Beneath Dark Skies

If We Being Rëal

"Each year, a handful of young initiates are chosen to undergo a trial unlike any other. They must journey to a mysterious, alternate dimension where their true potential and destiny will be revealed. This dimension is known as the Realm of Fates."

Rafael Mayers, Year 2789

The ceremonial blade was placed in my hands.an elegant, deadly artifact. Its jewel-encrusted handle shimmered under the hall's lights, casting colorful reflections across the stone floor.

I raised my eyes to the altar, where runes pulsed softly within the stone, cryptic symbols that seemed alive, breathing in rhythm with the earth beneath me. Gears clicked, their mechanism designed for one purpose: blood.

This wasn't just a trial. 

It was an ancient ritual, one that had shackled my bloodline for centuries. And standing here, I felt every link of that chain. Not honored. Not chosen. Just... inherited. Like a haunted hand-me-down I couldn't give back.

My gaze dropped to the inky vortex swirling on the altar, pulling at the air around it like an invisible hand. The dark essence beckoned, urging me to submit, demanding my blood.

 Every Winters before me had walked this path, each one stepping willingly into the cold, shadowed embrace of the Dark Guild. They had accepted their fates with heads held high, and now, it was my turn.

I didn't want this.

 I didn't want to be tied to the darkness, to carry this burden for the rest of my life. But my blood wasn't my own. It was bound to the Winters name, a legacy that would consume me if I didn't comply.

I took a deep breath and lifted the blade like it was made of pure guilt and generational trauma...so, you know, typical Winters accessory. 

For a moment, I hesitated, caught between two worlds: one of duty and the other of defiance. Was this the moment everything changed? The moment I could choose my fate? Or had that choice been taken from me long ago?

The Master's voice broke through my thoughts, sharp and commanding, pulling me back to the present. His eyes locked onto mine, already knowing what was to come.

"Do it."

My hand moved on its own. The blade cut deep into my palm. Blood burst out hot and fast, slicking my fingers and trailing down my wrist like it couldn't wait to escape me. It hit the altar with a wet smack, and the runes flared, hungry. The pain bloomed and spread, more burn than sting, echoing in the heavy silence of the room.

The moment my blood touched the vortex, the world fractured. Light bent sideways. Sound vanished. For a heartbeat, I wasn't standing in the hall, I was nowhere and everywhere, as if time stopped. Then the cold came, sliding beneath my skin like ink in water, and reality bled out around me.

It wasn't just a sensation.It was a presence. A weight. My ancestors, their voices, their choices, pressed in on me, urging me to comply, to follow in their footsteps, to accept my fate.

But what if I didn't want to? What if I could break free? 

The thought flickered in the back of my mind, a small spark of rebellion. But it was quickly drowned by the heavy, suffocating force of Winters blood. Before I could think any further, the vortex pulsed again, and everything around me shifted.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself standing in the ruins of a long-forgotten city. The sky above pulsed like it was breathing, low and wrong. The buildings weren't just broken, they leaned inward, like they were watching. The air was thick with decay, the ground cracked and bleeding rust beneath my feet. This place didn't just die. It remembered dying. And it wanted me to remember too.