"The youngest heir to the Despair Clan has been born," the midwife announced solemnly, her voice reverberating through the halls and leaving a palpable weight in the air. Amidst the hushed atmosphere, the rhythmic sound of the baby's breathing was the sole interruption to the silence.
The Head of the clan stood in the shadows with a mix of relief and trepidation in his heart. His eyes were pools of darkness that flickered with a glimpse of hope as they rested on the tiny form wrapped in white. With trembling hands, he reached out to touch the veil covering the child's face. His fingers lingered on the soft fabric, feeling the weight of centuries of expectation bearing down on him. For a fleeting moment, he let himself believe that the long-awaited prophecy had finally been realized.
Meanwhile, in a corner of the chamber, a young concubine, one from the Despair Clan, lay motionless on a bed. Her once-beautiful face was contorted in pain and exhaustion, and her breath froze in the dimness of the room. Her lifeless fingers were clutching the bloody sheets, leaving behind a scarlet trails.
Servants moved about the room with practiced efficiency, avoiding looking at the lifeless body of the young woman. There would be no mourning for her; no recognition of the sacrifices she had made in bringing the Head's child into the world. To them, she was nothing more than a means to an end, part of the grand plan of the Despair Clan.
Beneath the surface of their stoic indifference, however, a spark of humanity flickered in those who cared for her during her final moments. It was a whispered prayer, or a silent tear shed in private, small gestures of compassion in the face of the cold austerity of the Ghost Palace. As the first rays of dawn slipped through the windows, casting long shadows on the chamber, the Head of the Despair clan gathered his newborn child into his arms.
"My child, my own flesh and blood," he spoke with fervor as he cradled the newborn in his arms. "I believe that you will be a bulwark for those in need, a beacon of strength for those who suffer. You will be the flame that burns away darkness and dispenses justice to our enemies."
As he looked down at the innocent face of his child, he felt an overwhelming sense of determination. "And so long as your greatness lasts," he vowed, his voice steadfast despite the weight of his words. "I promise to protect you from the darkness that threatens, from the enemies that lurk in the shadows. You are the saviour of our world, and I will ensure you fulfil your destiny, no matter the cost."
---
The child of chaos, unaware of the concepts of good and evil, life and death, entered a world teetering on the verge of annihilation. Greeted by the tender embrace of his father and the lifeless form of his mother, he was born into a new world. Thus began his weaving of a new path, heralding the dawning of a modest legend.
---
The Ghostly Palace has a name for good reason. Its long and dark corridors are filled with whispering winds, like a choir of angry ghosts. The ancient hieroglyphs adorn the walls of these cramped rooms, sending a chill down the spine of new servants, while experienced ones generally avoid these places.
In contrast, the rooms reserved for the concubines, although offering a glimpse of the gardens' beauty through modest windows, were decorated with sparse simplicity, a stark reminder of the harsh realities they faced. Yet, there were families who were willing to offer their daughters, in hopes of birthing a future hero.
Prophecies provided the sole glimmer of optimism, even if it meant condemning their offspring to premature demise.
---
The inner dynamics of the Despair Clan were complex. The current Head hailed from the Void Clan, a family devoid of love and with members stripped of the ability to experience such emotions.
---
In the heart of the sprawling palace were the chambers of the Head's wife. Her crimson locks, like fire, framed her face, which was unparalleled in beauty. Lush curls cascaded down her delicate shoulders, as she sat beside a tranquil pond where lively koi fish danced beneath the shimmering surface.
"Nevertheless, with the blessings of my departed father and the son of heaven has been born," whispered Iris, her voice as soft as the breeze. Her eyes, framed by long eyelashes, held a quiet strength, and a faint smile graced her lips.
Behind her, the elder of the Despair Clan intoned, "Congratulations."
"These are the words you must convey to my husband," replied the lady, shaking droplets from her slender fingers before turning to face him with an even wider smile. "Elder Gufu."
Iris had a gentle nature, which was a sharp contrast to the expected behavior of a matriarch of such a prestigious family. Raised within the confines of strict family rules, she embodying fragility in the midst of the opulence around her. Though her words were confident, they had little influence within the complex web of family hierarchy and her personal aspirations for independence.
In contrast, Elder Gufu held considerable authority within the clan, despite not having the bloodline of the Despair Clan. At the tender age of nine, he was exiled to the solemn palace. The innocence in his eyes quickly morphed into contempt for the palace's residents. Now, with his face resembling a weather-beaten statue, his wrinkles remained impassive to his mistress' words. However, an unfamiliar emotion flashed in his eyes, obscured by age - a sentiment foreign to Iris yet unmistakable, pure and unadulterated hate.
The young beauty shivered, but she continued to smile, refusing to acknowledge her inferior position. In the Clan of Madness, direct descendants have been stripped of two emotions - fear and anxiety. They have been forged as formidable warriors and bear the weight of their perpetual duty. If the Despair Clan are the progenitors of the long-awaited Hero, then the Clan of Madness will stand as his bastion - a shield and sword on his noble mission.