The grand dining hall of the Melanthos mansion was a study in subdued opulence. A single, colossal mahogany table, polished to a mirror sheen, stretched across the room, reflecting the soft glow of a dozen lamps suspended from the high, vaulted ceiling.
Heavy velvet drapes, drawn tight, sealed the room from the encroaching night, creating a contained sphere of artificial calm. Each chair was an imposing statement, carved from dark wood and upholstered in deep, forest-green velvet.
The air was still, carrying only the faint, mingling scents of prepared food and a subtle, metallic tang of Aura.
A quiet feast was laid out before them. Platters of roasted duck, its skin crisped to a golden-brown and glistening with aromatic herbs, sat beside bowls brimming with vibrant, sautéed greens. There were delicate pastries, small, savory tarts, and an array of finely sliced artisanal breads. A tall, elegant decanter of dark, ruby-red grape juice, chilled to frosty perfection, offered the only splash of vibrant color against the understated elegance of the setting.
At the head of the table sat Jean. His posture was impeccable, his presence a quiet, formidable anchor. More than just the mansion's stoic butler or the echo of a pragmatic partnership with Aira, he was Priya's father, a truth etched in the subtle warmth of his eyes when they rested on her.
He was also the children's trainer, a master of combat who had painstakingly sculpted their young bodies into instruments of precision. For years, he had taught them to wield polished steel with deadly grace and to defend themselves with an almost instinctual brutality, preparing them for a world far crueler than the one they currently knew.
Aira took her seat, her gaze lingering on Leo and Priya, a fleeting softness in her eyes before the mask of grim determination returned. Priya, ever the chatterbox, was already recounting her day with an enthusiasm that belied the mansion's quiet.
"Mom, you won't believe how boring it was today! Jean didn't even let us out for training outside the sparring room!" Priya exclaimed, gesturing wildly with a small piece of bread.
Priya never addressed Jean as her dad, not because she didn't want to, but she didn't know.
Aira believed all that will cause them to be stuck in an emotional triangle which could hinder them from creating a non-deadly future for the world.
"And Leo was extra quiet. I tried to ask him about a new book I found, but he just kept staring at the ceiling!"
Leo, seated beside Priya, merely picked at a roasted potato, his eyes distant.
"It wasn't quiet. I was thinking," he murmured, his voice soft, almost devoid of inflection.
"Thinking about what, Leo?" Aira asked, her voice calm, though her mind was a whirlwind of calculations. She forced herself to meet his gaze, trying to project an image of maternal normalcy.
"Just... things," he replied, vaguely.
"Why the sky is sometimes red. Why the Aura feels different sometimes. And why Jean won't let us go to the market anymore."
Jean, without looking up from meticulously cutting his duck, interjected smoothly, "The streets are not safe for children, Leo. Your training is paramount."
Priya, however, was not so easily deterred. With a sly grin, she tried to snatch a crisp piece of skin from Leo's plate. He, with a speed that belied his casual demeanor, neatly shifted his plate out of reach, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. Priya pouted.
"Leo, that's not fair!" she grumbled.
"Naughtiness will not be rewarded, Priya," Jean said, his tone firm but not unkind.
Aira managed a slight smile.
"Priya, leave your brother's food. You have plenty on your own plate." It was a small, normal exchange, a fleeting illusion of domesticity that twisted Aira's gut. Every word, every innocent gesture, tightened the knot of dread in her chest. Soon, this quiet could be shattered forever.
In the fractured world born of the Crimson Rain, formal schooling had become a rare, almost laughable luxury for those outside the protected enclaves of the powerful. Not that educational institutions didn't exist, but for Leo, especially, the dangers lurking beyond the mansion's walls were too imminent, too profound to risk.
He carried a distinct mark, an ethereal branding on his skin, unlike any other Aira had encountered in her countless lives. Its true origin remained a chilling enigma, known only in whispers amongst the few surviving Rebirthers, hinting at a cosmic anomaly and this mark was just the beginning.
As Leo continued to grow, a living tattoo had slowly, mysteriously bloomed across his back. It was an intricate design, a stark crown woven from thorns, wreathed in the flickering intensity of blazing fire. This wasn't an artificial design; it was born with him, growing in tandem with his flesh, a pulsating symbol of his enigmatic destiny.
Aira had seen this exact, terrifying tattoo countless times across countless lives, a constant, unchanging detail through every iteration of his existence. Yet, despite living this same agonizing cycle again and again, witnessing his growth and the mark's development, she still hadn't figured out everything about Leo.
His birth, his true origin, remained as complicated and obscure as ever, a fundamental piece of the puzzle stubbornly missing. In time, she had stopped bothering with the impossible questions, focusing instead on humanity's uncertain future. But even her tireless focus on strategy and survival hadn't changed the deadly inevitability hurtling towards them.
Leo, in every single one of his countless lives, had always been a prodigy in training. Priya, too, showed immense, almost frightening aptitude. Under Jean's rigorous tutelage, their combined skills were a force to be reckoned with.
They moved with a fluidity and synchronicity that spoke of countless battles fought side-by-side in forgotten timelines, proving they were still as strong, as formidable as ever.
Their duo, their complementary abilities, had always been a problem for their opponents, an almost unstoppable combination on the battlefield.
Though Leo wasn't born into the venerable Melanthos clan, he possessed an innate strength that could rival, if not surpass, that of any true Melanthos descendant. He exhibited no overt, flashy superhuman abilities as some Ascendants did – no elemental manipulation or direct mind control – but his power manifested as a purely multiplied Aura strength. This was, in itself, a superhuman feat. This enhanced Aura granted its wielder an almost indestructible resilience, an inner force capable of incredible feats of physical power.
Aira often found herself imagining the terrifying potential: such a person, becoming truly furious, unleashing a rage that burst forth as a powerful, uncontrolled torrent of Aura – that raw, unbridled energy could obliterate an entire building within the mere twinkle of an eye.
Priya, as a true Melanthos by blood, possessed her own formidable, innate power. She had the inherent ability to briefly distort the very fabric of reality around her, allowing her to stop time for a short, agonizing period. It was a precise, surgical ability, limited in duration, but utterly devastating in its application. This made her one of the future's most powerful entities, a silent, unseen weapon in their arsenal, a tactical advantage that Aira had come to rely on in her grim calculations.
But tonight, the elaborate feast was meaningless. Aira couldn't eat. The exquisite food sat untouched on her plate, her appetite devoured by a gnawing restlessness that had taken root in her core.
Her eyes kept darting towards the ornate wall clock that hung prominently above the grand fireplace, its golden pendulum swinging with a relentless, terrifying rhythm that seemed to mock her impatience. Every tick was a hammer blow to her already frayed nerves.
"Three minutes," she muttered to herself, her voice barely a breath, lost in the quiet hum of the room, yet it sounded like a shout in her own ears. Her hands, resting just out of sight beneath the table, clenched into white-knuckled fists.
Her gaze then snapped away from the clock, fixing instead on the towering, intricately carved entrance door of the mansion. It stood like a silent sentinel, a dark, imposing threshold visible even from the dining room, beckoning to the chaos she had meticulously set in motion. A cold dread seeped into her bones, a stark reminder of the weight of her choices.
Any moment now, that door would burst open, and her second treacherous, irreversible step in this life would finally begin.