Just as he was born from a river of blood, he would unleash a sea of blood over Tartareia.
He was death himself. A bringer of death.
And she could not bear to be named the mother of such a creature.
While the Lady is still in her trance, staring out the window at the eclipse, the maid reaches for the babe.
He’s red. Ugly. Dirty. But he is just a babe, not death itself as the Lady believes.
He is an innocent soul who never asked to be born. Yet here he was, thrust into this world by some invisible sources despite his mother’s wishes.
Though unwanted, he deeply wants to live.
He whines and cries, seeking for some comfort from his mother, but finding none. Even the maid that takes him in her arms holds him in distaste, a distance away from her chest, as if he were the devil itself.
And maybe he was. But weren’t all Sons of Tenebreis devils in their own right? Did they not live off corruption and debauchery?
But there was something different with this babe. His fate is to bring about destructiontothe corrupted. Because even the worst of the worst had a hierarchy of their own. Some were bad. He was about to be worse.
When the cries of the baby become undeniable, the Lady finally reacts.
She turns toward her maid and looks her dead in the eye.
“Kill him,” she orders. “Wrap the cord around his neck and suffocate him. Tell my husband this is how he was born. He will believe it. It has happened before.”
And it had happened.
Sons of Tenebreis might be considered the true descendants from the Seven, but they were not born immortal, nor impervious. They were born with the potential to be so.
Sons of Tenebreis might be about the pedigree, but to be a true member of the brethren, one had open all nine energy gates. Only after passing those trials was a male allowed within the exclusive and secretive circle of powerful immortals.
As for imperviousness… No one was truly impervious, no matter their strength. There was always a weakness, though some hid it better than others.
Except for the Seven, everyonecoulddie.
And many did die before.
“But… My Lady… That’s…”
“Kill. Him,” the Lady commands once more, her voice decisive. “He needs to die.”
The maid cradles the baby closer to her, but still not quite touching her chest. He flails his little arms in an attempt to get closer, to feel some warmth on that very cold day. The wind brushes against his blood-soaked skin, making him shiver. His cries become louder.
“I cannot,” the maid stammers. Eyes wide, she places the babe next to the Lady and takes a step back. “I cannot,” she repeats before fleeing the room.
Alone with the babe and her lady’s maid, the Lady turns to her.
“You must kill him,” she decrees in her aristocratic tone. “Now. Before my husband comes.”
The lady’s maid, too, takes a step backward.
She stares at the bloody babe before slowly raising her gaze to meet her mistress’. She is horrified by what she is asked to do. She’s been Her Ladyship’s companion for thousands of years, and in all that time she had never seen her thusly.
She is not herself, the maid thinks. She cannot be herself. She would never ask me to harm a mere babe—she would never even think it.
“My Lady, surely you cannot mean that. He is just a babe?—”
“Just a babe? Look outside!” The Lady thunders, pointing towards the broken windows. The sky is clear, the light from the overlapping moons stronger than ever. “This is a disaster. He will be the death of us all.”
