they were ready for display. My parents had been elderly even when I was young: sitting so close to her after being gone for so long, even if only for a few months, I began to see my mother in a different light. The sagging weight of her skin pulling down on either side of her eyes, the deepening ravine of wrinkles that had formed on her forehead over a decade ago now seemed to mark her age more readily, even from a distance.
As I thought these foolish thoughts about my aging mother, she looked at me curiously while smoothly moving her whittling knife in a rhythmic fashion down the side of the block of wood, still much too early in its carving to reveal what it would eventually become.
I looked around the shop, a sense of unease creeping over me. It had been nearly an hour since I arrived, yet my father was nowhere to be seen. Turning to my mother, I couldn't ignore the sadness in her eyes as she set aside the small block of wood and placed the knife atop it.
"Where is Father?" I asked, my voice tinged with concern.
My mother's smile was bittersweet as she looked away, her gaze fixed on the gathering birds outside the window.
"He has fallen unwell, Son, within the last few days," she said softly. "He... he has little time left in this world, and I fear I may not be far behind."
The news hit me like a blow, and I rose to my feet, my emotions swirling inside me.
"I must see him," I said firmly, desperation creeping into my tone.
But my mother shook her head, her expression grave.
"I'm afraid I can't allow that, Son," she said. "Your father wouldn't want you to see him like this. It's... something I can't explain."
Overwhelmed by a tumult of emotions, I struggled to find my voice. Eventually, I managed to speak, my words quiet and pleading. My mother's somber expression urged me to be strong for her sake, so I swallowed my own turmoil and listened as she explained that my father wasn't even here—his end had come suddenly, and there was no other way.
Sitting there in stunned silence, I watched as my mother rose and went to the mantel above the fireplace. She lifted a granite box with a carved lid, handling it delicately as she retrieved a flattened disc of gold and silver. The intricate pattern seemed to shift and change before my eyes, and my mother's words washed over me as she presented it to me.
"This was your father's father's," she said softly. "When this day was to come, I was to give you this. I do not know its significance, but your father asked me to accept it without question. Please forgive me."
As she returned to her seat, I took the disc in my hands, feeling the weight of generations resting upon me. Despite the confusion and uncertainty swirling around me, one thing was clear—my father had left me a legacy, and it was up to me to uncover its meaning.
I stood there, dumbfounded by what she had said and what she could have meant. Her eyes told me that she truly had nothing more to share regarding the object, aside from referring to it as an 'artifact,' and I could see that the sorrow of the situation lay just beneath her strained smile. Embracing my mother, holding her as if it were the last time we would ever meet, I soon departed from my family home. Not knowing where my father was, and having only this artifact, I decided that was where I would start my journey.
[ T-MINUS: 7 MINUTES ]
As the creature's stretched and damaged stygian skin finally began to show signs of wear from the continuous onslaught, the group started to gain a boost in morale. Many of us were strangers before today, none of us entirely 'committed' to each other, and yet in these moments of battle, our group synergy seemed nearly supernatural.
This cohesive unit was soon stressed with an endurance test: the eldritch abomination began conjuring skeletal creatures and animating stone, giving life to golems that started forming from the stygian pools just under our feet. As the groups of the conjured undead horde fell beneath the continuous assault of our group, I held the center, drawing the majority of the enemies' attention while Chnoph relieved me from injury nearly as quickly as I received it. But with the appearance of the towering Eldritch Guardians, we had to abandon our current strategy out of necessity.
With Chnoph and me still garnering the enemies' attention, using stacks of rubble and other obstructions for any slight relief of cover we could find, Agora and Brightburn continued their assault uninterrupted, the hail of arcana fire and bullets practically canvassing every space of open air. With Kealo strafing around the outskirts of the battle, attempting to draw attention from the Eldritch Guardians from time to time to give Chnoph and me a few moments to 'readjust' and continue, everyone had to continuously move backward, staying out of the constantly 'appearing' and 'reappearing' pools that the creature conjured beneath our feet.
With the movement constant, the violence frantic and without any signs of hesitation or pause on any combatant's side, it appeared as a macabre dance between the desperate heroes on the ground and this celestial devastation.
AEOLIAN
Part II
✦ ✦ ✦
It had been nearly seven months since I embarked on this journey, a journey that began in my humble neighborhood and gradually expanded to encompass much of Northern India. With limited resources, I frantically searched for any trace of my father, but deep down, I knew it was futile.
Then, word came from my mother—a cold confirmation of what I had feared. My father had passed away. Her voice trembled as she delivered the news, barely above a whisper, as if the weight of her words was too much to bear. She told me how my father had finally relented in his final days, able to send for her before he drew his last breath.
Numbness washed over me as I held the phone to my ear, listening to my mother's somber voice relay the final words of my father.
"If you find the truth of your ancestors, my ancestors," he said, his voice filled with solemnity, "then you'll understand... but this is not a fate I could impose upon you. Know that I loved you dearly, and it is out of love that I ask you to cease your search. The answers you seek may come at a great cost, a curse that cannot be undone."
With those words, my father passed into the next world, leaving behind a weight of responsibility and uncertainty. I thanked my mother for delivering the news, expressing my love for her and promising to be by her side soon.
I returned to my mother's side upon hearing of my father's passing, only to find her fading away from a broken heart herself.
As the news of my mother's passing sank in, grief consumed me like a raging inferno, leaving me hollow and adrift in a sea of sorrow. Every breath felt like a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the void left by her absence.
I stumbled through the days that followed, my mind clouded with memories of happier times spent with her. Her laughter echoed in my ears, taunting me with its absence, while the weight of her loss bore down on my shoulders like a leaden cloak.
I found myself unable to escape the overwhelming waves of sadness that crashed over me, leaving me gasping for air in their wake. Every corner of our home seemed to echo with her absence, amplifying the emptiness that now filled my heart.
In those moments of despair, I felt truly alone, as if the world had turned its back on me and left me to navigate the darkness alone. But even in the depths of my grief, I knew that her love would always be with me, a guiding light to lead me through the darkest of days.
In the midst of a dark and stormy August day, a priest attempted to console me as we mourned her loss. Living no more than three months beyond my father's mysterious departure, she left this world with a quiet grace, her heart simply giving out in her sleep.
Standing in the warm summer rain, surrounded by a few distant relatives and the solemn presence of the priest, I watched as they lowered my mother into the earth. With each passing moment, the weight of loneliness settled upon me, heavier than I had ever known.
Throughout my life, I had grown accustomed to feeling alienated by those around me, their sideways glances and uneasy demeanor serving as constant reminders of my own isolation. But now, as I faced the reality of being truly alone for the first time, I realized the depth of my mother's influence on my life.
As the realization washed over me like a cold wave, threatening to pull me under, I allowed myself to sob openly, my grief mingling with the raindrops that fell from the sky. In that moment, I mourned not only for my mother but also for the loss of the unwavering support and love she had always provided. In part for my father, I grieved for the absence of the man whose memory haunted me still.
His mysterious disappearance had haunted me for months, casting a shadow over my search for him. Now, with both my parents gone, the weight of their absence bore down on me like a crushing weight, threatening to suffocate me with its enormity.
Beside myself with grief, I remained in the familiar confines of my family home for what felt like an eternity, clinging to the memories of my parents like lifelines in a storm-tossed sea. In the quiet solitude of my father's study, surrounded by the comforting embrace of his belongings, I sought solace amidst the thickly bound tomes that lined the walls and the weathered chair that had cradled him for decades.
It was during one such night, as I lay in the darkness with my eyes closed, that a sudden sensation seized me, a choking grip that threatened to engulf me entirely.
In the stillness of the night, a tiny figure darted through the open window with blinding speed, its buzzing wings the only sound in the silence. Before I could react, it plunged into my open mouth, sending shockwaves of panic coursing through my body.
The thick darkness of my sleep was pierced by a relentless buzzing, a cacophony that echoed through the depths of my dreams. It was a sound so overwhelming, so all-encompassing, that I could scarcely believe it was real. And yet, there I lay, trapped in the suffocating embrace of the darkness, unable to move or speak.
The buzzing grew louder and more insistent, a relentless assault on my senses that threatened to drive me mad. I struggled against the oppressive weight of the darkness, but it held me fast in its grip, refusing to release me from its icy embrace.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the buzzing ceased, leaving me gasping for breath in the cold stillness of the dawn. As the first faint rays of light crept over the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, I blinked away the remnants of sleep and turned my gaze towards the desk where my father had kept his secrets.
There, in the dim light of morning, I saw them:
Two figures materialized before me, bathed in an ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from the very fabric of the universe. The woman, her features a mirror image of my mother's, stood with an otherworldly grace, her eyes filled with a profound sadness that pierced me to the core. Beside her, a man wearing my father's face lounged casually on the edge of the desk, his posture relaxed and his expression unreadable.
I gazed at them in stunned silence, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggled to comprehend the surreal scene unfolding before me. Their voices, soft and melodious, filled the room as they spoke in perfect harmony, their words intertwining like a haunting melody.
"Be mindful of the voices that come from the unseen, and that rise and ebb as one shall rest."
They then began to speak again at the same time; however, their voices and proclamations harshly contrasted each other compared to their harmonious beginning.
"Wary of the voices, for they shall only taunt and misguide you to misfortune, for they speak only in lies," the woman clothed in white said softly, with a sad look in her eye.
"Oi, listen well to the words of those unseen! They see the truth for what it is and as it shall truly come to be: they do not shade their truths with the light of judgment," the man said with a confident grin.
I gazed at the figures before me, my mind reeling with confusion and fear. Were they truly my parents, or were they something else entirely? Before I could make sense of it, they seemed to transform before my eyes, their forms dissolving into a swirling mass of bees.
Panic seized me as the buzzing grew louder, drowning out all other sounds. I tried to flee, to escape the nightmarish swarm that enveloped me, but it was futile. The bees engulfed me, their tiny bodies crawling over my skin, their buzzing filling my ears and clouding my vision.
With a desperate scream, I awoke, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. But the horror was far from over. A sickening sensation gripped my throat, as if something was crawling its way down into my stomach.
In a haze of terror and confusion, I stumbled to the bathroom, my hands trembling as I splashed cold water on my face. Yet even as I tried to calm myself, a strange energy pulsed through my veins, emanating from my hands like ethereal tendrils.
I watched in disbelief as the shimmering energy danced before me, its presence both mesmerizing and terrifying. What was happening to me? Was this some twisted trick of my imagination, or was it something more?
As I sat there, trying to make sense of the inexplicable, one thing became painfully obvious: my life would never be the same again.
The days passed in a blur, each one blending into the next as I grappled with the strange changes unfolding within me. Adrift and alone in a sea of uncertainty, I spent my days in isolation, wrestling with the strange abilities that seemed to have manifested within me.
And then, one day, a sudden knock echoed through the room, shattering the fragile peace of my solitude. My heart pounded in my throat as I hesitated, unsure of what lay on the other side. Peering through the crack in the door, my breath hitching as I beheld the figure standing on the other side: a man dressed in a suit much like the one worn by the mysterious entity from my nightmares, his features obscured by the dim light seeping through the doorway.
I hesitated, unsure of what to do, as the man spoke without preamble. His words pierced the air, striking straight to the troubled core of my being.
"You've recently awakened, haven't you?" he said, his tone leaving no room for response.
I nodded slowly, my mouth suddenly dry as I struggled to find my voice. Before I could voice my questions, the man continued, his words causing a cold shiver to run down my spine.
"I've come with an invitation to our order, the Templars," he said, his gaze unwavering. "We shall guide you when the time is right."
With trembling hands, I accepted the crimson business card he offered, my fingers brushing against the smooth surface as if it held the answers to all of my questions. He turned to leave, disappearing into the mist like a specter.
In my father's study, surrounded by the remnants of a life now gone, I sifted through old photographs and trinkets. Some photographs bore evidence of tampering, sections cut or blackened out in a bid to conceal secrets long buried. But amidst the shadows of the past, my attention was drawn to one photograph in particular—a man who bore a striking resemblance to me, standing proudly beside the iconic Statue of Liberty.
✦ ✦ ✦
Embarking on a voyage across the vast expanse of the ocean, I sought solace in the rhythmic sway of the boat and the boundless horizon stretching out before me. Wandering the bustling streets of Manhattan, I couldn't help but marvel at the stark contrast between the chaotic yet organized labyrinth of towering steel structures surrounding me and the serene landscapes of Madhya Pradesh that I once called home.
Wandering through the bustling streets, something caught my eye in the distance. A billboard loomed overhead, its flickering lights drawing my gaze like a moth to a flame. On the illuminated screen was a face that sent a shiver down my spine.
The face was eerily similar to my father's—those same angular features and piercing eyes, albeit weathered by time. Snapping back to reality, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins as I hastily jotted down the name and address of the business advertised on the billboard: 'Chnoph Holistic Remedies.'
Standing before the weathered door, I knocked. After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, revealing the face I had seen on billboards across the city. It was weathered and lined with age, but there was a kindness in the eyes that beckoned me forward.
"Are you a customer?" the voice asked, each word clipped and sharp. "Our services are by appointment only."
"Who sent you here, boy?" the voice continued, its tone softening with curiosity.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to reveal.
"No one sent me, sir," I began, my voice wavering with emotion. "My father passed away recently, back in India. After my parents' passing, I found this among his belongings."
With trembling hands, I pulled a faded photograph from my pocket and held it out for Chnoph to see. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes as he glanced at the photo, and I could see emotions swirling behind his gaze. Without a word, Chnoph stepped back from the door and unclasped the latch.
As I placed the silver-gold disc on the table, a sense of frustration began to build within me. For a long moment, he simply stared at the disc, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he returned his gaze to me, his eyes somber yet filled with recognition.
"So, there is no doubt—you are my kin," he finally said, his voice heavy with meaning.
[ T-MINUS: 4 MINUTES ]
As the group continued their relentless assault on the creature, time began to wear on us, revealing our fatigue. Our jumps became slower and sloppier, the hail of bullets finding less purchase than when the assault had begun, and the warriors defending the MEZ started to falter in their momentum.
I had to adjust my charge tactics, allowing the newcomers to gather the beast's attention while coordinating with Chnoph to ensure everyone was back in prime shape before leading the charge again. With Agora and Brightburn at my side, and Kealo poised to attack from the opposite direction to capitalize on our openings, the group pressed through the center of the conflict, heading straight toward the base of the Lurker.
I sank my blade hard into the creature's hide as Agora and Brightburn pulled back to their respective sides to assist in the frontal assault. The creature's attention quickly focused on us. As it reared back, tendrils of inky black darkness surrounded it and the three of us, with Chnoph standing ready with his healing arts. Kealo plunged downward with a mighty blow to the creature's blind side. As it recoiled from the impact and reared its massive neck to swivel its head toward Kealo, I led another fierce charge that grievously wounded the creature down its torso.
CHNOPH
Part I
✦ ✦ ✦
As a young man hailing from the vibrant streets of India, the world beckoned to me with a siren's call, igniting a fiery passion for exploration that burned within my soul. Alongside my cousin Jairaj, we embarked on a daring journey across the vast expanse of the ocean, our hearts brimming with anticipation as we set sail for the fabled shores of America.
In the heady days of the 1950s, America was hailed as the epitome of opportunity, a land where dreams flourished and fortunes were made. Jairaj and I, barely twenty years old, were consumed by visions of California's sun-kissed beaches, New York's dazzling skyline, and the electric energy of Broadway. With each passing mile, our excitement soared to dizzying heights, fueled by the boundless possibilities that lay ahead.
As we approached Ellis Island, the gateway to our American odyssey, many whispered of the bureaucratic hurdles that awaited us, dampening the spirits of the hopeful souls who dared to dream. Yet, for Jairaj and me, the challenges only fueled our determination. We faced the stringent procedures with unwavering resolve, our spirits undimmed by the trials that lay ahead.
Together, we forged ahead, our hearts set ablaze with the promise of adventure and opportunity. With each passing landmark, we reveled in the sheer magnificence of the country that lay spread before us, our enthusiasm infectious to all who crossed our path. For us, America was not just a destination—it was a canvas upon which we would paint our dreams, a land where every corner held the promise of a new beginning.
As we finally emerged from the Immigration Office, the weariness of the day's ordeal was eclipsed by an overwhelming sense of triumph. Despite the arduous process that had consumed nearly an entire day, Jairaj and I remained undaunted, our spirits buoyed by the promise of our impending adventure.
As we navigated the bustling streets of Manhattan, soaking in the vibrant energy of the city, a sense of assurance settled over us. Despite the challenges of finding affordable accommodations and making ends meet on a limited budget, I remained steadfast in my belief that we would overcome every obstacle in our path. From cramped hotel rooms to makeshift lodgings, we adapted to our circumstances with unwavering determination.
It wasn't long before the harsh reality of our financial situation dawned upon us, prompting us to seek employment to sustain our dream. Taking on jobs as dishwashers at local eateries, we embraced the opportunity to earn our keep, knowing that each paycheck brought us one step closer to our goals.
I was taken aback—this wasn't what I had envisioned. Leaving India wasn't just about bidding farewell to the familiar; it was about embracing the unknown, diving headlong into the adventure that beckoned us. But Jairaj had different plans, and try as I might to convince myself otherwise, I couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment.
One night, I roused him from sleep, eager to resume our journey, only to be met with resistance. The sour expression on his face betrayed his reluctance, revealing a truth I wasn't prepared to confront. He wanted to build a new life here, with his partner Amoli by his side.
Reluctant to part ways yet unwilling to surrender my aspirations, I bid my cousin farewell. As I turned to embark on my journey through the bustling streets of the city, Jairaj unexpectedly extended his hand.
"It's been quite the adventure, hasn't it?" he remarked, his voice tinged with nostalgia.
"To new beginnings," he added, slipping a photograph into my palm before withdrawing.
"It's a memory of when we came here. Keep it with you always, a reminder that I'm still here waiting with Amoli whenever you've come to an end to your travels."
With a heartfelt embrace, we parted ways, each of us embarking on our respective paths, guided by our own aspirations and desires.
As a young man with an insatiable curiosity, I never shied away from unconventional experiences. It was during one of my excursions beyond Manhattan, venturing into the northern reaches of New York, that I encountered a peculiar incident that would forever alter my perception of reality.
As the late afternoon sun cast its golden glow upon the landscape, I found myself abruptly awoken by the incessant buzzing of a swarm of bees. The sound grew increasingly frenzied, enveloping me in a cacophony of noise that seemed to drown out all other sensations. Fearing an imminent attack, I raised the brim of my hat to assess the situation, only to be met with a disorienting wave of darkness.
It was as if the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder, plunging me into a void devoid of light or sound. After what felt like an eternity, a sense of solidity beneath me signaled that I had regained some semblance of stability.
Two figures materialized before me, their presence unsettling and unfamiliar. Amoli, Jairaj's beloved from our homeland in India, appeared before me draped in a flowing white garment that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light. Her eyes, usually warm and inviting, bore into mine with an icy intensity, their hue transformed to a piercing steel blue that sent shivers down my spine.
Beside her stood Jairaj, adorned in an impeccably tailored suit that seemed wholly out of place on his typically modest frame. His expression, usually warm and jovial, was now twisted into a sinister smirk that sent a chill coursing through my veins.
"Listen closely to the whispers of the dream," they intoned, their words echoing ominously in the air. "Do not disregard their counsel, for they offer glimpses of the paths that lie ahead."
"Do not be swayed by their deceit," Amoli cautioned, her gaze unwavering. "Their words may cloak themselves in truth, but they are but shadows of the future, veiled in deception."
"Embrace the guidance they offer," Jairaj proclaimed, his words dripping with urgency. "For they hold the keys to destinies yet untold, guiding you toward your inevitable fate."
With a jolt, the two enigmatic figures transformed into a swirling mass of bees, enveloping me in a dizzying whirlwind.
Arriving in what was eventually revealed to be Seoul, I found myself thrust into a perplexing situation, surrounded by unfamiliar faces speaking a language I couldn't comprehend. Referred to only as the 'Dragon,' my purpose in this foreign land remained shrouded in mystery.
It was when I was brought before the enigmatic figure known as the 'Child' that the true magnitude of my predicament began to dawn on me. As I stood face to face with this mysterious being, haunted by visions of what seemed to be inevitable, I was suddenly confronted once again by the distorted image of my cousin, Jairaj. With a chilling grin, he inquired:
"Have you chosen your path, my friend?"
"I have pledged my allegiance to the Dragon, and I willingly submit to your divine will. May fortune, longevity, and eternity be bestowed upon me," I declared with conviction.
"So it shall be. You shall become a vessel for fate itself, an instrument to bring about the inevitable," Jairaj proclaimed with a sinister chuckle, as the buzzing sensation returned, enveloping me in its unsettling embrace.
In the mid-sixties, I finally succumbed to the relentless pull of curiosity and ventured to reunite with Jairaj. Yet, the reunion was not as I had envisioned. To my astonishment, I discovered him caring for a young boy, a child of nearly ten summers. The absence of Jairaj's wife only added to the enigma surrounding their existence.
"What has transpired in my absence?" I dared to inquire, the words heavy with unspoken fears.
As Jairaj's voice trailed off, a heavy silence settled between us. His words cut through the air like shards of glass, each one piercing deeper into my heart.
"She didn't want to stay with me..."
I couldn't help but lean in closer, my gaze shifting between Jairaj and the boy.
"Reynash... Your son?"
"No, he was Sharon's. She... couldn't keep him..."
Recognition dawned upon me like a sudden sunrise, illuminating the shadows of forgotten memories. With a trembling hand, I pointed to myself, locking eyes with Jairaj in silent acknowledgment. His nod was all the confirmation I needed.
With a heavy heart and a resolve born of necessity, I made a decision. I implored him to take on the mantle of fatherhood, to raise the boy as his own and shield him from the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
"Teach him to fear the Delkelroys, the Illuminati," I urged, my words ringing with a commanding authority. "Warn him of those who wield fate as a weapon, who whisper of dreams and schemes."
With a solemn nod, Jairaj acquiesced to my plea, his mask of composure betraying the turmoil that churned beneath the surface. And so, with a heavy heart and a final, silent farewell, I departed from my son's life, knowing that I could never intrude upon it again.
It wasn't until Aeolian stood before me, clutching the photograph tightly in his hand, that a chilling realization dawned upon me. Despite my warnings about the Delkelroys, the Templars, or the Illuminati—whatever name they bore—no one had taken them seriously. Yet, as I caught sight of the crimson card nestled in Aeolian's pocket, a plan began to form in the recesses of my mind.
As I sat there, surrounded by the echoes of my past and the enigmatic threads that intertwined my life with the present, Agora's entrance disrupted the quiet sanctuary of my thoughts. Her arrival was like a sudden burst of light in the dim recesses of my mind, drawing my attention away from the labyrinth of memories that consumed me.
Since the first moment our eyes met a year ago, guided by the elusive visions that had guided me for decades, I knew Agora was more than just a chance encounter. She was my soulmate, a beacon of clarity amidst the chaos of my existence. Despite the mysterious forces that bound us together, there was an undeniable connection that stirred within me whenever she was near.
Yet, for all the depth of our bond, Agora remained an enigma, her emotions veiled behind a facade of detachment. Doubt crept into my mind, whispering insidious questions about the true nature of our connection.
Encouraging my grandson with a delicate blend of guidance and manipulation, I gently nudged Aeolian towards a career as a detective. Despite his initial reluctance, Aeolian eventually found himself drawn to the profession, his innate curiosity and desire to help others driving him forward.
Though I was careful to keep my own secrets hidden, I couldn't deny the swell of paternal pride that surged within me as I watched Aeolian carve out his own path. He may have been oblivious to the true extent of our connection, but I felt a deep-seated obligation to protect him from harm.
[ T-MINUS: 1 MINUTE ]
Just as the tide of battle seemed certain, my risky charge paid off with the creature obviously wounded and at least somewhere near its apparent death when it released a horrid pulse of necrotic energy that seemed to nearly sweep every combatant from the battlefield in a single momentous moment. Brightburn, Chnoph, Kealo, Agora, and I were the only ones that remained, grabbing onto debris and wrenching ourselves into the rubble to prevent being pulled away by the dark wind the creature conjured.
The magical palings that the reinforcements had bestowed upon us had dissipated with the foul winds blowing from the creature, and soon it was just the five of us remaining before it. Gritting my teeth, I charged forward with my blade aloft once more, this time surging together with everyone, staying close at hand, relying on each other to have our backs against this monstrosity.
As the creature finally seemed to buckle under the strain of the constant damage it had received, and its form seemed to bend toward us in a moment of weakness, I recognized it as our moment. Signaling everyone else with a hand motion, and moving swiftly enough that we were all barely blurs upon the ground, we all leapt at the beast for one final blow. As our blades connected, the swirling magical empowered flames scouring the creature and outlining its horrid frame in a scarlet glow, the beast finally collapsed with a pitiful moan as its fetid and gargantuan form hit the pavement with a cacophonous thud.
As the Lurker finally fell to our concentrated efforts, I turned to look at both Chnoph and Agora. The adrenaline still coursing through me, I couldn't contain the questions that had plagued me prior to the raid, and as the dust settled it seemed to be all I could think about.
"Aye, Chnoph, do you know of this? Its importance?" I raised my voice, in Hindi, holding the silvered and gold disk aloft.
Chnoph looked at the disk-shaped object that I held aloft, and his face betrayed his immediate recognition as he attempted to avoid the question.
"Tis nothing but a trinket, a sentimental one at that lad," Chnoph said with a serious glint in his eye. "Best to be put away."
My temper was so engulfing of my mind that I was shaking uncontrollably with emotion, my face contorting to reflect my inner rage.
"You treat me like a child, like I can be led around on your leash and not understand what's happening. I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!"
"If you were such a good damn detective, YOU WOULD'VE KNOWN!" Chnoph shot back, his shout surprising even himself.
My energy couldn't be contained with such a blatant dismissal of my inquiry, and with Chnoph clearly knowing something, I pressed on.
"What about our history, our obvious family history?"
Chnoph looked at me for a moment, making no move to deny the accusation, and Agora chose to swiftly distance herself from the escalating situation. I could contain my anger no longer, drawing my blade as I advanced toward her.
"You will NOT walk away from me, I AM NOT DONE TALK—"
I was interrupted by the angry punch of Chnoph.
"Simmer your temple and lower your blade boy: you'll find no pleasant end here!"
I swung out at Chnoph in retaliation, letting out a ferocious cry. As the blade was barely dodged by Chnoph as he strode backward and bent his back beneath the swipe, the next one coming up from my knee left a slight trace of blood along Chnoph's face as he narrowly managed to feel the full force of the swing.
As Chnoph pulled his leg back and prepared to deliver a retaliatory kick, a sudden force took me from either side of my body and dashed me to the ground. My eyes darted back toward Chnoph, and saw two Agoras standing to either side of him, a cold menace sparkling in their eyes.
"You. Will. Not. Threaten. Me." Agora stated from each mouth in perfect synchronicity, enunciating each word with the full force of her djinn-like ability.
In a flurry of arcana and fists, before I could really decipher what entirely happened, I lay collapsed and near broken in a heap upon the stone.
AGORA
Part I
✦ ✦ ✦
In the days of yore, nestled in the heart of the bustling city of Bengaluru, I, Agora, traversed the winding streets with a joyous spirit. Those were the days when the roar of engines was but a distant dream, and the strength of steel was yet to grace our humble abodes. Amidst the laughter that echoed through the cobblestone lanes, I reveled in the blissful ignorance of youth.
I had served a particularly respected sorcerer named Kinveseck. He had been a strict master whenever I was in his presence, but he cared not for how I conducted my own private affairs. I had always known him to be endlessly knowledgeable, if crude and blunt in personality. His name seemed to strike fear in others, and when they whispered of his name, they whispered of another, 'Dragon.'
Never knowing much of what I was expected to do, my mentor shared with me knowledge of the mystic arts and their manipulations, yet he was always regular and specific with his instructions. They mostly involved sneaking from place here to there: preventing myself from being seen, grabbing a particular scroll or tome, opening this switch or closing such a gate at such an hour, and I never questioned my work. Never directly involved with anything, and always able to keep myself free from sight, the situation suited me just fine.
That was until the day my master marked me, with the imprint of his hand seared into the flesh of my neck. It happened suddenly, without any warning or ceremony, just a swift grasp to the back of my head and a scorching sensation that seemed to engulf my entire being. I pulled away as soon as I could, gasping for air in pain, but the damage had been done. Gently touching the skin on the back of my neck, I felt it contorted and molded to the shape of Kinveseck's hand.
Though I accepted my fate, I couldn't help but resent how he had marked me without even a hint of warning. Despite this, I remained steadfast in my duties, unwavering in my commitment.
I have kept my ways for several decades, becoming more and more reclusive as time went on, as the awful power behind the very name of my master grew. Diligent and unquestioning in my service, if mostly due to my deep desire to ignore whatever horrid ends my actions might actually be leading to, it is still a dangerous line of work that seldom leaves little room for error.
As I approached the door to the tower, shrouded in the darkness of the night, doubts crept into my mind. Perhaps I had overlooked something crucial, acted too hastily, or simply fallen victim to ill fortune. Regardless, this mission marked the culmination of my journey. A subtle sound pierced the silence, barely audible yet ominous in its implication. I turned towards it, only to find myself succumbing to a force beyond my control.
As I collapsed, my thoughts faded into obscurity, accompanied by the chilling touch of my own blood pooling beneath me. Darkness enveloped my senses, leaving me drifting into oblivion, embracing the unknown with a sense of grim resolve.
I had felt at peace as my mind seemed to drift, any tension and apprehension lost with my sense of self somewhere down beneath where I had gone. Yet, when I felt as if I would finally 'disperse' and be free, something dark and cold seemed to 'collect me'. It forced my spreading mentality back together, in a manner rough and uncaring, the shock terrible and the process nearly impossible to truly perceive, yet utterly terrifying beyond description.
Pain hit me, seeming to echo through my very existence as I now appeared to lack a body to properly experience it, but it did not save me from the horror. When the sensation came back to my limbs, they felt small and awkward, painful and wrong. I felt youthful, yet as I took painful racking breaths as consciousness returned in this form, I could not keep myself from screeching out in pain as hard as I possibly could.
As I finally found the strength to stand amongst the rough stone below me, I forced my emancipated legs to go beneath me and slowly rose to look before me. The smell of candles burning in the air, the sight of dozens of cloaked figures chanting rhythmically and bowing before a sigil painted in blood upon the ground, filled me with grim disgust as I recognized what had occurred.
Examining my new body briefly, grimacing as I traced my fingers across the back of my neck and found the raised welts of the burned mark my master had carried over even now, I sighed a dark sigh that a weaker person would have followed with a choking sob. I retained my immense durability and my iron will, thankful that it hadn't 'returned my mind to that of a child'. I had to prepare this body to become ready for the work that I would be forced to do, and the dark deeds that would doubtlessly be casually forced my way.
It wasn't until a few years later, amidst the suffocating grip of the Dragon's relentless control, that I dared to steal moments of freedom for myself. Eventually I 'chanced' across one Chnoph. Knowing the belief amongst those within the Dragon, the prevalent faith that souls were bound in the order to another as a 'soul mate': a being that is intended to be the 'complete other half' of the individual, I thought the entire thing ridiculous, and told Chnoph so as he started his professions of 'destiny' and 'fate', bitter at the hand that fate had dealt me.
This did little to deter the persistent Chnoph. I did eventually relent. Not out of 'foolish notions of love' or some 'sad attempt at finding a crutch amidst the doomed cycle', but out of necessity. I was untrusting of everyone, but Chnoph's near blind devotion to this ideal and the 'pull' that he too had felt, I was unable not to eventually find some degree of trust within the man.
Unwilling to reciprocate any of his misguided displays of affection, and firmly convinced that my stance would never waver, despite the passing cycles we endured together, I tolerated his persistence.
Bitterness permeates my being, yet I find solace only in the darkness of night, yearning to vanish into its obscurity. In this world of treachery and deceit, I can rely only on myself.
I Am Agora.
[ T-MINUS: ZERO POINT ]
As the dust settled under the pale sun, nearly clouded out by the wispy remains of the blight that had afflicted the MEZ, the tension remained palpable among us. Despite the victory burning in our hearts, I couldn't suppress my accusations toward Chnoph.
Lifting an accusing finger toward Chnoph, I let my tone and facial expression speak for me as I said sternly and simply:
"Speak."
Brightburn and Kealo's quick response didn't escape my notice. They backed away from the brewing confrontation, opting to watch from a safe distance. Agora's tense gaze bounced between Brightburn and Chnoph, her body poised for action depending on the outcome.
BRIGHTBURN
✦ ✦ ✦
I kept my pale skin hidden beneath my cerulean hood, shielding myself from the harsh sunlight as I made my way deeper into the city. The ever-present eye of the Illuminati watched over me, guiding me forward, just as it always had. I thought of the life I had left behind—not out of fear, but out of necessity.
My path with the Illuminati would be dangerous, drenched in blood and violence, but I had chosen it willingly. I told myself I needed their strength, that they would grant me the power I sought. I believed in that promise. I still do.
Leaving my home wasn't easy, but it was inevitable. Transylvania was never truly mine; it belonged to my family, to traditions that suffocated me. The Illuminati gave me freedom—or at least, something that felt like it. They watched, but they did not interfere. They let me act, let me carve my own place in history, as long as I never opposed their will. And I didn't.
But that pride never erased the weight of what I abandoned. My family—whatever love I had for them—was left to rot the moment I walked away. I know I hurt them. I know my departure cast a shadow over their lives. And yet, even now, I can't bring myself to regret it. They would understand, eventually. That world, the one I was meant to inherit, was nothing but a cage. The firstborns are never free, trapped beneath the weight of expectation, waiting endlessly for a throne they may never claim. I refused to waste my life in that limbo.
History has always fascinated me—the rise and fall of civilizations, the echoes of battles long past. I didn't want to just read about them; I wanted to stand where legends once stood, to witness the ruins of empires with my own eyes. The Illuminati could give me that.
I left my past behind, and I have never once looked back with longing. But the weight of my choices never fades. I regret what I lost, but I would make the same choice again.
...AND KEALO
✦ ✦ ✦
I was raised just outside of Rome, and from the earliest days I can remember, I lived within the pages of books. Libraries were my sanctuaries, and knowledge was my only true companion. Tutors and scholars filled my days, and I embraced academia as if it were my birthright. Then, at fifteen, I heard the 'buzzing'—that strange and unshakable call—and my thirst for knowledge became something more. An obsession. A purpose.
When the Illuminati sent for me, I did not hesitate. I barely heard the invitation before I had already pledged myself to them. It felt right, like the natural progression of everything I had ever studied, ever yearned for.
I was paired with Brightburn almost immediately. He was not the most open man, nor the most sociable, but we worked well together. Our superiors even called it a 'damn near perfect fit.' We never needed to question it. While we never became what one would call friends, we had an understanding. He tolerated my academic musings; I tolerated his gruff silences.
I still remember those long travels, walking in silence while I read, trusting Brightburn's grunts and subtle whistles to guide me away from danger. It annoyed him—I knew that—but not enough for him to stop me. And so, I continued. I told myself it was harmless. That it was simply my way.
I had no love for battle, no thirst for bloodshed, but I never turned away from it either. When a blade was needed, I wielded it. When blood had to be spilled, I did not hesitate. I justified it as a means to an end, another lesson to be learned, another necessary step toward a greater understanding. But now, looking back, I wonder—did I ever truly understand?
I feel the weight of my choices. The lives taken. The roads walked. The knowledge gained at a cost I never fully calculated. I do not regret my path, but I carry it with me, every step of the way.
[ T-MINUS: AFTERMATH ]
I lay there, my body still shaking from the aftermath, my breath ragged with fury. Agora had unleashed her wrath, left me immobilized, and then turned that same blazing rage on Brightburn. My hands clenched into fists as I watched her, my mind screaming with the injustice of it all.
"You!" she spat, venom dripping from every syllable. "I know why you're here. I see the cloth, the pale skin. You came for me. You came to drag me back to the Order!"
I wanted to shout, to stop her, but my body refused to move. Brightburn just stood there, eyes scanning her up and down, showing nothing. No recognition, no understanding—just that same infuriating, empty calm.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, taking a slow step back. "I have no quarrel with you."
Lies. Or worse, ignorance. How could he not know? How could any of them stand here, pretending as if everything wasn't about to collapse under the weight of what had been done?
And then, it happened again—the mirrored portal, the twisting, silvered mockery of Agora. It slithered forward, taking her shape, her fury. Brightburn reacted instantly, throwing himself to the ground as the creature hesitated, its form wavering. The moment of confusion was all he needed. The earth split open, a brutal force of stone and fire swallowing the silvered copy whole.
Brightburn smirked, confident, already moving forward as if it were over. But I saw it before he did—the floating silver droplets, pulling themselves back together, reforming.
And Agora—Agora herself—screamed. It was a sound I felt in my bones, a raw, seething agony that ripped through the space between us. She charged him, her wrath consuming everything in its path, and for a single, impossible moment, I thought she might break the world apart with it.
But Brightburn was already moving. From beneath his robes, he revealed a weapon, a hammer gleaming with mechanical precision. His smirk twisted into something darker, something cruel. He brought it down, and the ground erupted in magma and stone. The silvered copy vanished.
The real Agora halted, her breath sharp and broken. She looked at him, her eyes filled with something deeper than hate—something that cracked, that bled. Tears streaked her face, but they were not of sorrow. They were the storm before the hurricane.
She wrapped herself in shadow and vanished.
Brightburn barely reacted. He simply turned to Kealo, his expression unreadable, but the silence between them burned. Kealo, damn him, just chuckled, raising his book as if none of it had mattered.
"I knew you had it," he said lazily. "I was enjoying the show."
I wanted to tear that book from his hands, to demand why he did nothing. Why none of them did. But the moment passed. Brightburn sighed, turned on his heel, and Kealo followed, pretending to read, though I knew his attention was elsewhere.
The trust between them, thin as it was, had cracked. And I knew, deep in my chest, that something between all of us had shattered beyond repair.
We stood in the ruins of New York, the battle over, but the war still raging between us. There were no declarations, no dramatic departures left. Just the weight of suspicion, of unspoken betrayals, of a group breaking apart even as it tried to hold itself together.
And I? I followed, silent, my fury simmering beneath my skin. I will not forget this. I would not forgive.
CHNOPH
Part II
✦ ✦ ✦
Agora vanished not long after the battle with the Lurker, slipping from my grasp like water through my fingers. I should have expected it. The moment I saw her fear outweigh her fire, I knew she would run. And still, I chased. My business? My ties? None of it mattered. I needed to be near her.
I hired men who looked like me, let them play at running my empire while I left, phone in hand, eyes set on Eastern Europe and Middle Asia. If she was scared, she would go home—or as close to home as she dared. And she was scared. I could taste it in the way she covered her tracks, in the way she twisted through the world like a whisper, never leaving enough behind to be followed.
Three years. Three years before I found her, tucked away in some dying little village on the western edge of Transylvania. She was hiding—pretending to be someone else, wearing a new name, but still tangled in the Dragon's web. Of course, she was. That part of her would never change.
She greeted me coldly. I didn't expect warmth, but it still cut. The sting faded fast, though. The shock wore off, and then she was... well, she was still Agora. Still distant. Still brushing off every bit of sentiment I threw her way. And still—still she let me stay.
Aeolian had reached out to me, but I ignored him. I had my reasons. The heirloom. That damn thing I had given my son all those years ago—gold and silver, intricate as a spider's web. I barely remembered where I found it, but it pulled at me, an itch at the back of my mind. Not a good feeling. Not bad, either. Just… something vast. Like a whisper before the storm.
And yet, I gave it away. Told myself it was just a relic, a trinket carrying nothing but memories. I let it slip from my fingers. But when I saw it with Aeolian, something in me twisted. It belonged there, I knew that, and yet—I hated it. Hated that it was where it was meant to be. A hollow dread followed me from the moment I left it behind. I forced myself to forget it, to ignore the way it tried to dig its claws into me.
Agora left the village, and I left with her. She didn't protest. Maybe she was tired of running. Maybe she just wanted something familiar. She never said. She never had to. Even when she pretended not to, I knew. I always knew.
The work continued. The names changed. But we remained. She could fight it all she wanted, but she would never be rid of me. Not now. Not ever.
[ T-MINUS: CLOSURE ]
Regaining the senses to find myself alone amidst the scattered stones, bruised and bloodied, with a pounding migraine threatening to split my skull. As the fog of immobilization slowly lifted, I squinted toward the setting sun, struggling to gather my bearings. The realization dawned upon me that I had been abandoned, left behind by those I once considered comrades. Anger surged within me, mingling with a sickening despair at their betrayal.
With a frustrated yell, I slammed my fist into the unforgiving ground, the pain in my hand serving as a stark reminder of my isolation. It was clear now that my so-called family, as well as the others, had deceived me. Their lies and deceit weighed heavily on my heart, fueling a righteous fury that eclipsed even the despair gnawing at my insides.
Despite the blood ties that bound us, I resolved that justice must be served. Chnoph, in particular, bore the brunt of my wrath. If he held the answers to the mysteries surrounding my family's fate, then he would face the consequences of his actions. The bond of kinship could no longer shield him from the reckoning he deserved.
In my relentless pursuit of truth, I devoted years to the quest of finding Chnoph, the elusive figure who held the key to my ancestry. With Agora's shadow lingering in the periphery, I hoped her presence would eventually lead me to my elusive ancestor. Yet, despite my unwavering determination, Chnoph remained a phantom, slipping through my grasp like sand through clenched fists.
Returning time and again to the address provided on the cryptic card, I continued my training, honing my skills with the blade and immersing myself in the teachings of my order. The city's streets held no clues, no whispers of Chnoph's whereabouts.
Undeterred by the lack of progress, I turned to my fellow Templars, sharing every detail of my search with anyone who would listen. Together, we scoured records, tracked movements, and chased potential sightings of Agora, hoping each lead would bring us closer to our elusive targets.
As years passed, my determination only grew stronger. The discovery of my direct lineage to Chnoph through genealogy and detective work hit me like a thunderbolt, confirming what I had long suspected. The revelation of his identity as my grandfather left a bitter taste in my mouth, a stark reminder of the deceit that had shrouded my past.
As fate brought me back into the company of Brightburn and Kealo, together we formed an unlikely alliance between the Templars and the Illuminati, pooling our resources and expertise in pursuit of our mutual goals.
Armed with newfound knowledge and bolstered by the support of my allies, I embarked on a journey that would test my wits and determination like never before. With every obstacle I faced, I drew strength from the knowledge that I was inching closer to the truth.
Epilogues: Threads of Destiny
Epilogue I: GOING PLACES [AEOLIAN]
✦ ✦ ✦
The story takes place back when I was very much active on the field. One hour, I was at SI, the next, I was chugging salt water at Al-Marayah. Another hour later, I was making water out of ice golem. The job kept me moving, kept me sharp. No rest for the wicked, they say, and I had my hands full with plenty of wicked things.
One particular day, I was passing through that giant, big, old tree in Kingsmouth—cold trail in hand, following a lead that might as well have been the last dying ember of a campfire. Nothing fresh, nothing promising, but duty calls. As I moved past the gnarled branches, something caught my eye. A lone figure, a true survivor, fending off wisps left and right.
At first, I found it mundane. Routine. Even a little amusing. A fresh recruit, clearly green, getting all worked up over a simple wisp infestation. Nothing I hadn't seen before. I didn't say anything, by the way. Just stood there, arms crossed, watching.
What I saw… It made me a little frustrated, sure, but mostly? It nearly made me double over laughing.
That poor soul—our brave wisp-fighter, our true survivor—had stepped into a bear trap.
Not just any trap. Not a little catch-a-rabbit snare. No. This was a full-blown bear trap, iron jaws clamped tight around his leg like some kind of medieval nightmare. Now, I don't know if you've ever seen a bear in Kingsmouth, because I sure haven't. That thing wasn't set for wildlife. Someone had placed it there on purpose, and somehow, in the entirety of the Wisp Wood, this guy had managed to find the one hidden metal monstrosity waiting in the underbrush.
I sighed, shook my head, and moved in to help. With a few quick motions, I unlatched the trap and freed his leg. He staggered a bit, wincing, probably trying to hide the pain. To his credit, he stayed on his feet.
"You good?" I asked, glancing around to make sure no more wisps were closing in.
"Yeah… I'm fine."
"Need me to get you to a safe house?"
"No, I can keep going."
Alright then. I wasn't about to argue with someone trying to save face. Before I left, I gave him one last piece of advice.
"Watch out for more traps, yeah? That's not gonna be the only one. Someone laid those down for a reason."
Moral of the story? Watch where the hell you're stepping. No fairy's gonna come and magically lift you out of the messes you get yourself into. And if one does? Be even more suspicious.
Epilogue II: BROTHERS' LOVE [TRISTAN]
✦ ✦ ✦
I left the gym early that evening, looking forward to my date. The alley was the fastest route to the next town, and as I walked through it, I spotted an old man in a suit, carrying a suitcase. He was alone, moving steadily across the empty path. Easy prey.
I didn't hesitate. Approaching him from behind, I gave him a firm pat on the back with my left hand, a simple distraction, while my right hand took the suitcase cleanly from his grip. Before he even had a chance to react, I was already dashing to the other side of the alley.
When I felt safe, I stopped at a park bench and opened the suitcase. The lock gave way effortlessly, but what I found inside infuriated me. A green note and a portrait of a clown. My hands clenched the edges of that cursed image. This was no coincidence—it was a prank. A sick joke.
Disgusted, I flung the portrait and the suitcase aside. But the note… the note felt different. As I held it, an eerie calm washed over me, replacing my anger with something else. Something assertive. A quiet voice in my mind whispered that I needed to stop stealing, that I was wasting my potential.
Still seething, I made my way to my date, pushing aside whatever trick had been played on me.
Later that night, I took the same alley on my way back. But as I stepped in, I saw them. Two men. Waiting. For me.
My instincts flared. I didn't stop to think—I reached down and grabbed a 2x2 wooden plank lying on the ground. As I moved forward, they started walking toward me.
The first one, about my size and build, lunged. He went straight for the plank in my grip, trying to push me back. The force of his attack startled me, and I lost my hold on the wood. But my reaction was faster. My left fist swung hard, connecting with his cheek. He dropped instantly, barely conscious.
The second man didn't react. Instead, he looked down at his fallen partner and muttered:
"It wasn't necessary."
Then, his eyes locked onto mine.
"Look, we're only here to convince you. You have the potential of a leader—unlike your brother."
At the mention of my brother, my blood boiled. Without thinking, I lunged, grabbed him by his collar, and snarled through gritted teeth:
"Well, I'm convinced enough not to listen to you."
He didn't flinch. His empty gaze held mine as he calmly loosened my grip and muttered:
"Just hope our paths don't cross again."
We stared at each other for a long, tense moment before I stepped back. Without another word, I turned and walked away, not looking back.
That night, as I finally reached home, exhaustion weighed on me, but my mind refused to rest. I felt drained, confused… and maybe, just a little afraid.
Then came the knock. I jolted upright. The sound wasn't frantic, not urgent—just steady. Someone wanted me to know they were there. I grabbed the bat and moved toward the door. I unlocked it and swung it open.
Nothing. No one. A cold gust of air slipped past me into the house. The street outside was empty, silent except for the occasional flicker of a streetlamp. But then, just as I was about to turn back, I noticed something out of place—the mailbox. The lid was slightly open.
Inside, nestled between some old bills, was a purple envelope, thick and expensive-looking, with an unfamiliar flag insignia stamped on it. Inside was a sheet of paper with two lines written in clean, deliberate handwriting. The first line was an address. The second line was simple, direct.
"Leave now."
I'd had enough of these games. I tossed the envelope onto my table, grabbed my jacket, and walked out the door. At the abandoned hut at the edge of town, I kicked the door open without hesitation. Silence. No one inside. But sitting right there, on a broken wooden table, was another envelope. Bigger this time.
Inside, I found something that made my breath hitch—a fat stack of cash, a ticket of some kind, and papers. My name was on them. My gym ID photo. Someone had been watching me. Tracking me.
By the time I got home, it was past 2 AM. But the second I reached for my keys, my blood ran cold. The lock was undone. Someone was already inside. I tightened my grip on the bat and pushed the door open hard.
"Calm your voice, boy."
A woman's voice—calm, smooth, and entirely too casual for someone trespassing in my house. She stood in my living room, holding a framed photo from my desk. Slim, dressed like she was heading to work, but with boots too expensive for an office job. Her gaze flicked to me, then back to the photo.
"Nice picture. You both look handsome. Naïve, at a glance. Where's he now? Your brother."
My pulse pounded in my ears. Six years. Six years since I'd last seen my brother. I didn't talk about him. No one should have known.
"Ma'am, put the picture back. I don't want trouble, and I don't know where he is."
"That's fine."
She set the frame down gently, then started walking toward the door like she owned the place.
"If you remember his whereabouts, let me know. Leave a message at the post office—I'll get back to you."
She paused, tilting her head slightly.
"I even brought beer. Thought we could chat. Maybe next time. I'll be seeing you… both."
She stepped outside. A long black limousine was already waiting at the curb. The door opened, she slipped inside, and just like that—she was gone.
I stood there, gripping the bat so hard my knuckles turned white. Too much had happened in the last eight hours. Too many questions. And no answers. I sank onto the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all.
I just sat there, thinking about my brother. Reynash.
How we started this journey together, two brothers chasing the American dream. And how, somewhere along the way, we took different paths. And how, for the first time in six years, I was beginning to think our paths were about to cross again.
Epilogue III: JOE'S DRIVE INN [BRIGHTBURN AND KEALO]
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Brightburn and Kealo were extremely tired of driving the Cadillac upstate all the way from NYC, following the Hudson River as it ran down the length of the Hudson Valley. Watching the flattened developed land of the city slowly become less evenly defined on the horizon, as the small rises of the northern hills and mountains slowly pressed themselves into view. The dull embers of their cigarettes casting a faint glow upon their faces, the stuttering tunes of a dying radio station squeaking out from the aged dashboard in front of them.
The car reeked from the fish fingers they had picked up from a local bodega while leaving Manhattan late at night. When it was time for opening their order, the nearly overpowering smell was already insufferable for both, hanging thick in the air and seeming to mingle with the cigarette smoke to make an unfortunate haze that clung about the car. The food was of an oily and unsophisticated kind: with Kealo braving his own hesitation to attempt to alleviate the gnawing hunger settling in his torso, he threw his sandwich from the window while clasping his mouth to keep it from doing the same. That was how the two of them discovered that fried fish hardly keeps on long rides.
After driving over six hours in an urgent haste to place distance between themselves and the remnants of the MEZ, with empty stomachs and no chance of finding an open hotel on the road, they arrived at Joe's Drive Inn. Exhausted and famished, the two of them immediately settled upon the residence for a stay of the night, without giving it more than a partial glance.
Drive-in was not that big, only two serviceable rooms, a check-in counter, and a joint hotel-like structure attached around the corner of the counter. Given the filled nature of the lot, Brightburn could already feel a pit in his stomach sinking as he realized that the likelihood of getting a room here was incredibly low.
Settling for the breakfast spread, the hotel had a sizable café that was much larger than the clientele of the hotel could hold, and so the two of them managed to at least get meals. The bags sagging under their eyes in the bright rays of the morning, Brightburn slowly sipped his scalding coffee with little thought to the burning sensation: anything to keep him awake and alert would be suitable enough.
Brightburn finished his coffee, paid for the food and both got out of the hotel. As both of them started walking towards their car, Brightburn remembered with a sudden start, his wallet laying on the counter of the hotel in his haste. He asked Kealo to turn and grab it for him, but Kealo had already rushed past Brightburn at an absurd speed. Dumbfounded, Brightburn turned around and walked back in the hotel, the door closing behind him. Kealo watched him go inside the hotel with a little smirk on his face, starting the car with key in hand.
Nearing 4:30 AM in the morning, Kealo was already sitting in the driver's seat. He was waiting for Brightburn to get into the car, staring through the front window, watching at Joe's Drive Inn.
The car's lights flickered for a few seconds, radio falling silent within the same heartbeat, and then everything simply returned to normal. Looking back out the front window, scanning for Brightburn, the sight of the dreary hotel covered in a thick blanket of snow felt somber and morbid, somehow. The lights of the hotel also flickered for a moment, but it was enough to seed a feeling of unease in Kealo's stomach.
By now Kealo was more than a little agitated, and honestly a bit anxious, waiting for Brightburn. It's been a whole five minutes, and with his temper pulsating behind his temple in a slowly spreading migraine, Kealo angrily pulls the key from the ignition. He then gets out of the car and storms inside the hotel with a huff to search for Brightburn, the door closing itself behind him.
Kealo finds the inside deathly still, and entirely vacant, with not a sign of a living soul.
Standing there amid the polished floors that they had just shared a meal together, a creeping dark feeling of despair threatened to clasp Kealo's throat, now being alone and stranded in this strange wilderness.
Epilogue IV: CREATION [AGORA]
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Agora was walking very slowly now. It was a New Place, New People. Her dress was a little dirty though. She was watching all this with curious eyes. She was enjoying the cool breeze of Sunday Afternoon. Some rain drops also landed on her face, she looked up to check the rain but it was a clean sky today.
Then there was the sinking feeling inside taking over her, same as before, same as always. Agora looks around, she feels something was off, but shrugs it off and walks forward like nothing. Walking ahead she then reaches to the corner of the street. There she sees something in the distance, or rather someone.
It was the figure of Chnoph—a sad coward—with a dripping Head and beheaded Body in his hands. Agora gulps. She glances at her own reflection. It was restful, pale, almost silvery. As Agora stepped forward and Chnoph came closer, she could see the thoughtless glint in his eye. Agora looks back towards the body, she gets even more sad and still figuring out what is happening.
"Chnoph. It was my creation," she replies.
A thunderous roar filled the sky, and Agora did not get the chance to cover her ears as she stumbled across the street as fear of the unknown charged her body. This time she fell on the ground unable to recover for a moment. She looks up to the two fiery eyes staring back at her, everything else starts to blacken around her.
Her head starts feeling heavy by seconds to the point she is no longer able to look back up. She points her head down on the ground. Her body is still unable to move with numbness taking control. At one point she stopped struggling anymore—a few seconds went by—her head moved upward like something had picked it up in two hands and started pulling out.
She was still not able to move her body, but her head started to lift up from the ground, she was unable to do anything but to watch this all with her open eye, pain started to sink in her whole body but she could not do anything. Pull by pull, inch by inch, her head was getting ripped from her body, and the unbearable pain and crying screams from her still do not make her faint. At one point her head finally gets ripped off from the body but screams still echo in the sky. She sees the rest of the body laying senseless on the ground. The screams stopped. The cries stopped. Agora saw her own reflection. It was restful, pale, and almost silvery.
It walks near the beheaded body, holds on to both of her shoulders and starts hitting the body to the ground again and again and again senselessly.
✦ ✦ ✦
Agora wakes up in her bed in her apartment and sees Chnoph sitting beside her. It felt like he had been sitting there for a while, just looking at her with an empty stare. His expression never changed and yet it did not make her uncomfortable. He offers Agora a cup of tea. She looks over at him and takes a cup of tea.
But not even a cup of tea would calm Agora's nerves tonight.
Epilogue IV: THE RELIC [AEOLIAN]— The Portal
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As I trudged through the labyrinthine streets of New York, each step felt like a Herculean effort, my feet pounding mercilessly against the unforgiving pavement. With every stride, I pushed myself closer to Chnoph's stronghold, my heart hammering in my chest with a mixture of apprehension and determination. What awaited me there was unknown, yet I pressed on, driven by a relentless need for answers.
Not knowing what I expected to find, I was already aware that I would doubtlessly be thrust into another battle while I was still too weak to stand, but instead, I was greeted by a massive group of Chnoph's goons. Typically removed from his 'daily work,' and especially keen to keep his place private for him and Agora, it was now being covered by dozens of individuals that proudly wore Chnoph's emblem. It was a stark reminder of the power and influence he wielded, even in the heart of this sprawling metropolis. I had the good fortune to see this defense before any had a chance to recognize me for who I was, and I hastily made my way away from Chnoph's manor.
My mind burned with racing questions and my chest heaved from both the anxiety and the effort of my escape. I felt so defeated I nearly collapsed. Not that I would allow myself such self-defeating pity: to do so would likely mean death in one manner or another if I didn't find myself a place to lay low.
Lost for my connection to my family, and now at odds with the fact that my only real adversary outside of the eldritch terrors that pull themselves through is likely my cousin or uncle of some manner, I felt as if my dim light of hope had finally truly abandoned me.
Yet, as my hands clasped the mystical shape within my palm and my mind churned dark thoughts repeatedly, the disc within my jacket glowed. It was a pale twinkling, a resonance of light coming first from the golden half, and then alternatively on the silvered side. It seemed to glow even brighter with my touch, and its resonance gained a low-pitched whine as I now held it.
While wondering why Chnoph refused to even acknowledge the strange object, and frustrated at my lot with everything, I was overcome with emotion as I threw the glowing artifact with all of my might against a distant brick wall. Grimacing as I regretted my actions as the cool feeling metal left my fingertips, to my surprise it did not clang nor shatter upon its impact.
Instead, a near-blinding light seemed to erupt from the disc as it slowly began floating, the two metaled halves seeming to grow larger and rotating before me. Confused and horrified at this unknown display of mighty arcana, I raised my hands to my face only for a radiant light of silvered and golden rays to overtake my vision, and within a moment I and the disc were gone from the streets of New York.
✦ ✦ ✦
Opening my eyes after a blinding flash, I found myself on what appeared to be some blasted endless field of desolation. Pitted lands dotted with dead or dying vegetation stretched into a flat horizon on every side of me. I nearly collapsed in my confusion.
The silvered-gold disc in my hand pulsated slowly as I clenched it to my breast and stared forward, my mind racing on what all of this could mean. As I pulled the disc away from myself and stared at it intently, the metals that made up the disc seemed to move, almost as if melting yet remaining only faintly warm to the touch. Staring in amazement, I could only watch the bizarre contortions and shapes until it finally settled as a silver disc with a golden arrow adorning the front.
Confused at first, I moved to the side to scan my horizons even further, and I noticed the arrow moved as I turned myself. Staring back at it, I had an epiphany: it was a compass. To what, I didn't know, but a strange confidence seemed to bubble out of nowhere and push me to march forward.
Wherever I was going,
I was certain it was fate.
— END OF DIVERGENCE NARRATIVE —
Sins of the Father, Blade of the Son