A Mother's Resolve
The torches flickered with an unnatural glow.
Seraphina held her child close, her mind racing. Abyssborn. The name felt too great, too heavy to be placed upon the small, fragile life in her arms. How could her son—a newborn—be the one destined to bring either salvation or destruction?
Ravian remained silent, his gaze fixed on the boy. He stood motionless, but Seraphina could sense the tension in his posture. He had spoken of the prophecy with certainty—as if he had been waiting for this very moment.
She took a slow breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "You speak of prophecy, of power beyond understanding—but tell me, Ravian, how do you know all of this?"
The man's silver eyes flickered toward her, unreadable. "Because I have spent my life searching for him."
Seraphina stiffened.
Ravian turned away, his voice quieter. "There are those of us who have long known the truth… that the gods do not bless mortals. They use them."
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
He exhaled. "The Inquisition claims to act in the gods' name, but they do not seek to 'purge evil'—they seek to destroy what they cannot control. Your son is proof that power exists beyond their reach. That is why they will never stop hunting him."
Seraphina clenched her jaw. She had already lost everything—her husband, her home, her people—all for this child.
She would not let him be taken.
Ravian studied her face, then nodded slightly, as if he saw the resolve hardening in her eyes.
"You have two choices," he said. "Flee. Hide in the shadows until the Inquisition finds you. And they will find you."
His voice dropped lower.
"Or…"
Seraphina held her breath.
"Train him. Prepare him. Let him become the force they fear."
A long silence stretched between them.
Seraphina looked down at her son. His tiny hands twitched, his breathing slow and peaceful. But she remembered what she had seen—the darkness that had swallowed the Executioner whole.
She had once believed his power was a curse.
But what if it was something more?
The Dream of the Abyss
That night, as the wind howled outside the cave, Seraphina lay awake, her child curled against her chest. Her mind swirled with unanswered questions, with fears she dared not voice aloud.
But eventually, exhaustion took her.
And in the depths of sleep, she dreamed.
She stood in an endless void—black as the deepest ocean, stretching infinitely in all directions.
But she was not alone.
A figure loomed before her, half-shrouded in shadows. Its form was humanoid, but wrong—as if it did not fully belong to this world. Tendrils of darkness coiled from its body like living things, shifting in the unseen wind.
It had no eyes, no mouth—only an endless abyss where a face should have been.
And yet, she felt it watching her.
A voice—**not spoken, but felt deep within her bones—**whispered.
"The child is mine."
Seraphina's breath hitched.
"You cannot save him. He is already claimed."
The darkness moved, stretching toward her, seeking to consume her—
She gasped, jerking awake.
Sweat dripped down her brow, her heart pounding. The cave was quiet, save for the crackling of the torches.
It had just been a dream.
Hadn't it?
She turned to her son.
He was awake.
His black-and-crimson eyes stared up at her. Wide. Unblinking.
And for the briefest moment… she could have sworn she saw the void reflected in them.
The Inquisition's Hunt
Far from the cave, beyond the ruined estate of House Valtheris, a different scene unfolded.
A group of black-cloaked figures knelt before a golden altar, their heads bowed in prayer. The scent of incense and blood filled the air.
At the head of the ritual stood High Inquisitor Malagar.
His long, silver hair cascaded over his ceremonial robes, his pale fingers resting on the hilt of an ornate sword. His golden eyes burned with cold intensity.
"Lord Malagar," a voice spoke.
A knight, clad in silver armor, stepped forward. "We have searched the estate and the surrounding lands. The child has escaped."
Malagar did not move. "The Executioner?"
"Gone."
Silence.
Then, slowly, Malagar exhaled. "I see."
His fingers tightened around his sword hilt.
"The mother is of no consequence," he said. "It is the child who must be found."
He turned his gaze toward the massive stone relief on the wall behind the altar—a carving of an ancient battle, depicting warriors clad in light slaying a monstrous, abyssal entity.
"The Abyssborn will not be allowed to exist."
He raised a hand, and the gathered inquisitors responded in unison.
"The gods will it."
Malagar's lips curled into a cold smile.
And the hunt began anew.
The Mark of the Abyss
Back in the cave, Seraphina had not slept since the dream.
She stared at the walls, her heart heavy with dread.
Her son did not cry. Did not fuss. He simply watched her with those unnatural, abyss-streaked eyes.
She had seen newborns before. They were supposed to be fragile, helpless. But he… he was different.
Even now, she could feel the faint hum of something ancient in him. It was not violent. Not yet. But it was there.
"Ravian," she murmured.
The man glanced at her from where he sat sharpening his dagger.
"How do we stop it?" she asked, her voice quiet. "The darkness inside him."
Ravian studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
"We don't."
Seraphina's stomach twisted.
"The abyss is not something you stop," Ravian continued. "You either control it…" His silver eyes met hers.
"Or it controls you."
A chill ran down Seraphina's spine.
Her son stirred in her arms, a tiny sound escaping his lips.
And for a brief moment, the shadows in the cave seemed to stretch toward him—as if drawn to their master.