Prologue

Tarquin's heart felt as still as the night air, standing on the weather-beaten cliffs of Visage Church. His hair, unruly and unkempt, caught in the relentless wind, framing his face—once handsome, now a canvas of weariness and regret. The old sanctuary, a crumbling monument to his family's legacy, mirrored his blue eyes in the shattered stained glass. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years. That’s because he hadn’t, and there was a damn good reason for it.

He shifted his gaze to the crying baby boy cradled in his arms. Vacant eyes spoke volumes as he turned to the sea. Peaceful azure waves contrasted sharply with the chaos of his last three years. Commitment drove him forward. He had done unspeakable things, all to protect the last bit of love in his battered life. His blessing, once a heavenly gift, had turned into a relentless torment the night it awakened him, nearly tearing him apart.

"Man, talk about buyer’s remorse," he muttered, looking down at the adorable chaos in his arms. The mark on his forehead, a runic eye overlapped by three symbols, had flared to life in a burst of black-silver light, rousing him from sleep and tearing him from his fiancée’s side. Pretty rude, if you asked him. The Sixth Ascendant Blessing, World’s Eye, had unveiled its dark promise: mastery over the past and dominion over the present. He could see the echoes of history in every corner, pull secrets from shadows, and manifest fragments of his mind as ghostly apparitions—World Spectres, deadly and undetectable. Not exactly the kind of thing they put in the brochure.

But the blessing was also a colossal pain in the neck, shoving terrifying visions into his brain at all hours. Prophetic nightmares of the collapse of his world, the death of his family, his unborn daughters, and finally, himself. Not exactly bedtime stories. Desperately, he sought a solution, diving deeper into the abyss of his newfound powers. In every possible outcome he analyzed, there was no son. Bingo. That anomaly had to mean something. A son was the wild card he was going to fling into the turbulent waters of fate, hoping for a ripple effect he couldn’t foresee.

Now, he held this small, sickly ripple close—a son, with dark veins making a celestial map across his tiny body, the result of the corruption Tarquin had introduced into the mix, it would have its uses one day if he was right about it. "You’re going to have a hard life, kid," he murmured. "Your body will be weak even after you get your anointment. But you’ll have a family. I’ve made sure of it."

The child’s cries softened as if amused by the irony of his father’s words. "I never gave you a name. My dad was Tarvanious Terquinion Talos. We do love our T’s—but I’ll avoid any potential bullying."

Before he could say more, black and red flames roared from above, and a blade of burning ebony crashed into the cliffside. The emerald grass beneath disintegrated into a blackened sigil. The great sword, Deathsinger, gleamed in the moonlight, its golden barbed handle and jewel-encrusted pommel in the shape of a broken tower radiating an ominous glow.

From its tower-shaped gem, dark crimson ash poured forth, coalescing into two spectral figures. A man and a woman, looking like they’d just come from a casual stroll down Otherworldly Lane.

"Flashy bastards," Tarquin muttered with a crooked grin.

"We can still hear you when we’re materializing, you foul-mouthed son of a bitch," came Soleen’s voice. Her long, obsidian hair and onyx eyes framed a flawless olive face that had seen sixty but didn’t look a day over thirty. Beside her materialized Keral, a creature of pure muscle, alabaster skin, and combed-back black hair oozing ageless strength.

"You’ve seen better days, Quinny," Keral noted, softening his usual steely gaze.

"We’ve said all that needs to be said," interrupted Soleen. "We have a plan to get you out, but it has to happen now. They know you’re here." She stopped short, noticing the ailing child in his arms. "Is that what I think it is? And you brought it here!?" Keral’s voice boomed, and Deathsinger’s molten scars glowed brighter. "They'll kill us just for being near him!"

"It’s not an 'it', Keral. He’s a 'him,' a person just like us," Tarquin interjected, his voice calm but unyielding. "I won’t leave. You’re going to take him and give him a home. That’s my last wish."

Their jaws practically hit the ground. They stared at Tarquin, the man they called a friend, looking ready to smack him and hug him simultaneously.

"Are you insane?” Soleen exclaimed. “You abandon my sister without a word, call of your engagement, do the things you e done and now you want us to take that kid? You’re lucky we’re even hear at all! They’ll find him, Tarquin, and we refuse to endanger our own children.”

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Tarquin's sigh was heavy, laden with unshed tears. “No, they won’t find him, your children will be perfectly safe. I've made sure of it. The corruption of the poison will mask the gene. And Don’t worry about the veins, they will fade within a few days. Now my hand, both of you, were running out of time”

Reluctantly, they took his hands, and Tarquin’s blessing flared to life, pulling them into his mind. They saw fragmented visions of what would be—a small boy, fragile but loved, growing up with their children. They felt a belief take root, that this child was meant to be with them, forged by Tarquin’s desperate acts.

The World’s Eye was a conduit to realms beyond your wildest dreams—except Tarquin’s dreams had a habit of being more nightmarish. Apart from unraveling the tapestry of the past, it let him glimpse parallel realities, alternate decisions, and infinite pathways. He could conjure World Spectres—projections of his conscious will, useful for everything from reconnaissance to making enemies wet themselves in fear. These Spectres flitted through the liminal spaces between realities, their touch could drain life or imbue it, depending on Tarquin's mood. Handy, but creepy as hell.

Tears streamed down Soleen’s face, and Keral, the rock, looked away. “Take him away. I don’t want him near for what comes next,” Tarquin whispered, a gentle goodbye to his son.

Cradling the child, Keral’s resolve solidified. “I hope you’re right, Quin. Goodbye, my friend.”

“What will I tell Celia?” Soleen asked, know what her once great friend was asking, her voice trembling.

“Tell her what you need to, Ive made my piece with it. My actions over the last few years alone should be enough to make her think I’ve lost it entirely. Tell her I was killed, but don’t tell her about the boy, not yet at least, it’ll kill her. As much as this all breaks what’s left of my heart, it’ll be easier that way.” His voice quivered. “Promise me, Soleen. When it’s done, send my body to the sea. The waves will do their work. As for the other matter, it’ll summon itself but only after he’s anointed. Just be careful, not everything it shows will be pleasant. Believe me.”

Soleen nodded, summoning a blessing. Not her spear but a more intricate creation, one Tarquin knew very well. He faced his end with a smile, tears streaming down his face.

"I know you’ll find the answer. Goodbye, sis."

With Soleen and Keral carrying his son away, the cliffs of Visage Church stood as silent witnesses to both an end and a beginning.

Keral shook his head. "Always the drama queen, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, but we loved him anyway," Soleen replied, wiping away a tear.

As the wind whipped around them and Tarquin Talos disintegrated into a cascade of silvery ash seamlessly carried away, Keral looked down at the small bundle in his arms.

"What are we going to call him?" Keral asked in his deep voice.

Soleen sighed, rubbing her temples. "How about something sensible, like Albert?"

Keral rolled his eyes. "No way. We’ve got a theme to stick to. How about... Taron?"

Soleen laughed softly, nodding. "Taron it is then. They did love their T’s."

Keral smirked as they turned away from the cliffs. "Taron it is. I just hope he doesn't inherit Tarquin's flair for the dramatic. We don't need a mini drama queen running around."

They walked in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the baby's soft coos filling the air. The tension from the cliffside encounter slowly melted away.

"You know," Keral began, a mischievous glint in his eye, "if he does turn out to be a handful, you can blame it on me. I'll take the hit this time."

Soleen laughed, a light, melodic sound that seemed almost out of place given the dire situation. "Oh, don't think I'm letting you off that easy. Remember, you were the one who thought it was a great idea to cut our wedding cake with deathsinger?"

"Hey, hey, hey," Keral said, holding up one free hand in mock defense. "I maintain that it Wasn’t the best idea but I was drunk? Besides, it gives me an edge in the husband-of-the-year competition”

Keral joked, smiling at the love of his life.

"Sure, if you want to count it that way," Soleen responded, rolling her eyes playfully. "Just wait till you have to change another diaper. Let's see what your precious sword thinks about that."

Keral grimaced. "I don’t think Deathsinger was designed for that kind of combat."

As they approached the area where their dimensional rift portal was hidden, Soleen gave Keral a sideways glance. "You know, you'll have to tell him about his father one day."

Keral nodded, his expression sobering. "Yeah, but not now. Let's let the kid enjoy his baby years first. We'll save the heavy stuff for when he's old enough to handle."

They reached the edge of the cliffs side, deathsinger begin to hum with its latent power as ash began to seep from the tower jewel and envelop them. Keral took a deep breath. "Ready?"

Soleen nodded, reaching out to activate the portal. "Let’s go home."

The last vestiges of the cliffs of Visage Church vanished behind them. The three of them materialised into the grand foyer of there manor, its opulent decor starkly contrasting the dark, ominous cliffs they had just left. The high ceilings and gleaming chandelier cast a warm glow over the polished floors.

They didn't have a crib prepared—the decision to take Taron had been a last-minute desperation act. Keral spotted a nearby chaise longue, setting Taron down gently, watching the peacefully sleeping baby with a mixture of trepidation and hope. "Welcome home, little buddy," he whispered.

Soleen draped an arm around Keral's shoulder, squeezing him gently. "We’ve got this. Together."

Keral turned his head to kiss her forehead. "Yeah. Together."

Their own children, Sera, Kade, and Evelyn, were safely tucked away with Soleen’s sister Celia, giving them a few moments of peace. As they stood there, both of them silently vowed to protect Taron, to give him the love and family that Tarquin had sacrificed everything for. They might not be able to rewrite the past, but they sure as hell could shape the future.

And somewhere, in the echoes of the wind and the soft murmur of the sea, you could almost hear Tarquin Talos whispering, “It’s finally begun."