There are many tales about how the world came to be. Primordial beings that shaped and are still shaping reality today. We all may have come from nowhere. We may have come from the void to being by the whims of creation.

But Mara always liked the tale of the brothers Khzxyrulon and Zk'hxzorath, a tongue twister that gets a new pronunciation every time the story is told.

The story always scratched at her itch of grandeur.

From nothingness, Khzxyrulon and Zk'hxzorath came to be. They had no reason for existence; they had no will to shape creation; they simply were existence.

Purposeless.

There is a saying that as long as two beings exist in the same world, they will try to kill each other, and that's what happened with the brothers.

With infinite power and nothing to do with it, they turned to one another; looking for stimulation, they fought.

Their blows shaped the cosmos to be; infinite force met infinite force and they both came undone. From their dissolving bodies, creation came to be.

That was quite a tale to tell to a young child, but that was the tale that shaped Mara's early life. Her mother always told her it was the same tale her mother and father told her when she was growing up, and now she was continuing the tradition.

But there were always neglected parts in every story, and like how Elara withheld information about more gruesome parts of the tale, Elara's mother did the same to her.

In infinity, Mara was thrown into the burgeoning universe. Magnificent beings encapsulated all that was and would be traded blows without a true purpose, but trading blows soon became all they could do, as finally, creation started to take form.

But a universe born from traded blows was not a kind place. It reeked of the same primal violence that shaped it.

Teeth gnashed endlessly in a grotesque symphony, a relentless feast where prey and predators danced in a macabre waltz. The cacophony of their struggle drowned all else, a droning, all-consuming noise.

The song of life sang in the voice of consumption.

What once was and what would be, teeth devoured it all, feeding an endless cycle of suffering. Everything profane was twisted, becoming a distorted echo of itself, repeated to infinity.

Blood filled creation, creating profane muscles and sinew that stretched throughout existence.

The scarlet connections fed a vast star from where the brothers traded blows. Scarlet waves crashed against one another in a brutal fight to extend their short existence in mimicry of their birth.

The ocean nurtured a wretched being, an embryo of savagery destined to be consumed by its parent. The air reeked of screams, each carrying the taste of ash and despair.

Ruthless waves invaded her lungs and crushed her skull, devouring her potential to feed its grotesque child. A child born to unbirth, forever feeding but never complete.

The waves washed over her with agony and hatred. She fought towards non-existent shores, a task as futile as the ocean's own existence.

A soundless voice whispered as she sought to survive, preying on her while she fought towards non-existent shores. The sound was the whispers from the first to speak, the first to deceive, the first to tell truths painted by crimson.

To survive, she accepted the deal, and creation heard her call. Her CHALLENGE.

Silence would be brought through violence, peace would be painted in crimson, and finally, there would be peace and SILENCE.

Mara's head broke the surface, facing a sky painted in oblivion's non-colors. It was beauty mingled with mind-shattering truths, bringing tears swept by scarlet. It was peace and dread, the truth past the veil, a burden in chains thrust upon her drowned body.

Pained and raw, her scream resounded through all of creation, a being to rival the never-born, a macabre rebirth, the one to herald The Crimson Son.

—————

Reality shattered as she awoke with a guttural cry, leaping from her blanket. The world blurred into reds and browns, her body meeting the ground with an unforgiving thud.

The ground was damp and scented with ash. Mara stumbled to stand and the room swayed as if pulled by strings. Her eyes rolled in her skull while she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Wooden walls dripped with the condensation of desires and the noise of gnashing teeth crawled from under the door as her naked feet touched cigarette ashes.

Slowly the world stopped its sway. The sin's color that clung to her visions like an unwelcomed parasite faded, leaving behind only the muted brown of wood. The light that once tasted of ignorance now glowed with the warm yellow of a burning candle. The sounds of gnashing teeth and debauchery were replaced by distant drinking and laughter.

Mara's mind focused on the now, and she finally saw that she was in a room. Bedside her bed, a table held a flickering candle, and a metal flask with something scrawled in charcoal. Her hands traced her face, felt the familiar contours of her tusks, and finally ran through her hair, finding it sorely lacking. "It… I-I…” Mara stammered, confused and scared. She struggled to form words as memories flooded back.

Looking at her hands, she saw them stained a deep scarlet. Fear gripped her heart and she frantically rubbed her face, searching for the source. When she looked again, her hands were clean, as if cleansed of sin.

Her heart beat with the rhythm of a war drum and her blood ran like scorching magma in her veins. Swallowing felt like forcing a boulder down her throat.

Trying to stand, she felt pain coursing through her like lightning and left every inch aching with exhaustion as if she had been wrung out like a wet cloth. Mara steadied herself on shaky legs, grimacing before being back onto the bed.

Her eyes burned as if she had stared directly into the sun, and her feet throbbed with the dull ache of a long sprint up Crimson Commons. Adding to her discomfort was an overwhelming hunger, amplified by the tantalizing aroma of smoked meats and spices that drifted from below her door and into the room.

Her gaze drifted around the room once more, settling on the metal flask and the closed window above her bed. The flask, labeled in goblin as 'Healing Potion,' bore a striking resemblance to the ones Ruck always carried. Even the handwriting looked like his.

A small, uncertain smile touched her lips and after uncorking the flask, and feeling like Jr. kicked her face, she knew it really was Ruck's. The 'potion' oozed rather than flowed, revealing a concoction of mashed herbs loosely bound together by some kind of sap.

She cautiously dripped a few drops onto her hand, giving it a tentative lick. When the 'potion' touched her tongue, her face scrunched up at the sour and intensely bitter taste, enough to burn her tongue. The taste didn't disappear, it lingered as the 'potion' slowly made its way down her throat.

How can that brown mushroom water taste better than this? Something this undrinkable was obviously one of Ruck's creations.

Despite its near-poisonous taste, it eased her pains and even calmed her. The more her body and soul calmed, the more it seemed like the walls around her would collapse to reveal a scarlet expanse hidden by the flimsy wood.

Her heart quickened and fear spread its insidious tendrils back into her mind, forcing her to investigate the room with the fear of someone who has a bounty on their head. The shadows seemed alive, stretching and crawling out of corners with claw-like appendages digging into the wood. They were hunting for her.

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Those thoughts startled Mara, the nightmare having way more sway over her than she would've liked. Shaking her head, Mara tried to dispel the insidious imagery that clung to her consciousness. It was unlike her to be scared like that. She knew she wasn't afraid of the dark. Yet, she couldn't help but cast suspicious glances at every shadow in the room before she hesitantly moved to the window.

First Rule of Adventuring: always be vigilant. She wasn't scared; she was just following her mother's teachings. Yes... Just following Mom's wisdom.

Mara hesitantly undid the window's latch, afraid that what awaited on the other side would be a red ocean. Fear that the light spilling between the wood was nothing but a twisted bait.

The window parted violently parted and Mara was greeted with an indigo sky. The sight brought an insurmountable amount of relief to her as she, for the first time, took time to appreciate its beauty.

Like a streak of tarnished white diamonds, the ever-changing ring that sometimes appeared during the month of Change was morphing. Like a cocoon being broken, the myriads of debris that filled the sky finished a metamorphosis into clear crystals that reflected and seemed to multiply the stars, bloating the sky with celestial grandeur.

Behind the spectacle of the months going from Change to Crystal stood Tyroth's eyes, The Twins, or as most called them, Cicue and Teon.

Like a bright sapphire, Cicue took center stage, from which Tyroth looked down on people and saw their destinies. Behind it, almost fading into the starry night, Teon floated, looking like charred wood, the eye of calamity called by many, the eye that was directed at the world when Tyroth tested their wills to live.

Below the celestial spectacle stood Russet Ridge. Her mother planned to take them to Clayridge if Mara's memory served. It was a city for ordinary people.

Single-story houses of wood and stone dominated the terrain, with very few daring to be taller.

A breeze swept into the room, sending a shiver through Mara's clad form. Despite the coldness that made her hair stand on end, she welcomed that over the room's suffocating closeness. Standing by the window, she let the wind carry away her lingering fears.

A stray thought wormed its way to her mind, Right! I missed the valley, Mara thought with a twinge of dejection. She remembered the kind old half-elf who lived there, always generous with his homemade jam when her mother visited. He even let Mara sample a cup of real wine, not like Podkus with his alcohol-free Podkus Pour, but real genuine wine, and she craved more of that.

Maybe I can convince Mom to stop there on the way back. The idea struck Mara like a bolt of lightning. Why didn't we always stop at his house on the way home? She decided to convince her mom to make the detour.

As Mara lingered on this new plan, she observed the city below, alive with a patchwork of lights. Some were the warm glow of candles and torches, while others shone with the brilliance of magic. Dancing Lights bobbed alongside a few individuals while others carried sticks or stones imbued with the Light spell.

A few street vendors still manned their carts, devoid of elaborate designs but filled with goods laid in cloth. Food carts, in particular, took the bulk of the available space, their skewers tantalizing to the eye and nose alike.

The sight of the carts rekindled Mara's hunger. She remembered her mother saying that she would always leave a few silver coins hidden in case she had to leave her alone. Scanning the room, Mara eventually found the silver coins tucked inside her boot.

After a brief search, she found a set of clothes she liked to call her adventuring clothes, that while looking and being made mostly of ordinary materials, held an extra layer of monster hide that gave additional protection.

She could feel her ravenous curiosity finally peeking its head over its fear hole, yearning for her to leave the dull room.

As her hand touched the door handle, Mara cast one final glance at the room's shadows. They danced back and forth, driven by the flickering candlelight. I knew I wasn't scared of the dark. She tried reassuring herself but couldn't quench the embers of doubt.

As the door creaked open, she was struck by the overpowering smells of heavily salted foods and watered ale. The bright light from the hallway made her squint as she stepped out of her room, her eyes gradually adjusting to the change.

The wooden floor creaked softly under her steps, its sound drowned by the lively ruckus from downstairs. Despite the ache in her feet, Mara's excitement grew. The walls were adorned with trophies from successful hunts. The head of a Barghest was perched below antlers that resembled tangled brambles, and the imposing head plate of a Bullete was proudly displayed near the stairs. The sights stoked the raging flames of curiosity inside her.

A place adorned with so many trophies was always an adventurer's gathering spot. Mara loved these spots; they often spent entire nights at such places. She would chat with the patrons while her mother busied herself with drinks or food.

Reaching the stairs, Mara was welcomed by a scene that never failed to thrill her. The room was bustling with people clad in leather and metal, some brandishing staffs crowned with glowing gems. Many bore the marks of their adventurous lives: bodies adorned with scars and some even missing limbs.

The cheer was broken by a sudden flash of darkness. The room turned scarlet, the patrons' hands dripped with condensed sin, and their teeth were sharp instruments of consumption. Swords clashed, and magic roared, a terrifying symphony of pain.

The crushing depths of the ocean returned, threatening to break her as she desperately shook her head, fighting to dispel the visions.

The room returned to normal, the scarlet replaced by the mundane sight of greasy hands and ale-filled mugs.

Leaning on the stair's handle, she took a moment to steady herself, fighting the rising fear. "Stop it, Mara," she whispered to herself, "You're not a scaredy cat. It was just a nightmare." She pushed the fear away with a deep breath, determined to regain her composure.

Mara descended slowly towards the ruckus below, her eagerness battling the persistent fear. The overpowering smells made her salivate and her stomach rumble, reminding her that she was out for gods knew how long. At the bottom of the stairs, she took a last glance at the trophies, only to be greeted with the sight of black sludge leaking from them; it dripped like tears from the Bullete's head plating, sizzling when it met the ground.

She tumbled down the last few steps, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. The initial shock and pain of the fall were quickly overshadowed by her urgency to distance herself from the sight. Scrambling to her feet, she darted away, glancing over her shoulder.

The trophy was now out of view, hidden from her line of sight unless she dared to climb back up a few steps.

Mara hurried to the bar, her eyes immediately drawn to the bartender. He stood a couple of fingers taller than her mother, and though his skin lacked the full gray hue of the goliaths, he was adorned with their distinctive tattoos. The man held a concerned gaze over her.

"Everything alright, miss?" he asked, his eyes scanning her for any signs of fresh injuries.

Mara glanced nervously over her shoulder, half-expecting the trophy to be visible. "N-no, just tripped, that's all," she stammered, her attempt to sound calm failing.

He raised an eyebrow at the voice coming out of her youthful face. "Take a seat, please," he guided gently, pouring a glass of water for her.

Mara's hands trembled as she grasped the cup, quickly gulping down the water in an attempt to steady herself.

"Miss, I'm serious. If you need help, just say the word." He gestured subtly towards the cheerful adventurers. "Most folks here are good-hearted and would be glad to assist."

"No, really, I did just trip. Just, just…" Mara struggled to find an explanation that wouldn't make her sound delusional. Admitting to seeing things wasn't an option —what kind of adventurer would that make her? "Just had a bad night, thought I saw something," she finally managed to say.

The bartender's expression gradually shifted from concern to recognition, "You're Elara's daughter, aren't you?"

Mara's answer came out quickly, almost instinctively, "N-No! Just a traveling adventurer, stopping for some ale, that's all!" The last thing she wanted was to be seen as a child tagging along with her mother. The embarrassing image of her mother possibly carrying her upstairs flashed through her mind, intensifying her denial. Overshadowing even the persistent dread that lurked in her mind.

The bartender's face lit up with a knowing smile. "Sure… You just happen to look exactly like the one that was carried upstairs, same brown skin and hair the color of autumn leaves."

"Yes, just a coincidence," Mara managed to say, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment as she faced the undeniable truth of having been carried like a child.

"Let's just pretend I believe you're a traveling adventurer." The bartender leaned in, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Elara happened to pay the owner a few silver to keep an eye on her daughter should she turn up here. You wouldn't mind helping me look out for her, would you?"

Mara responded stiffly, "I'm happy to help." She reached into her pocket, pulling out some silver. "One cup of ale."

The bartender went through the motions of serving a patron, only to freeze mid-ale-pouring, "How old are you?"

Mara froze, considering her response. She couldn't admit to being ten; even with orcs maturing faster, she knew that wouldn't look good. "Twenty-two," she declared with as much confidence as she could muster.

The bartender chuckled softly. "I'll cut that in half," he said, reaching for a piece of parchment from under the counter. Mara's curiosity peaked, forcing her to lean over the counter to sneak a peek. It was a chart written in Common, detailing the ages of various races.

That's new.

A noise of surprise escaped the bartender as he found the section for orcs, where the number fifteen was written. He then proceeded to pour Mara another glass of water. Not giving back her silver piece.

Mara shot the bartender a look, before begrudgingly accepting the cup and began to drink. "Why do you have that? I've never seen it before." Mara was accustomed to sneaking into taverns, where her height often sufficed for her to be served. This was the first time her age had been questioned.

The bartender wiped a glass with a cloth, his expression reflecting mild annoyance. "It's a new hassle we've got to deal with. A few months back they introduced this 'Legal Drinking Age' law. Now we have to check everyone we suspect might be underage for their race."

Mara grumbled under her breath, processing the bartender's explanation. The new law meant that even taverns would treat her like a child.

She was nearing adulthood, yet her mother still strictly forbade her from drinking; the other parents let their sons and daughters drink without any problem. Fortunately, she had her own ways of getting around those rules when out with friends.

Shaking off her annoyance and pushing the earlier fear to the back of her mind, Mara tried to immerse herself back into the lively atmosphere of the tavern. Gradually, the remaining traces of fear dissolved into the dim corners of her mind, allowing her to be enveloped by the merry ambiance around her.

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the right person to engage in conversation. A bard would be perfect —they were always eager to share their stories. Alternatively, those who resembled walking fortresses and often still nursing wounds, tended to have tales of bravery and battle. These storytellers were usually more than willing to recount their exploits, especially in the company of an eager listener like herself.

Too many Orcs, Mara though, a little dejected.

Mara was well aware that Vrealom lay just beyond Russet Ridge, a region heavily inhabited by orcs. Their tales, often thrilling recounts of Bulletes tunneling through the earth and consuming Axe Beaks and orcs alike, had always fascinated her. However, having heard countless variations of these stories made her yearn for something more unique.

Mara overlooked the orc adventurers, seeking out someone who stood out in the crowd. Her gaze soon landed on a pair of twins at one of the tables. Their copper skin, sandy blonde hair cut in identical styles, and matching freckles stretching across their cheeks made them instantly noticeable.

But it was the tiefling accompanying them who truly captured her attention. Tieflings were rare; she could count on one hand how many she met, and this one was particularly striking. The tiefling had deep crimson skin, silver eyes, and slightly crooked horns adorned with trinkets, giving him an exotic air. And the very expensive-looking silver lyre by his side heavily suggested he was a bard.

Mara hesitated, glancing at the bartender, uncertain whether she was expected to remain at the bar or if she could walk over to the tiefling's table. As she pondered, her not-so-subtle staring inadvertently caught the tiefling's attention. His piercing silver eyes locked onto hers, and Mara felt an involuntary shiver run through her. There was something unnervingly perceptive about his gaze. It was as if he could see right through her.

A sharp pain ran through her mind, like a nail being driven in her skull. Eyes… Countless eyes bloated the skies, each bringing forth a promise of a thousand dooms and destinies.

Her mind continued to be assaulted by those visions as she struggled to process them. What is happening? Mara grunted in pain as she cradled her head in her hands, using the bar for support while she blinked dark spots out of her vision. While disoriented, she looked back at the tiefling.

To her surprise, the tiefling stood up, his movements smooth as he began to walk towards her. Mara found herself rooted to the spot, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside her.