Deimos Dawson: heir of pantheon

Echoes of the Crimson Fate

The air hummed with tension as Nevaeh and Azrael emerged from the portal, the weight of the scene before them striking each sibling in different ways.

The carnage was palpable—the bodies of the fallen Keepers strewn across the cracked ground of the Crossroads, their energy dissipating like mist into the wind. Nevaeh's breath hitched, her chest tightening with the familiar surge of guilt. She had tried so hard to prevent this, to save the Keepers. But as she scanned the battlefield, the realization sunk in—she was too late.

"Nevaeh," Azrael's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp yet laced with concern. "Focus."

She snapped back to the present, shaking off the haze of grief threatening to consume her. He was right—there was no time for hesitation. Whoever had caused this massacre was still nearby, lingering like a shadow in the air. Her hands instinctively tightened around her sai, the cool metal offering a sense of control in the chaos.

"I'm fine," she muttered, more to herself than to him. Her eyes swept across the desolate scene, her mind racing. This wasn't just a random act of violence—there was purpose here, dark and sinister. "We need to find him."

Azrael's gaze was unreadable, his posture as calm and collected as ever, though she could sense the tension rippling beneath the surface. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his chain blades, their faint glow a reminder of the deadly fire contained within. Unlike her, Azrael was ready to kill—no hesitation, no remorse. He would strike without question if it meant protecting her or stopping the threat.

She both admired and feared that part of him.

Her gaze dropped to the scroll she clutched tightly in her hand. Its edges gleamed faintly, imbued with the cosmic power that guided them through the realms. The scroll was their compass, their beacon through the chaos, leading them in search of the Crimson Seer. But now, as she held it, another sensation rippled through her—a vision, not of the present, but of what could be.

The future.

Flashes of ruinous skies, broken landscapes, and a realm where the Crossroads had failed entirely. Realms colliding in violent eruptions of energy, leaving destruction in their wake. Nevaeh could see it as if she stood there, amid the swirling chaos, her heart pounding against the enormity of it all. She clenched her teeth, trying to shake off the vision, but it lingered at the edge of her consciousness, a warning that resonated through every fiber of her being.

The Crossroads are crumbling.

Azrael glanced at her, sensing the shift. "What did you see?"

Her throat was dry as she forced herself to speak. "If we don't find the Crimson Seer soon... the realms, the Crossroads—they're all going to fall apart."

Azrael's lips tightened into a thin line. "Then we can't waste any time."

With a nod, Nevaeh steadied herself and the siblings pressed forward, leaving the devastation of the Crossroads behind. The journey ahead was perilous, but there was no turning back now.

The portal had led them to a realm bathed in twilight, where the ground beneath their feet was softer, almost marsh-like, and the air was thick with an ominous haze. The shadows here seemed to move on their own, darting between the skeletal remains of what might have once been a forest.

Nevaeh felt the weight of the scroll pulling her forward, its energy guiding their path through this forsaken land. Her heart pounded with the urgency of their mission, but there was also something else—a growing dread that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness.

They trudged onward, their surroundings growing more alien and foreboding with each step. The trees, or what remained of them, were twisted into grotesque shapes, their branches clawing at the sky as if in agony.