During the zenith of summer, a scorching sun bathed the landscape in a radiant glow, its golden rays particularly enamoring a majestic mountain. This mountain, resplendent with rich, fertile soil, teemed with lush green trees, crystal-clear rivers, and bountiful crops. Above this idyllic scene, a myriad of eagles soared freely through the cerulean skies. Nestled within this natural paradise, wooden houses with steeply pitched roofs adorned with terracotta tiles were meticulously scattered across the landscape, arranged with a sense of purpose.
Yet, the true gem of this mountain was its apex, where a palace of exquisite architecture stood in resplendent grandeur. This palace, adorned with intricate depictions of eagles and various royal insignia, commanded attention. At its entrance, vigilant guards donned robes embellished with eagle-eye patches over their chests. This was none other than Eagle Mountain, the hallowed abode of the venerable Clan of Zed.
Deep within the heart of the palace, concealed within a dimly lit passage, a woman of regal bearing approached a wooden door. With solemn determination, she knocked persistently until, seemingly of its own accord, the door creaked open. From within, a voice, ancient and somber, beckoned, "Enter."
The woman stepped inside, her gaze unwavering as she spoke with a voice both feminine and profound, "Great Ancestor, a full year has passed since the last inheritor's passing. I believe it is time to conduct an extensive search throughout Eagle Mountain to identify the new inheritor among the newborns."
The Clan of Zed, a lineage forged through generations of kinship with eagles, bore within them the essence of these noble creatures. According to scholarly theories, the prolonged connection between a family and a particular phenomenon leads to a transformation in their bloodline. This transformation culminates in the birth of a spirit, an embodiment of their lineage's history, the departed souls of their ancestors, and the surrounding spirituality. This spirit, marked by a distinct birthmark on a newborn, signifies the creation of a clan, a bloodline, and designates the child as the spirit's inheritor.
Subsequent generations carry the spirit's legacy within them, endowing them with unique traits that shape their character, personality, and abilities. In the case of the Clan of Zed, they were bound to the Fotia Aetos, or the Zed Spirit—a crimson-eyed flame spirit, manifesting in the form of a majestic eagle.
The Clan of Zed stands out with a remarkable set of attributes that set them apart from ordinary mortals. Their distinctive bloodline endows them with exceptional sensory perception, boasting superior vision, acute hearing, and an innate sense of balance. Their physiques are graced with agility, allowing them to move with a graceful, almost ethereal ease. However, these gifts are only the beginning of their potential.
Upon awakening their bloodline to a higher degree, their latent wings emerge, a testament to the boundless depths of their heritage. With each subsequent awakening, a cascade of new traits unfurls, further pushing the boundaries of their capabilities. Their bloodline extends its influence to their very personalities and instincts, bequeathing them with a fiery disposition when their clan's safety is under threat.
Central to the recognition of a Spirit Inheritor in most clans is the appearance of a distinctive birthmark, a sacred symbol of their chosen status. In the case of the Clan of Zed, this hallmark is a pair of deep blood-red eyes, a trait they diligently seek in newborns following the passing of the previous Spirit Inheritor. This longstanding tradition serves as the nurturing ground for the child's burgeoning talents, ensuring that the legacy of the Zed Spirit lives on.
As the woman stepped inside, the room unveiled itself in a gloomy, time-worn spectacle. Dust motes danced through the air, and intricate cobwebs clung to the walls like haunting tapestries. Amidst this sepulchral ambiance, an ancient wooden coffin presented itself, creaking open as if beckoning her presence. Within, an elderly man of profound complexity stirred, his pallid yellow eyes slowly peering out from beneath a beard that cascaded down to his chest.
Leaning forward, he regarded the woman with an intense gaze, his voice resonating with the weight of centuries, "Heian, you may."
With these enigmatic words, the old man seemed to surrender to a profound slumber, collapsing onto the coffin's ancient timbers. The woman acknowledged his command with a nod and approached the coffin, methodically closing its lid.
Exiting the room, she ventured through a labyrinthine maze of passages until she arrived at a circular staircase that spiraled endlessly upward. Ascending to its pinnacle, an awe-inspiring sight awaited her: a colossal golden bell, its size nearly matching her own stature. Positioned behind the bell was an ornate desk, and above it, a vast window framed the breathtaking panorama of the entire mountain.
With deliberate steps, the woman retrieved a metallic golden bat, and a palpable aura of spirituality enveloped her being as she prepared to strike. With a mighty swing, the bat connected with the bell, producing a resounding but initially subdued clang. Anticipating the cacophony that would follow, the woman swiftly fortified her ears with a layer of spirituality and retreated. Suddenly, the bell erupted in a deafening crescendo, its vibrations reverberating through the very walls, causing hairline cracks to snake outward as the soundwaves surged throughout the entire expanse of the mountain.
The resonating toll of the bell pierced the sky, causing even the majestic eagles soaring above to momentarily falter in their flight. Down in a tranquil village nestled at the mountain's base, a small gathering of knights engaged in earnest discussion about the imminent search for the Spirit Inheritor. The bell's somber chime reached their ears, and one knight, a sly smile playing on his lips, quipped with a touch of irony, "Ah, the words of the devil, here they come." His fellow knights swiftly composed themselves, placing their thumb fingers against their throats and producing eerie, distinct sounds reminiscent of eagles, each sound unique to its creator.
This peculiar signal summoned forth a magnificent spectacle, as a flock of eagles materialized in the azure expanse, their numbers mirroring those of the knights. With graceful descents, they touched down, offering themselves as noble steeds. Without ado, the knights mounted these regal avian companions, and, as if guided by an unspoken understanding, the eagles ascended toward the mountain's zenith. They navigated with ease through the grand walls of royalty, ultimately arriving at the imposing gates of the palace.
The gate, colossal in scale, dwarfed them in comparison, stretching outwards to a length nearly a hundred times their stature. The encircling walls rose in majestic defiance, encapsulating the palace grounds. The knights exchanged greetings amongst themselves, maintaining a dignified stance as they awaited the moment when the gate, moved by some unseen mechanism, began to swing open.
As the gates parted, a reverberating resonance echoed through the air, and the knights, organized with military precision, formed a neat procession. With synchronized steps, they advanced, entering the palace grounds with a sense of unity and purpose. As they reached a designated point, every knight in unison bowed respectfully to Heian, the weight of tradition and the importance of their mission palpable in the air.
With grace and solemnity, Heian and the two men flanking her moved as one, their synchronized bows mirroring the profound sense of duty that rested upon their shoulders. Her voice, carrying the weight of generations, resounded through the palace grounds as she proclaimed, "You all know the significance of this moment. It is time to initiate the quest for the Spirit Inheritor!"
Leaving the assembly of knights behind, Heian and her companions departed, each step imbued with purpose. As they retreated, the fervent knights echoed a fervent cry, their voices rising with unwavering resolve, "Yes! For Zed's Glory!" With this rallying cry, they mounted their noble eagle steeds, a living embodiment of their clan's legacy, and embarked on their sacred mission, soaring into the boundless skies to seek out the chosen one who would bear the mantle of the Zed Spirit.
Within a rustic two-story guild made of weathered wood, nestled somewhere amidst the heart of the town, a man stationed on the second floor had a rather unconventional delivery awaiting him. A letter, borne by a bird, fluttered down into his outstretched hand. His eyes, weathered and watchful, perused the contents of the missive with keen interest.
Swiftly comprehending the gravity of the message, he beckoned to his loyal servant, instructing her to dispatch an immediate search for the Zed Spirit Inheritor within the guild's jurisdiction. The command was no mere formality, for not only had the Zed Palace set its knights in motion for this mission, but they had also engaged the various guilds to assist in the search. The inherent risk of rival clan spies spiriting away the inheritor was an ever-present concern.
Meanwhile, in a corner of the guild, a man by the name of Blod Zed savored a hearty gulp of beer, seemingly unaware of the unfolding events. Yet, as he raised his tankard to his lips, his gaze fell upon a newly affixed sign displayed prominently at the guild's entrance. Squinting to read the contents, he discovered a proclamation of a search that offered a tempting reward of a thousand palace points, redeemable for valuable items within the palace itself. The guild also dangled a special membership to anyone who could aid in the quest.
Intrigued, Blod set down his tankard and approached the guild's desk. With a measured tone, he inquired of the lady in attendance, "Give me one ticket for the search." The lady nodded and swiftly handed him a ticket—a token that would grant him the authority to evaluate the newborns of the local houses, a privilege shared even by the knights.
Blod pocketed the ticket, wasting no time in exiting the guild. An alleyway stretched out before him, and as he advanced further, an unexpected cry pierced the air: "Frit! The baby!" Instantly alert, he honed his keen hearing, focusing on the source of the frantic voice, which emanated from the southeast. Without hesitation, Blod executed a swift about-face, his pace quickening as wings unfurled from his back, propelling him towards the rooftops. With a powerful leap, he broke through the roof of a nearby house, landing gracefully amidst a cloud of dust.
Before him, a bed and a woman reclined, her eyes widened in astonishment. "F-Frit, is that you?!" she stammered, her voice trembling with emotion. Blod, retaining his composure, replied in his characteristic deep and nonchalant tone, "No, this is the Elbark Guild, here in search of the new Zed Spirit Inheritor." He produced the ticket from his pocket and displayed it to the woman, who seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation.
"What? Okay, you must check my son, wait, no, my sons!" she exclaimed, a sudden realization dawning upon her as she recognized that she bore twins.
As Blod advanced, a surge of spirituality flowed into his eyes. The distinctive bloodmark would not manifest until later years, so he scrutinized the infants' eyes for signs of spirituality—a crucial element of the identification process. First, he focused his gaze on the left twin, noting its fragile and feeble demeanor, as though it had struggled to thrive. Turning his attention to the right twin, he witnessed a burst of vitality, the infant crying with vigor. However, as Blod honed in on the twin's eyes, an intense heat surged forth, causing him to withdraw the flow of spirituality from his gaze. "What luck, this is Him," he declared with a sense of solemn certainty.
The woman, overcome with emotion, cried out, "What do you mean?" But before she could react further, Blod, his wings once more unfurled, swept up both babies, cradling them securely. As he ascended into the skies, his journey taking him over the river, he explained, "According to our culture, a Spirit Inheritor with a twin is seen as a harbinger of bad destiny, a curse. The twin who did not inherit will be considered abandoned by the spirit, and indeed, looking at how frail the left twin is, it seems our beliefs hold true. They must be separated; I cannot return them as a pair."
With determination, Blod landed by the river's edge, gently placing the infants on the ground, cushioned by a bed of leaves. He spoke solemnly to the left twin, securing it in a wooden cradle near the river's edge, its course now set adrift. "Destiny has been cruel to you," he murmured softly.
The sun, once at its zenith, now descended towards the horizon, casting a resplendent orange glow across the river's surface. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, lightly tousling the hair of the newborn with an expressionless face. Incapable of crying, too weak to do so, the infant's half-open eyes bore an innocence untouched by its circumstances. Here, separated from his twin, he became a symbol of an ominous destiny, a curse foreseen by the clan—a destiny that would leave an indelible mark on his life, though it would eventually fade into obscurity with the passage of time.