It was a dark and stormy night. A lone tower stood crooked, looming above a humble hamlet from the outskirts, haunted by its sins. Within the cracking edifice was an old man wizened by his years, hunched over a table with shoulders weighed down by long-lasting grief.

"After so long… It's finally here, the eve of your return."

A wrinkled hand with stains of blood that can never be cleaned, gently brushed aside pure white hair obscuring the face of a young woman laying upon the table. An ashen grey face decorated with stitches, much like the rest of her skin, covered by a plain pale dress. The corpse's head weighed down heavily, by a large metallic bolt screwed through its width. A bolt polished and reflective enough to catch the light that shines from a small candle, ignited by a snap of long scraggly fingers.

The elder, gifted in arts arcane, found his mind reflecting upon his many long years as he left the cadaver's side. Years of study he had completed, years of life he had lived. Standing shortly after from a balcony overlooking the quiet settlement, a source of peace forever soured by crimes unforgivable. Unforgivable by the victims who are no longer able, unforgivable by the community whose world was forever tainted. Most of all unforgivable by himself, for if there was any other way he could have seen, it would have been taken.

As the rain fell and covered the land, lightning finally flashed in the distance, and thunder rumbled soon after, shaking the man's bones to their core. His trembling continued after, stirred not by fear of the raw power of nature, but anticipation, of how it shall be harnessed. Such excitement caused him to near trip over foot as he rushed back into the room behind, in which the table lay. Hands raised skyward in a beckoning gesture, calling down twin pillars of iron whose bases locked into place either side of the still body's bolt. Pillars balanced by a beam above, where they intersect into a rod running through the top of the ceiling, its tip exposed to the elements.

Between the excitement and the cold, only worsened by soaked through tattered robes, the mage struggled for nearly a minute to stop himself from shaking. Once steady however, with assistance from a flick of the wrist to become dry within a moment, aged arms spread wide to welcome a new tomorrow. Preaching to the heavens a bold incantation:

"Cruel hands of fate, who stole away my blood, look upon us now! Gods who hold her caged in that which comes after, heed my call! Where heaven meets the earth awaits a vessel prepared to receive her essence! Where heaven strikes the earth I demand an exchange, one life for a hundredfold!"

Outside the tower, which serves as it tip, illuminated a gigantic triangle engraved into the ground, encompassing the entire hamlet, and the innocents within. All of whom, sleeping in their beds, hear not the words spoken after.

"Take now this offering, and return to me what is mine! So what is right may be restored… So that I, may have peace. Come now, heaven and earth, bring about, a True Rebirth!"

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

With the last words spoken, lightning struck the tower. Light flashed, thunder roared, and then all was silent.

- - -

The Storm Followers didn't know for certain what would await them at the site from which the column of light once shone over the horizon, but the barren wasteland now resting before their eyes wasn't the first guess. Of all of the people in this world though, they would be among the last dissuaded by a land devoid of life, and so they walked on, from grassy plain onto dried dead dirt.

Specifically five of the roughly thirty black cloaked and hooded figures did so, unphased by the faint spark in the air dancing amongst the flitting ash. Careful steps avoiding splinters of charred wood and fragments of shattered stone interspersed across the ground. Their silent exploration, save for the sound of quiet breaths, found nothing left standing higher than their ankle. Nothing, save for one.

Little more than a shadow at first, silhouetted in the distance, barely visible in the dim light of the moon. Perfectly still as it was, the first assumption of those approaching was that of debris, jutting out larger than the rest. But as they grew closer, arms and legs could be noticed, it became more obvious the shape was that of a human, impaled through the head. Confusion spread next, as to how the figure stood in spite of the clear injury. Confusion replaced by surprise, as the individual came into view, as the group grew close.

A young woman, no older than twenty years, stood before them, their height shy of five feet tall. It stood there, bare as a newborn babe in the moonlight, facing away as it appeared to gaze up at the starlit sky. Ashen grey skin, whether it be it's natural tone or stained by the ash on the wind was not immediately obvious. Her short pure white hair was more overtly stained though, blackened with soot and scorched tips. Crisscrossing, intersecting all across her body were stitches masterfully woven, such work contrasting strongly with the seemingly random pattern that they formed. 

Distracted as the five were by the unusual discovery, it took a moment to notice the entity stood within a depression in the ground. Slight, but slowly growing. Likewise as they grew closer, the soles of their boots began to wear away. Air grew more arid with each step the distance shortened. For that reason they halted. For that reason, they kneeled. Before the source of decay. Before the source of death that they worshiped.

At this sparks flew from the being's metallic bolt, and with shuddering movements, she turned to face them. An ashen grey face, devoid of emotion save a mildly inquisitive expression. Translucent eyes illuminated hues of flickering blue from lightning passing within, rested with a blank stare upon them. Seemingly taking them in for a few moments. A few long moments as the cloth covering their knees has worn away, and the skin slowly starts to follow after. Until she looks away once more, interest taken by the sky again.

Suddenly, a creak is heard, causing the heads of the five to jolt up, watching as her jaw struggles open. A rasp follows, as air grates against her throat to be taken in for the first time. Finally, a weak, soft, struggling voice enters the world, its meaning she does not know. At that moment, it is little more than her sole memory. A word without a purpose, from a creature without a purpose. Only:

"Eve."