An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege-Chapter 19: Invited Noble...

Sael stood beneath the growing light of the Eternal Pillar. Ironic, considering it was not so eternal after all.

He smirked inwardly, careful to conceal his thoughts. People had been slaughtered for less. Mocking something so sacred and holy as the Eternal Pillar? That was heresy worthy of the stake—a fate that would be merciful compared to other punishments.

Yet, who could blame him? Unlike others, he lacked the instinctual reverence for the Diearch of Astrea, which seemed ingrained from birth to the others. They were simply built differently.

But in truth, he cared little for such things. His pride lay in ruins, and he needed to collect himself; otherwise, he would end up like the peasants toiling endlessly in the fields—beaten and broken by life's cruel whims.

They had learned, far too soon, that life was a horrendous mistress.

"I should curb my crudeness," he muttered to himself, though the bitterness in his tone remained.

His gaze shifted to a deep red-gold invitation resting on his ornate white oak desk, breaking his train of thought. After the events of the day, he had retreated to his chambers to gather his thoughts, attempting to bring order to the chaos in his mind.

He was not one to be cautious by nature, but he understood when a situation demanded it. And this situation demanded all the seriousness he could muster—his very sanity depended on it.

Or whatever mental state he felt he should preserve.

The invitation was exquisite, its design a testament to grandeur. Real gold adorned its edges, encasing it in luxury. On the back, an image of a crackling, burning bush stood proudly. Beneath the burning bush, an inscription was etched—words every child in Astrea knew by heart, branded into their very souls at conception.

"For in the light, shadows are born, and in the flames, ash remembers."

A verse from the Scripture of the Diearch: 'The Ember's Whisper,' a line so often recited that its origin was unmistakable. Many organizations used it as a means to convey sincerity and establish common ground for each other where the interests of each party never infringed upon the peace of the City.

Sael, however, had no patience for the hollow sermons of zealots cloaked in the guise of nobility. Too bad the entire city belonged to them. No matter how far one thought they had escaped, the influence of the Eternal Flame remained omnipresent.

Unless, of course, one could survive beyond the walls alone.

Beyond, even the Diearchs dared not tread.

His attention returned to the envelope. It contained a compulsory invitation to the Military Academy of Astrea—the most prestigious institution, occupying an entire Astrean terrace with nothing else in sight for miles. Except, of course, for the ever-mandatory temple.

Located in the most blood-soaked Cardinal of Astrea, the North Cardinal, the one place where Military might surpassed even royalty.

Such was its significance to the city.

Naturally, Astrea could not function with just one academy—such an idea was absurd. With a staggering population of nine billion, even the vast expanse of Astrea could not house them all within a single institution. Other academies existed, yet none could truly rise. Not for lack of talent, no. Talent was abundant. But when the empire sought to monopolize everything and the Temple lent its unwavering support, suppression was inevitable.

The other academies were suffocated under the dominance of the Military Academy, struggling to function independently. Everything, from the smallest detail to the grandest affair, passed through the hands of Hells of Valor—the name given to the Military Academy.

Named after something long forgotten, a darkness none who entered could recall.

But Sael knew...

As he stared at the invitation, a smile curled his lips—one devoid of warmth, lacking the excitement expected from a student granted entry into such a revered institution.

Why?

Because he was petty.

"They dare to command me? To demand my presence?"

His voice nearly thundered through the room, but he clamped down on it. He would not give that damn butler another reason to revel in his shame.

He had endured enough. Being carried from the battlefield after fainting was humiliation enough. Being forced into a contract that controlled his life like a puppet on strings? That was beyond disgraceful. He would not afford his butler another chance to witness his weakness.

Not again.

Not when that wretched entity had already sunk its claws into his fate.

Even though all this was bared by the main persona. They felt it all the same; what differentiated them was perception on most matters.

He reopened the letter, though Adler had already read it aloud once before.

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"It is with great 'warmth and pleasure' that we acknowledge the entry of Young Count Krael Maesta into the 'talented and blessed' fold of the 'Hells of Valor' and his 'generous donation' of providing his 'harvest' to fund the prosperity of 'Hells of Valor.'

And in the endeavor to thank him for his 'generous donation,' we have granted the Young Count an 'honorary position' in the 'Royal Class' on merit, and should he prove as talented as stated, there is a chance he will be promoted to the class of 'Kings.'

We thank you again, Young Count, and we expect your arrival by the end of The New Dawn Celebrations at the gates of 'Hells of Valor.'"

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Sael inhaled sharply, his body trembling as emotions threatened to consume him.

"You fucking bastards!"

His roar shook the very walls, windows rattling in response to his wrath.

"How dare you!" His voice rose, laced with unbridled fury. His face twisted, shifting in ways unseen.

"As if it wasn't enough that you married that wretched whore, and now you dare meddle in my affairs?!"

Laughter, dark and cruel, spilled from his lips. The air itself grew heavy, infused with a suffocating chill. The scent of blood lingered, thick and oppressive.

"Just you wait, Uncle."

"This humiliation—I will return it tenfold."

"And you, 'Hells of Valor,' you have no idea the misery you have brought upon yourselves. It would have been far better had I never set foot on your premises. But now..."

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"Now, you have sealed your fate."

"I will show you all the true meaning of hell."

The madness in his eyes was terrifying, though he remained unaware. Anyone who had been near him at that moment would have witnessed an unsettling transformation.

In his natural state, Krael Maesta was a sixteen-year-old youth with short, messy crimson-ashy hair—deep enough to convey wisdom yet unassuming. But when Sael took over, it lengthened into a wild, regal mane.

At that moment, his hair shifted unpredictably—at times a feral, untamed cascade, at others, returning to its previous form. Its color deepened into a corrupted silver-gray, streaked with bloody crimson undertones and ghastly necrotic blue tips.

His eyes, once beautifully entrancing, gleamed black with manic fervor, stripped of their former charm. They became akin to corrupted jewels—hypnotic yet deeply unsettling.

And beneath his robes, a flash of dark gold feathers flickered along his left arm, pulsing like embers in the dark.

Lost in the torment of his wounded pride, he had reached his breaking point. He had no knowledge of how seamlessly his personas intertwined, shifting like a natural tide between each other.

The madness festered like rot with an open wound...

His uncle had awakened a beast. And neither of them knew it.

Not yet.