The Crimson Morning
The sky outside Vaelcrest Keep had not yet returned to normal. The Crimson Eclipse still lingered in the air like smoke — staining clouds blood-red, and casting the morning sun in hues of rust and violet.
Inside the high chamber, the air was warm despite the mountain chill. Servants moved silently, attending to their duties with reverent caution. The entire keep held its breath.
Not out of grief. Not out of joy.
But out of awe.
They had seen the eclipse. They had heard the stone floor fracture when the boy was born. They had seen the violet fire dance through the curtains when the girl first inhaled.
Something other had entered the world. And it was now sleeping side by side in the velvet cradle at the heart of the room.
The Boy of Stone
Kaizen Vaelcrest
was still and heavy, as though the mountain itself had lent him part of its soul.
Even as an infant, his density distorted the cushion beneath him. His golden eyes, now closed in sleep, had locked briefly onto every soul in the room at birth.
The Seer had said nothing aloud… but he had wept.
When his tiny fingers curled, stone nearby grew warm. When he sighed, dust lifted from the floor. The nurses who carried him did so in shifts; each complained of aching arms after minutes.
One tried to cut a lock of his hair to preserve in the family keepsake chest.
The blade snapped.
The Girl of Flame
Yvonne Vaelcrest
by contrast, weighed nothing. She floated in the arms of those who held her, skin faintly luminescent, hair already threaded with silver despite her newness.
When she cried, no sound came—only heat.
When she laughed, the candles bent toward her.
When her eyes opened again after birth, they glowed.
She had not yet spoken a word, but already her presence shifted perception. The guards outside the chamber claimed time moved slower while they stood near the door. One whispered of seeing a vision—himself, older, bowing before a woman with violet eyes.
The maids feared her, but loved her more.
Their Connection
The most impossible thing was not their individual presence—it was what happened when they were near each other.
The cradle was split at first, side by side but separate.
But in their sleep, the twins rolled toward each other, drawn like celestial bodies. Kaizen's hand landed over Yvonne's chest. Her fingers curled over his.
The air in the room changed.
Wind circled, even with no window open.
The candles sparked white and blue.
The floor hummed.
A spiral rune shimmered faintly beneath the cradle—one no one had carved.
The room was becoming a throne.
Grand Seer Valtos collapsed to his knees in that moment and spoke aloud words that chilled everyone present:
"This is what the world once feared… and once loved.
They are the Balance unshaped.
They are Veilborn in truth."
The Hours That Followed
In the short time before the ritual was cast, the twins continued to show their true nature:
Kaizen cried once during the night. The bedstone cracked beneath the nursery.
Yvonne sneezed—and a bird outside the window fell into trance mid-flight, hovered, then righted itself.
Their eyes locked onto an ancient tapestry once hidden by shadow. It disintegrated into ash as though time itself had unraveled it.
The World Responds
It wasn't just the keep that noticed.
In the Temple of Ashrien, a statue wept molten gold.
In the libraries of Aerithon, a forbidden tome opened on its own and began glowing.
In the distant north, wolves began howling in unison beneath a violet aurora.
In the heart of the Hollow Sea, a long-dead Leviathan stirred.
And in dreams, hundreds of mages and seers across Vaeritha spoke the same words before waking:
"They've returned."
The Fearful Choice
Back in the tower chamber, Selira Vaelcrest held her twins close, feeling their pulses sync beneath her fingertips.
"My children," she whispered, "you are beautiful. You are terrifying. And the world is not ready for either."
Kaelen stood near the hearth, silent, gripping the hilt of a sword forged in an age long past. He had not drawn it in years.
"Valtos," he said, voice low, "prepare the rite."