It was a typical sunny afternoon. The park was bustling with people, mostly children playing with their families. Rhesa, a beautiful young woman with golden-brown skin, sat motionless on the grass in a blue dress and a picnic hat, watching her daughter paint on a small white canvas.
Her face itched—she had been sitting in the same position for who knew how long.
'I'll be quick,' she thought, hurriedly scratching her forehead.
"Stop moving, Mom!" Anya shouted, her face scrunched into a frown. "I'm almost done. Don't ruin it!"
"Sorry, sorry," Rhesa said playfully, settling back into her previous pose. "I just had to scratch that itch."
After a few more minutes, Anya picked up the canvas and handed it to Rhesa. She looked at the painting and chuckled. It didn't resemble her at all, but it was still an impressive effort—especially for a child who had only taken up painting a few months ago.
"Wow, it's really nice. It looks exactly like me—my daughter is so talented," Rhesa said with a smile, gently holding Anya's head and pulling her in for a kiss on the forehead.
Anya giggled. "Just be honest. I know it looks nothing like you."
Rhesa smiled. "Still, you did a really good job. I love it."
Her words brought a smile to Anya's face—a rare and cherished sight.
Rhesa felt a warm joy in her chest. Building this bond hadn't been easy. It had taken time, patience, and a lot of love. Anya had selective mutism and rarely spoke to anyone. After adopting her, Rhesa had spent months trying to break through the silence. Every word Anya spoke now felt like a small miracle, and moments like these reminded Rhesa that all the struggle had been worth it.
"When will Dad and Ren be back? They've been gone for a while now," Anya asked, her voice calm and gentle.
"Soon, my love. I'm sure they didn't go far," Rhesa replied with a soft smile.
Just as she said that, she could hear footsteps behind her.
"Hope you ladies didn't miss us," a young man said warmly.
He had smooth brown hair, no facial hair, and striking green eyes that caught the sunlight. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants, he held a box in his hands. Ren walked beside him.
"Dad!" Anya exclaimed, springing to her feet and running to hug him.
"Where did you guys go? We've been waiting here for ages!"
"It was really busy over at Sugar and Whisk today," he replied with a chuckle. Sugar and Whisk—a high-end sweets shop in the city—was the only place Anya liked her cakes from.
"Hon," he said, turning to Rhesa and kissing her as she rose to greet him.
"What about me?" she teased. "Did you get anything for me, too? You know I love the—"
She froze mid-sentence.
A sudden chill crawled down her spine.
The air thickened, turning humid, heavy... and laced with the metallic tang of copper. Not the scent of sweat or rusted iron, but something far more primal—blood. Faint, yet unmistakable.
She slowly turned, searching for the source.
Simon noticed her shift in energy. His expression darkened with concern.
"Hon… are you okay?"
"Get behind me, Simon," she said, her voice low but firm. "Everyone, stay close to me. No matter what."
Her gaze was fixed on a lone figure approaching from across the road, moving steadily toward the park.
Simon tensed, sensing her fear though he didn't understand it. Ren looked just as confused, eyes darting around as he tried to locate whatever had stolen his mother's attention.
Then he felt it too—that oppressive presence. It washed over him like a crashing wave. His stomach turned, and for the first time in his life, Ren felt as if he'd swallowed an ocean whole.
"Ah… so this is where you are, Rhesa—Kyrios of the Iron Will," the man said, stopping just a few meters away.
His voice was unpleasant—grating—but disturbingly calm, in a way that no one could quite explain.
"What brings you here, Anele… Kyrios of the Vein?" Rhesa replied, her tone composed, her eyes now devoid of warmth.
"What's going on? Do you know this ma—"
Simon began, but Rhesa silently raised a finger to her lips, signaling him to stay quiet.
"This district is my territory," she said coldly. "It is against the rules for a Kyrios to intrude on another's domain without a prior declaration of intent."
"Come now, Rhesa, don't be so rigid," Anele said mockingly, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "Ah, but of course… you can't help it, can you? Your affliction makes you this way."
Then he laughed—shrill and maniacal.
"I do have a question though," he added, tilting his head. "Why didn't you attend the last Dominion Council?"
Rhesa's gaze didn't waver. "I am a Kyrios, Anele. We do as we please. I didn't want to attend, and I am under no obligation to do what I don't wish to."
Anele stared at her in silence for a brief moment, the mocking smile fading from his face. Then he spoke again.
"But you see," Anele began, his voice low and venomous, "I know why you didn't attend the council. I know why you no longer answer any of our summons. We all do. Before I came here, I heard Sael spouting some naive nonsense—saying she'd speak with you, convince you to take our side. But I knew it was hopeless.
Someone with an affliction that even affects her fortitude would never abandon her beliefs just because someone askedher to. You side with these humans—creatures who destroy, who go against everything we were made for, who—"
"How dare you," Rhesa snapped, cutting him off. Her voice, once composed, was now sharp with fury.
"You've been spewing nonsense since the moment you arrived. Just state your business or leave. Don't pretend to care about nature or morals—you care about nothing. You never have."
Anele laughed—loud and unhinged. He dragged a hand across his pale face, pushing his fingers through his hair.
"RHESA," he bellowed, his voice echoing across the park. "I HAVE COME TO KILL YOU. IF YOU ARE NOT WITH US, YOU ARE AGAINST US."
Rhesa didn't flinch. Her voice returned to its icy calm.
"I know how the affliction affects those of us with core water affinity. But this—this hatred, this madness—isn't your affliction. It's you. It's who you really are. Did you think I'd just let you kill me?"
Anele smirked, his lips stretching unnaturally over his pale face. "And do you think you can stop me, Rhesa? Have you forgotten my derivative?"
"Don't do this here, Anele," she said firmly. "There are innocent people all around. If we fight here, the district will collapse. Lives will be lost. It would go against everything we're meant to stand for."
Simon, who had remained silent, watching the exchange with growing horror, felt a cold dread crawl down his spine. 'What did Rhesa mean by all this?'
Then Anele's tone dropped. It was colder. Final.
"You said it yourself—I don't care about humans. I don't care about the damage, or the rules, or what the other Kyrios will say about what I'm about to do. But you missed one thing."
He took a slow step forward.
"Today, I care about killing you. That's all."
Behind Rhesa, Anya clung tightly to her mother with one hand, while clutching the teddy bear she had brought to the park against her chest with the other. The moment this man appeared, she'd felt it—something wrong. Cold. But it wasn't like the calm chill she felt around her brother. This was different. In Anele's presence, it felt as though her blood was boiling in her veins. Her breath quickened. Her grip tightened.
Rhesa glanced at her daughter. Then at Simon. Then at Ren. She could feel it now—her emotions, rising late as they always did due to her affliction. Regret. Sadness. Rage.
A deep sigh escaped her lips.
She had only just begun to feel what it meant to be a mother. Only just started to experience the warmth of a family, something her affliction had stolen from her all her life. She had longed for that feeling—for love, for joy—for so long. And now that she finally had it… it would be short-lived.
She was powerful—one of the strongest Kyrios alive. There were only a handful of beings in the world who could match her strength. But Anele... Anele was an abomination. His derivative made him different. Dangerous.
To stand a chance against him, she would have to unleash everything. All of it. But if she did… everyone within ten, maybe twenty miles would die.
And worse—every life lost, every drop of blood spilled, would only make him stronger.
Rhesa watched in silence as Anele reached into the long crimson leather jacket he wore and pulled out a small pocket knife. He let out an exaggerated sigh.
"I should've worn something sleeveless today," he muttered, almost to himself. "Now I'll have to ruin this beautiful jacket. Tsk, tsk."
With those words, he raised the knife—and without hesitation—stabbed it deep into his own shoulder.
Gasps erupted all around him. The crowd froze in place, stunned. Some backed away in horror, while others murmured in confusion. A few covered their mouths in disbelief.
Simon instinctively reached out and shielded Anya's eyes from the sight. Ren squeezed his eyes shut as well, but not from fear—his head was suddenly pounding. A searing headache split across his skull, and his body felt bloated, as though he'd drunk gallons of water. It felt… unnatural, unbearable. Like his insides were about to burst.
Meanwhile, Anele slowly began to drag the knife from his shoulder down to his wrist, slicing through flesh with eerie calm.
When he finally pulled the blade free, something unnatural occurred.
His blood didn't fall.
Instead, it floated upward—defying gravity—forming into a dark, pulsating orb above his bleeding arm.
"Throne of the Bleeding Sky," Anele whispered.
The orb responded.
It began to expand, swelling and pulsing with a life of its own. Its surface churned and twisted, distorting as it grew in size. Slowly, it began to rise, drifting toward the sky—growing larger and larger the higher it climbed.
The sky darkened slightly, as if reacting to the presence of the blood-forged sphere. The air grew heavier, saturated with a coppery scent. Something ancient and terrible had been awakened.