Heaven Defying King

The wind carried the scent of blood and damp earth as the white-haired man stood amidst the wreckage of fate, the two infants resting in his arms. Their small bodies, warm and fragile, nestled against his chest as if seeking the comfort of a father they had never known. Their crimson eyes, mirrors of his own, peered up at him—unblinking, ancient in their knowing. Sitting in the balcony looking into the distance."Heh. It seems that Ethel doesn't exist yet" the man said, longing for the future. 

"The cycle repeats itself," he murmured, voice laced with something unreadable. Was it sorrow? Resignation? Or something else entirely?

The world had seen this before. The birth of twins marked by fate, bound by destiny older than time itself. The first ones—Cain and Abel—had woven the first strand of mankind's legacy, their hands stained with love and betrayal. The echoes of their choices had rippled through time, shaping the course of nations, of kings and peasants alike.

And now, once more, twin souls had been brought forth.

A heavy silence settled upon the night. The white-haired man glanced down at them, his expression unreadable. He had seen the rise and fall of empires, the weight of divine decrees, the way fate played its cruel games upon the unsuspecting. He knew what these children were meant to be—what they were supposed to become. And yet, he had intervened.

With a slow exhale, he shifted his grip, securing them as he turned away from the lifeless form of Lady Evelyne of House Mordecai. Her sacrifice had ensured their survival, though at the cost of her own life. A cruel mercy, as fate often demanded.

Footsteps approached, soft yet deliberate. A woman cloaked in obsidian robes emerged from the shadows, her golden eyes gleaming beneath the hood that concealed most of her face.

"So, you chose to interfere," she mused, tilting her head. "You, of all beings."

The man did not respond immediately. Instead, he looked toward the horizon, where the first hints of dawn threatened to pierce the veil of night.

"They were meant to bring about the balance of the universe," the woman continued, her voice carrying an edge of curiosity rather than accusation. "As all others after them. The cycle should have continued. But it has been destroyed before it would continue". She smiled full of interest.

"Chaos can't exist Mana." His voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of an undeniable truth. "I have made sure of it."

The woman studied him for a moment before stepping closer. "Then what will you do with them?"

His fingers curled slightly around the infants. "Raise them. Guide them. Let them carve a new path."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "You would make them gods, then? Or men?"

"Neither." His gaze dropped to the twins once more, his expression momentarily softening. "They will become what fate could never control."

For a long moment, neither spoke. The night stretched on, the weight of their choices settling into the earth like an unspoken decree.

Then, with the faintest of sighs, the woman stepped back into the shadows. "Very well. But do not forget—when one defies fate, fate takes notice. And it is never merciful."

The white-haired man did not respond, nor did he watch her leave. He had already made his choice.

Holding the twins close, he stepped forward, vanishing into the night, leaving behind the remnants of a shattered destiny.

The world would come to know them in time.

But not as Cain and Abel.

Not as mere men.

They would be something else entirely.

And fate would tremble at their coming.

He needs them to be strong to prepare for Quietesche's arrival.

A flicker of movement in the distance caught his attention. Figures cloaked in midnight robes emerged from the shadows of the treeline, their hoods obscuring faces but failing to hide the unmistakable reverence in their postures. They had been watching. Waiting.

One stepped forward, his voice a whisper against the night.

"Is it true, then? The cycle has been severed?"

The white-haired man did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned his attention back to the infants. They did not cry, nor did they squirm. They simply watched.

"No," he said at last, his voice tinged with something unreadable. "The cycle is shifting, but it is not broken. These two will bear the weight of what came before."

The robed figures exchanged uneasy glances. The speaker hesitated, then dared to ask, "Cain and Abel?"

A long pause. Then, a whisper of a smile touched the man's lips, one devoid of warmth.

"No," he corrected. "Something more... something less."

The sigil on the twins' foreheads pulsed faintly before fading into their skin, leaving no visible trace. The first of many secrets they would carry.

The air around them thickened, ancient forces stirring from slumber. The weight of history loomed over them, but the future had yet to be written.

The red-eyed man turned on his heel, the twins still cradled in his arms. Without another word, he walked into the shadows, the robed figures melting into the night behind him.

And so, the world shifted.

And fate watched, ever patient, ever waiting.