Location: Stirling, Scotland
Date: 31st October 2009
The church had stood on that hill for centuries, its weathered stone and stained glass a relic of old faiths and forgotten prayers. Tonight, beneath a heavy quilt of gray clouds, it came alive with laughter and movement. Inside, nuns bustled through candlelit halls, their arms full of decorations, costumes, and sweet-smelling boxes. Junior priests followed suit, struggling to keep up with the pace of preparations.
It was Halloween, but for this small congregation, it was more than just a holiday. It was the day two boys who had no families were first welcomed into their fold—exactly ten years ago.
Creak.
The main door groaned open, the wind slipping in like a ghost. An elderly man stepped inside, his white cassock flaring with each step. His presence quieted the room for a moment. Despite the cold outside, his warm, weathered face brought an ease to everyone around him.
"Mrs. Dorothy," he said, voice gentle but laced with unease. "Where are Raphael and Leon?"
The old nun squinted at her phone, adjusting her glasses. "On their way," she muttered, tapping the screen. "I told them not to take the coastal road in this weather…"
Meanwhile…
Waves exploded against jagged cliffs as a motorcycle roared down a winding seaside path. Rain battered the riders like shards of glass, and the headlight beam flickered in the growing storm. Clouds churned overhead like something alive.
"Ralph! Check your phone!" Leon yelled, his voice nearly lost to the storm. His arms wrapped tightly around the gift box he'd sworn to protect—cheap wrapping paper now soggy and torn.
Raphael, soaked to the bone but focused, reached into his coat and fumbled for the buzzing device.
Crackle—
"Raphael… can you hear me? You shouldn't be on—crkkk—that road…" Mrs. Dorothy's voice bled through static.
"We'll be there in ten minutes!" he shouted into the wind, shoving the phone away. Leon leaned forward, urgency written all over his pale, shivering face.
"Speed up! We're late!"
VROOOOM.
The engine howled, tires screeching as the bike cut through the storm like a lance.
Then—
BANG!
The headlight caught something in the dark.
A flock of sheep.
They stood unmoving, their eyes gleaming like coins under moonlight. Time froze.
"SHIT!"
Leon pulled at Raphael's shoulder, but it was too late. The tires hit the slick patch. The bike twisted, swerved, and flew.
The road vanished beneath them.
All that remained was the void—and the sea below.
SPLASH!
They hit the water like dolls dropped from the heavens. Cold stole the breath from their lungs instantly. The sea dragged them down, as if it had been waiting.
"Leon! Grab my hand!"
Raphael's hand groped in the blackness, brushing against wet skin.
"Ralph! Where are you!?"
The waves thrashed like demons. Thunder cracked the sky open.
Then—Grab.
Fingers found a wrist.
"I've got you! Just—just stay with me—"
CRASH!
A monstrous wave slammed into them, hurling their bodies into jagged rock. A blinding pain. Bones cracked. Blood spilled.
Leon's voice cracked, slurred. "Ralph…?"
Darkness crept in.
Raphael tried to respond—
"Leon… I'm sor—"
He never finished.
Silence.
Then—
A flicker.
Emerald green, pulsing beneath the surface like a heartbeat.
A presence drifted toward them. It was not of this world. Its gaze pierced them even in unconsciousness, old and knowing. Curious. Hungry.
Then, it smiled.
Snap.
Somewhere else. Nowhere.
Silence.
Not the silence of the sea or the grave—but something deeper. A silence so profound it felt like a weight pressing down on existence itself.
Raphael floated in the void, weightless, breathless. His body was gone. There was no pain. No water. Just… awareness.
Then, a voice.
"Hey."
It was faint, echoing like a memory.
"Ralph... is that you?"
A soft glow flickered nearby—another presence adrift in the dark.
Leon.
Their souls hovered side by side, pale reflections of their former selves. The void stretched endlessly in all directions, stitched together by streaks of green light, like cracks in a mirror.
"Are we dead?" Leon asked, his voice small.
Raphael didn't answer immediately. He reached out, and this time, their hands met with no resistance.
"I think so," he said. "Or something close."
Suddenly, the void breathed. The green light pulsed, faster, deeper. A presence stirred—massive, watching, ancient.
"You're not supposed to be here yet."
The voice didn't come from any direction. It came from everywhere.
Leon flinched. Raphael tensed.
"Then why are we?" he asked.
"Because something broke."
"Because something noticed."
"Because you're interesting."
The voice warped, splintering into whispers, laughter, and screams—all layered over each other.
A green eye opened in the dark. No iris. No pupil. Just light, endless and hungry.
"Do you want to live?"
Leon glanced at Raphael.
"...Together?"
The voice chuckled.
"Together, yes. But not as you were."
"Then how?"
"As seekers."
"As pawns."
"As thorns in the flesh of gods."
Snap.
The world cracked—
Light exploded.
Sound vanished.
Time twisted.
Then—
Warmth.
Not comforting warmth. Suffocating warmth.
Muffled sound. A constant thrum—thump-thump, thump-thump—like a heartbeat through thick walls. Fluid pressed in on all sides.
Gurgle.
Leon twitched.
No—not Leon. Not really. He had no name here. No voice. No body he recognized. Just panic. Awareness compressed into a space far too small.
He kicked. Or tried to. His limbs were short. Unformed. Weak.
What is this—?!
Raphael's thoughts echoed in the same watery void nearby. A second awareness—familiar. Close.
Two heartbeats.
Two wombs.
Two souls trapped in flesh not yet theirs.
No voice. Just emotion. A shocked, echoing thought in the void.
Then came the sounds—muffled voices from the outside, distorted like underwater screams.
And above all, the presence returned. Watching. Amused.
"Born of death, bathed in storms, cursed with memory—"
"—Now rise again, seekers of Transcendence."
The world began to shake. The walls around them tightened. Pressure built.
Birth.
A violent, crushing descent.
And then—
Light.
Air.
Sound.
Wails.
The first breath ripped through them like fire, like drowning in reverse.
The cold was unbearable.
"Both are boys !" a voice cried.
The world had begun again.
CREAK.
The heavy doors groaned open as two men burst into the chamber, their boots skidding against the cold stone floor. Breathless. Desperate.
One had storm-black eyes that scanned the room like a blade seeking its mark. The other, golden-eyed, moved with the urgency of a man chasing time itself.
On the bed lay two women, their skin slick with sweat, their breaths ragged from the ordeal of childbirth. Twins—yet distinct in every way.
The one with short, white hair winced as she reached for her sister's hand. A beauty mark shimmered beneath her right eye. The other, her longer-haired mirror, bore hers just below the lip, her chest rising and falling with shallow gasps.
The room smelled of blood, salt, and rain-soaked linen.
"Are they safe?" the black-eyed man asked, his voice cracked with something too sharp to be fear and too raw to be hope.
No answer. Only the sound of the storm outside—and the soft, sudden gurgle of newborns stirring in their mother's arms.
The nurse turned to them with a soft smile, her hands still trembling from the rush of the delivery.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice a balm in the charged air. "They're safe, sirs. Both of them."
STEP.
The quiet shuffle of feet echoed through the chamber as more figures entered—an elderly couple cloaked in midnight-blue robes. The lines on their faces told stories of long winters and longer prayers.
Their eyes swept over the room, landing on the newborns cradled against their mothers. Concern flickered first—then melted into relief, then joy. A joy too heavy to laugh with, but deep enough to weep for.
The old man stepped toward his daughters. His white hair clung to his forehead, blue eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Kneeling beside them, he pressed a kiss to each brow.
"Edward. Alexander," he said, voice low but commanding. "Let them rest."
The two men hesitated. Their breaths came uneven, tears threatening to spill—but they obeyed.
"You did well, honey," murmured Edward, black eyes misting. He kissed his wife's palm, fingers trembling as he let go.
"Darling," said Alexander, brushing a strand of hair from his wife's face. "I'll return soon." His voice cracked at the edge. He rose quietly and turned away.
Now, only the women remained in the room.
Olivia sat between her daughters, her golden hair tied neatly in a bun, green eyes—mirrored in the newborns—shimmering with quiet pride. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from each daughter's forehead. Peace, at last.
BANG!
The door burst open.
A man entered, white-haired like their father, but with sharp blue eyes that held a spark of panic. Beside him walked a woman—her golden ponytail bouncing behind her, amethyst eyes scanning the room with worry.
They were carrying towels, bottles, and bundles of soft clothes.
"How are you feeling?" the man asked as he approached the beds, setting the supplies down. His gaze slid to his sisters. "Amelia… Sophie—are you alright?"
Both women chuckled, their exhaustion etched into their expressions.
"We survived, didn't we?" Sophie murmured.
"Barely," Amelia added with a half-smile.
The man reached for a small knife from the tray.
"Orianne," he said gently, looking at the woman beside him. "Let me cut them."
Orianne handed the knife over without a word, her eyes drifting back to the twins.
"Let me help you sit properly," she said, already moving to adjust the pillows behind Amelia first, then Sophie.
She turned toward the door. "I'll bring a glass of water—"
But two hands caught her wrists.
"Just tell that crackhead to get it," Sophie whispered, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips.
Orianne blinked. "Sophie—"
"Stay with us, sister," Amelia whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
Orianne nodded, settling onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. She waved at the man across the room.
"Henry," she said softly, "bring some water when you're done massacring that apple."
Henry rose from his seat and walked over to the jug.
"Just wait, you twins," he muttered, carefully pouring water into the glasses. "I'm gonna teach you what a real crackhead is."
Olivia arched a brow, eyes twinkling. "But Henry… aren't you already famous for that title?"
Henry groaned. "Mother—"
Orianne leaned in, trying to keep a straight face. "She's right. The word 'crackhead' is practically your middle name."
Henry dropped his forehead into his palm. "Not you too, wife of mine!"
The room burst into laughter. Even the exhausted twins couldn't hold it back.
A few moments later~
Outside the room, a small boy stood waiting—white hair like Henry's, amethyst eyes wide with curiosity and nerves. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, casting shy glances toward the door.
Henry knelt beside him, a soft grin tugging at his lips.
"You can go in, you know," he said gently. "They've been waiting to meet you."
The boy looked up, hesitating.
Orianne leaned down and ruffled his hair. "You should've come with us, Vincent."
He nodded slowly. "Yes, Mother."
Olivia smiled, crouching in front of him. "Vincent, sweetheart, visit them later with me, alright?"
His expression brightened. "Yes, Grandma."
A few moments later—
The door creaked open. Olivia stepped inside, her hand resting gently on little Vincent's shoulder. Two maids followed, moving silently, their arms ready.
"Take the children to their room," Olivia said softly.
The maids bowed and carefully wheeled the cribs away. The twins watched, their gazes lingering until the babies vanished through the doorway.
"Cinnamon Roll!" Sophie beamed, arms wide.
Vincent ran forward, grinning as he threw himself into her arms.
"Auntie, does it hurt?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Why would it?" Sophie smiled, brushing his hair back. "My little cinnamon roll takes all the pain away!"
"Hey, what about me?" Amelia pouted, crossing her arms.
Vincent turned quickly, his grin doubling in size. He scampered over and wrapped his arms around her.
"Ohh, my cupcake." Amelia giggled, pulling him into a soft kiss on the forehead. "Worrying about your aunties now, huh?"
"Yes!" Vincent's laughter bubbled up—quiet, but bright.
The group chatted a little longer, laughter and teasing filling the warm room.
"Alright, we'll come visit again in the morning." Olivia stood, smoothing her robe as she looked one last time at her daughters.
"Bye, Auntie!" Vincent waved at both Sophie and Amelia, grinning brightly.
They waved back, tired but smiling.
In the corridor, Olivia patted Vincent's head. "Vinnie, time for bed now. Grandma's got work."
"Okay." Vincent nodded sweetly.
But as their paths split, his steps slowed.
Once Olivia was out of sight, Vincent turned.
Silently, he crept down the hall and pushed open an old wooden door.
CREAK.
The hinges groaned. The room ahead was dark, cold, quiet.
Vincent stepped inside, and each footfall felt heavier—almost unnatural. His smile twisted ever so slightly, a glint in his amethyst eyes.
A glint that didn't belong to a five-year-old.
"Let's meet our reincarnators, shall we?"