Evening settled over the small town, gentle and quiet—everywhere except the old hermitage on the hill, where agony ripped through the halls.
"I CAN'T— I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!"
A woman's scream echoed through stone.
The family that lived there had defended humanity for centuries. A legacy of warriors chosen by the God of Creation, blessed with divine heritage, feared and respected as demon hunters. Their foes were creatures born from the abyss— shadows that stalked villages, devoured wandering travelers, and whispered fear into the hearts of men. But the family's hearts held one fatal flaw—an obsession with strength. Every child was measured… every heir tested.
Tonight, another life was entering that brutal lineage.
The scream of the woman from the hermitage belonged to the wife of the family's leader, respected as their Lord.
In the birthing chamber, midwives hurried around the struggling woman.
"Breathe! Stay with us, lady Selira!" one cried.
Selira clawed at the sheets. Sweat drenched her hair. Pain rattled through her bones.
Outside, the Lord of the hermitage paced like a storm in human form. His jaw clenched, his hands tightened and loosened around prayer beads. Priests whispered around him, preparing ancient rites.
Then—
A newborn's cry shattered the chaos.
A powerful, clear wail that cut through the world.
Selira gasped, relief flooding her face. A midwife placed her son onto her chest.
"He's perfect," she whispered, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. Tears shone in her eyes.
Smiles spread. For a moment, joy filled the chamber.
Then the doors slammed open.
The Lord marched in with heavy, unwavering steps. Selira's face brightened—
"He's here to see our baby"—
But without a word, before she could even react, he wrenched the child from her arms.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Selira screamed, reaching out.
He ignored her and headed toward the circle of priests gathered before an impossibly bright flame, burning inside a big, golden ring—so radiant it cast no shadows.
Selira stumbled from the bed—
Only to be grabbed and held back by a midwife.
"You can't stand, my lady! You're still losing blood!"
Selira thrashed, desperate.
"LET ME GO!"
Her eyes locked onto the baby being carried toward the blinding brilliance.
The midwife holding her whispered shakily,
"It's… it's the Eternal Flame…"
Selira froze.
"The… what?"
"The soul of the God of Creation. It burns for all who descend from Him… all who claim His heritage."
Selira's breath shook.
"What does that have to do with my son?!"
Ahead, the Lord stopped before the flame.
The priests bowed their heads.
Selira screamed, "ORVYN! STOP!"
Orvyn did not turn.
He stepped into the radiance and sat directly in the flame's embrace, holding the newborn close.
The child whimpered—then shrieked as the fire's brilliance seared its's tiny skin. Three blazing marks appeared—like divine strokes carved onto mortal flesh.
Selira's voice broke. "ORVYN—PLEASE!"
At the first true burn, Orvyn yanked the child away from the flame and staggered back.
The baby sobbed weakly in his arms.
Selira collapsed against the midwife, tears streaming.
Orvyn stared at his infant son—his expression a mask of cold steel—yet inside, something fractured.
And finally… he spoke.
"When I was a child," he said quietly, "I was held in this flame as well. I screamed as he screams now."
Selira finally understood how he got that massive burn mark on his forearm.
His voice wavered—barely detectable.
"My father stood where I stand. And his father before him. We all… endured."
He looked at his son again, jaw tightening.
"This is the burden of our line. The weight we carry so the world may survive."
Selira sobbed harder, reaching trembling her fingers toward the child, but Orvyn remained still—caught between duty and the instinct to protect.
One of the priests stepped forward, clearing his throat with reverence.
"My lord Orvyn… lady Selira… this child is now bound to the legacy of your house."
He placed a hand over his heart.
"The house of Sorcel… keepers of the Eternal Flame… warriors born from the first breath of the God of Creation."
Others joined in, voices low and solemn:
"The Sorcel bloodline stands unbroken."
Selira stared through her tears at her son's glowing burn marks.
Unbroken lineage.
Unbreakable duty.
Unthinkable cost.
And the child's destiny—shattered before it began—had only just awakened.