Heaven Defying King

The air was thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and life itself. Inside the dimly lit chamber of a modest stone manor, the agonized moans of a woman in labor reverberated through the wooden beams, mingling with the hushed whispers of anxious midwives.

Candles flickered, casting wavering shadows across the rough-hewn walls, their wax dripping onto the uneven stone floor like congealing blood. The stagnant air carried the acrid tang of old herbs, sweat-soaked linens, and the unmistakable metallic scent of life being torn into existence. A basin of water sat nearby, the surface marred by swirls of diluted crimson, where bloodied cloths had been hastily rinsed and discarded. The oppressive heat of the room clung to the skin, a stifling presence that made every breath feel labored, as though the very walls were closing in, trapping life and death in equal measure.

The glow barely illuminated the contorted face of Lady Evelyne of House Mordecai, her auburn locks drenched in sweat, sticking to her forehead as she clutched the blood-stained sheets. Her body shuddered, wracked by pain so profound it blurred the lines of reality, making her feel as though she was floating in and out of consciousness. Every muscle in her body screamed, the tendons in her arms pulling taut as she fought against the raw, unrelenting agony of birth. Yet, through sheer will, she endured.

A final, harrowing scream rang out, followed by the unmistakable cries of newborns. Twin voices, weak yet insistent, shattered the tense silence.

"Two boys, my lady," murmured the midwife, voice laced with awe and apprehension. The women gathered exchanged worried glances. A mother birthing twins was often seen as a sign of divine blessing or an omen of tragedy.

Evelyne's vision blurred as exhaustion threatened to claim her, yet she reached out weakly. Her fingers trembled as they brushed against the warm, soft skin of her children. The sensation was fleeting, a fragile tether to a world already beginning to fade.

"My sons…" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

But before she could hold them properly, the heavy oak doors creaked open. The scent of stale wine and sweat filled the chamber, making the midwives recoil. A bloated man, his fine tunic straining against his protruding stomach, staggered in. His brown hair was damp with perspiration, and his murky brown eyes gleamed with something twisted.

Baron Aldric of House Mordecai husband.

Evelyne's heart seized, a cold weight sinking into her stomach.

"Two boys," Aldric murmured, voice slurred. He lurched forward, eyeing the fragile infants with a mix of confusion and possessiveness. Then, his gaze landed on her. Something dark twisted across his features.

"You are my wife, Evelyne," he muttered, stepping closer. "And I have been without you for far too long."

A cold dread settled in Evelyne's chest, snaking its way down her spine like ice.

"Aldric, please," she pleaded, her body still trembling from childbirth. "I am weak… I cannot—"

Her words turned to gasps as he grabbed her wrist, his grip like iron. The midwives shrank away, powerless.

Evelyne struggled, her feeble body unable to resist his brute strength. Her pulse thundered in her ears, panic clawing at her mind. She could not let this happen. Not after what she had endured.

A sudden jolt of resolve coursed through her. Gathering what little strength remained, she twisted, yanking herself free with a desperate jerk.

Unbalanced, Aldric stumbled backward. His booted heel struck the edge of a loose floorboard. He flailed, arms windmilling, and lurched toward the open balcony doors.

Evelyne tried to grasp him, not out of love, but from sheer instinct.

Too late.

Aldric's weight pulled him over the edge. The last thing she saw was his wild, disbelieving expression before he disappeared into the void beyond.

A moment of frozen silence stretched—then the sickening crunch of flesh and bone meeting stone shattered the night.

Evelyne's breath came in ragged gasps. She clutched her chest, barely able to process what had happened. Then the railing groaned.

Cracks spread across the aged wood like creeping veins. The fragile post, strained under Aldric's fall, gave way beneath her.

Gravity yanked her downward.

The world spun. Cold wind whipped against her fevered skin. She fell, tumbling into darkness, her fingers reaching—

—reaching—

And then, a crash.

Pain erupted in her back as her body collided with jagged rocks and unforgiving earth. White-hot agony seared through her limbs. Her ribs screamed in protest, her breath rattling as though her very lungs had been pierced. She could taste blood, thick and metallic, pooling in her mouth, the bitter tang of mortality clinging to her tongue.

Yet, miraculously, through all the chaos and destruction, two small cries pierced the night.

Her sons.

They had survived.

Through blurred vision, Evelyne saw them nestled among the tall grass, untouched by the carnage. It was a cruel mercy, for she knew she would not live to see them grow.

Then, the night shifted.

A shadow loomed.

A figure stepped into view, ethereal in its presence. White hair cascaded past his shoulders, each strand catching the silver glow of the moon. His robes, pristine despite the bloodied ground, billowed like mist, edged with a celestial luminescence. His eyes, glowing red like embers of an ancient fire, bore into her with an intensity that defied mortal comprehension. The air around him hummed, an energy both serene and terrifying crackling in unseen currents.

A reaper? A god? Or something beyond?

Evelyne's breath hitched. Her trembling fingers reached toward him, her lips quivering as she whispered, "Please… take them… my sons…"

Blood spilled past her lips, but she forced the words out.

"Let them live… not as victims… but as fate's own hand."

The white-haired figure regarded her, silent and unreadable. The wind howled, as if bearing witness to the weight of this moment.

And then, he moved.

With slow, deliberate grace, he bent down, his glowing eyes never leaving hers, and cradled the fragile newborns in his arms.

Evelyne's lips curled into a ghost of a smile.

Darkness took her.

The wind carried away the last breath of Lady Evelyne of House Morcant, leaving only the pale figure standing amidst death and fate's cruel design.

In his arms, the twins did not cry.

They only watched.

The red eyed man stares at the white haired twins who looked just like him, saving them from their actual fate. The fate of the first twins, The birth of the incarnation of the men participated in the weaving of this world's beginnings, Cain and Abel. His predecessors.