The wind moved slowly that evening, like it was afraid to disturb what remained of peace. The sun hanging low on the horizon cast long, skeletal shadows across the earth.
A crooked tree, gnarled and ancient stood in the middle of a wide, silent field. It branches was twisted in grotesque shapes, testament to storms and bad weather.
Beneath it, a woman sat, cross-legged on a faded, patched blanket. Her eyes were half closed, not in sleep but in a profound state of listening to the subtle symphony of the breeze and land's silent laments.The grass around her, though brittle, swayed with a rhythmic, almost hypnotic grace, as if it remembered a time before the Crimson Rain, before the world was irrevocably altered, when nature still held dominion.
Far across the field, the profound stillness was suddenly, joyously broken.
"Mom!"
The voice rang out, young, breathless, brimming with the boundless energy of childhood. A boy came, tearing across the uneven ground. His legs surprisingly swift for his small stature, carried him faster than they seemed capable.
He was no older than ten, with dark-raven hair perpetually tangled by the ceaseless wind and a face that still held the soft, round contours of innocent childhood. His cheeks were flushed from exertion, and a wide, gap-toothed grin stretched across his face.
It was his eyeballs that made people ask questions, drawn by something undeniably unique. The right eye, a vivid blue colour while the left eye, a deep, fiery red colour.
The eyes made it feel like he wasn't merely born but fused from two fundamentally different entities.
"Yes dear..be careful." The woman's voice was calm infused with a gentle warmth. She opened her hands just in time, a practiced motion learned from similar encounters, to catch the small, incoming projectile.
He crashed into her chest with a breathless laugh, a sound like wind chimes, burying his face against her. She responded with a soft, affectionate chuckle, kissing the top of his head, her fingers gently, almost reverently, brushing through his wild, wind-blown hair. The simple act spoke volumes of their bond.
The woman herself possessed a quiet beauty. Her skin held a subtle, inherent glow. Her eyes were the shade of old, brewing storms..a deep, contemplative gray flecked with tired, yet resilient, gold. She wore a simple, unadorned shawl draped over her shoulders, its fabric worn soft with age, and yet something in her presence made the very air feel stiller, calmer, as if even the restless wind respected her profound silence and innate gravitas.
The boy—Junior, they called him, a simple, affectionate moniker, looked up, resting his chin comfortably on her chest, his mismatched eyes gazing intently at her.
"Mom... why are my eyes two different colors?" he asked, his voice soft now, edged with a genuine, childlike curiosity that was both innocent and profound. He often pondered this, a question no one else dared to ask.
She smiled, a tender expression, but there was a palpable shadow behind it, a hint of something deeper, something unspoken.
"Because you take after your father." She replied, her voice a low murmur, almost a secret shared between them.
Junior tilted his head, a gesture of thoughtful confusion. His brow furrowed slightly.
"But Dad didn't have two-colored eyes."
Her smile, fragile as spun glass, faded completely, replaced by a distant melancholy.
She looked out across the horizon. Her fingers, which had been so gently stroking his hair, now stilled, resting motionless against his scalp. The wind picked up slightly, rustling the dry grass, a subtle shift in the atmosphere.
"Your father... was my elder brother." The words were spoken almost to the wind, barely above a whisper.
Junior blinked, a slow, disbelieving movement.
"Huh?" The single syllable carried a weight of utter bewilderment.
There was a long, heavy silence, broken only by the sigh of the wind. The revelation hung in the air, a truth both intimate and unsettling.
The boy frowned, confused.
"Where is he now?"
"Where he's supposed to be," she murmured, her gaze drifting to the horizon.
"He's where the world sent him," she whispered, her voice tinged with a deep, ineffable sadness. "He was too desperate. He wanted to protect everyone, fix everything even if it meant becoming something monstrous."
Junior's eyes, the mismatched blue and red, lit up with a sudden, fierce spark of childish idealism.
"Like a superhero?" he asked, a hopeful, eager inflection in his tone. The concept of heroism, untainted by the world's grim realities, was still pure in his mind.
The woman let out a quiet laugh, a sound that was both bittersweet and profoundly haunted. It was a sound that spoke of sacrifice and loss.
"He thought so too. But saving the world... it cost him everything. His name. His face. His soul. It stripped him bare."
Junior clenched his small fists, a determination hardening his features.
"I want to be like him. I want to protect people." His voice, though still young, held a surprising conviction.
She looked down at him, her sad smile returning, yet overlaid with a deeper sorrow.
"Then you'll need to understand the truth, Junior. Not just the victories... but the blood, the pain, the betrayal that comes with it. You'll need to know the weight of being feared by the very ones you protect. The loneliness of standing alone against the tide."
He nodded, a solemn, resolute gesture, his mismatched eyes fixed on hers, absorbing every word.
"I'm ready."
Her gaze darkened then, and as if mirroring her internal shift, the wind picked up around them, swirling the dry grass into miniature eddies. The light faded further, painting the sky in deeper shades of bruised purple and crimson.
"Then listen closely, Junior," she commanded, her voice dropping, imbued with a new, profound gravity.
She touched his mismatched eyes gently, her fingers tracing the delicate skin around them, as if imbuing him with the weight of her words.
"Then let me tell you the story... of the one the world called The Being of Destruction."
She paused, eyes narrowing like she could see ghosts in the clouds.
"The one I once called brother.
The one the world now fears as Igrit The Third"