Autumn had settled over the wheat fields like a thin veil of ash.
The moon was full. Its pale light spilled over the entire landscape, washing the sea of wheat in silver. Each stalk shimmered faintly, bending under a slow breath of wind that carried the dry scent of earth and crushed grain. The air was cold enough to bite at exposed skin.
In the middle of the field, two silhouettes faced each other.
Despite the moonlight, their forms remained indistinct blurred shadows among taller shadows but their voices began to rise, cutting through the whispering wheat. A female voice spoke first.
"Coming onto another's territory is not something to be done. Did you truly believe that stepping onto the country closest to your cursed land would not alert us? We monitor the southeast of the continent more than any other region because of you."
The wind shifted, brushing against her clothes with a soft hiss. The fabric clung briefly to her frame before settling again. She did not move.
The second silhouette let out a quiet, mocking laugh. It vibrated low in his chest before escaping into the night air. Then a male voice answered.
"What can I say? Perhaps it's simply the consequence of glory. Still, allowing the Order of Carmesin to set foot on your magnificent continent and not us I find that truly insulting. Especially considering that love is far from blooming between your factions. I came here to discuss the island between Surina and Katara. I would like us to acquire it entirely. You already possess an island north of Surina. Be generous with us… and we will be indebted to you."
A pause followed. The wheat swayed between them, whispering secrets neither intended to share.
The woman seemed genuinely irritated now. The air around her felt sharper, as though the temperature had dropped by a degree.
"You speak too much, man. I will not allow you to do as you please. And I cannot decide alone. The other Sacred Heirs must be informed of your request. Unless this is treated as an exceptional matter, you will go no further. I invite you to return to your country. We will meet again only if the conditions are met."
The man tilted his head slightly, doubtful. He had been sent by the highest members of his cult to reach a common agreement. Yet standing before her, he had failed to be convincing.
He could not return home with his tail between his legs.
The wind grew stronger, slipping beneath his coat. The fabric rustled faintly.
"Hm… what a truly sad world. I don't even know your name, and yet we are enemies for the simple reason that our beliefs and religions differ. But I cannot allow myself to return home like this. My rank as a Cursed Child does not permit it. In your position, you couldn't either. We must maintain appearances before the others. That is the burden of holding the highest rank within our respective faiths. Though… sometimes, it becomes necessary."
The woman stared at him for a long moment. The wind whistled against her ears, tugging at strands of her hair.
"You speak as if my death is certain. Even if you kill me, others will come. And then others after them…"
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"I will win," the man said quietly. "We are both bearers of unique powers. The difference is… I chose to fight with a sword. Sorry, but…"
A thin, sharp sound sliced through the air.
His left cheek suddenly stung. A shallow cut opened across his skin, and warm blood began to trickle down, glistening dark beneath the moonlight. The metallic scent rose immediately.
He froze.
The woman's arm was raised. Her face, impassive until now, had filled with unmistakable hatred.
"Bastard. You insult my way of living. Do you truly believe God granted us powers so that you could compensate with weapons forged by human hands? Your blade will be useless against my power and my faith."
The man wiped the blood from his cheek with his right hand. He stared at the red staining his fingertips, watching it bead in the cold light.
A slow breath escaped him.
"Very well. I will be merciful. I won't use my power unless you do first. I would like to see your ability before I kill you."
He drew his sword. The blade hummed faintly as it cut through the air in a testing arc.
"Do you truly think you can kill me with the power of wind? It is so weak that only the Conclave of Henosis uses it because you know your magic alone is dangerous. You rely on lesser abilities so young recruits can defend themselves."
The woman lunged forward, head lowered, boots crushing wheat underfoot. This time she did not use magic. She attacked in close combat.
The man stepped aside and swung his sword. The blade struck her arm. It should have severed it cleanly.
But it didn't.
For a fraction of a second, a ripple passed over her skin reinforcement magic activating at the exact instant of impact. The blade scraped uselessly against invisible force.
It was the most studied ability within the Conclave of Henosis. Difficult to master. It consumed immense mana if maintained too long. It could not remain constantly active it demanded extreme reflexes to trigger at the precise moment.
The fight continued.
Steel clashed. Boots slid against trampled stalks. Breath grew heavier. Yet neither of them used their unique powers.
Then the man stepped back several paces.
Even at that distance, both his shoulders suddenly burst open in violent sprays of blood. Flesh tore as though sliced by invisible blades. A massive arc of crimson splattered across the wheat.
He screamed.
It was her.
Her wind was far stronger than he had imagined. Far sharper. It cut without form.
"What the hell how is this possible?!" he roared through clenched teeth. "Wind is supposed to be weak! But yours… it slices through everything. Even I couldn't counter it!"
Blood soaked his clothes. His arms hung uselessly.
He knew.
He was going to die.
She was far stronger and she still did not seem to take the battle seriously.
"Use your power," he demanded through ragged breaths. "I want to see it before I die. You're no ordinary woman. You're strong… probably the strongest among the Sacred Heirs."
For a moment, silence swallowed the field.
Then she used her unique power.
The air bent.
Something unseen compressed the space around him. There was no scream this time. His body fractured, then dissolved scattering like dust beneath divine pressure.
He vanished.
The wheat slowly settled again.
The woman remained motionless, staring at the moon over her shoulder. The scent of blood lingered, mixing with the cold sweetness of night air.
« I hope they won't attempt retaliation. Though Cursed Children are like cockroaches… soon enough, a newborn will become one of them. Sometimes you can only hope he won't be like the others. That he will see the color of his soul as merely one among many… I should return. By tomorrow or the day after they' ll know one of their own has died. I must move quickly to warn the others. »
She left the wheat field, her steps soft against the soil, and returned to her country.
She had to reach the headquarters of her community as quickly as possible. A war between the two religions must be avoided at all costs. Especially since the Order of Carmesin would undoubtedly take advantage of the chaos to plant their own seeds in the heart of battle.
Two years later.
In a small village of Surina, barely twelve hundred inhabitants, a woman beloved by all was about to give birth. She and her husband owned a modest but popular shop in the village.
That evening, several villagers volunteered to help.
Candlelight flickered across the walls. The wax scent mixed with sweat and damp linen. The woman's entire body glistened, skin slick beneath trembling light. An elderly man and two young women stood beside her, guiding her breathing.
The labor was difficult.
When the child finally emerged, a heavy silence filled the room.
Everyone waited.
At every birth, within the first five minutes, an aura emerged from the infant's body. It took on a specific color. Once the color appeared, it no longer manifested outside the body unless the bearer chose to reveal it.
Seconds stretched.
Then the child's soul revealed itself.
Violet.
The air seemed to collapse inward.
When a soul was violet, one immediately became a Cursed Child the highest-ranked members within the religion of the Cursed Children. A faith based on facts rather than scripture.
Cursed Children were direct manifestations of the divine.
They were not guided by texts.
Their existence itself was revelation.
They followed no doctrine.
They embodied anomaly.
Their powers, unlike others, could not be learned.
They were not loved by the other two religions. Forced into isolation, they created their own religion followers drawn not to words, but to their very existence.
Inside the small house, those present faced only two choices.
Abandon him.
Or keep him hoping he might one day join the Conclaves of Henosis, where even a Cursed Child's power could become an invaluable asset.
The birth of a Cursed Child sent tremors across the world.
Whenever one was born, everyone asked the same question:
What power never before seen would manifest?
But that answer would require patience. Only at the age of ten could a child use their power autonomously. Sometimes earlier. Sometimes later.
His childhood was harsh.
After his birth, the village grew colder toward his family. Their shop closed only two years later. For his education, it was worse. He learned only from his parents. He lived isolated from everyone solely because he was born with a violet soul.
On the day of his twelfth birthday, he finally revealed the faintest glimpse of his power.
The news spread.
He was summoned to a council.
The Sacred Heirs of the Conclave of Henosis, the Divine Vestiges of the Order of Carmesin, and the Cursed Children of their own cult would gather together.
The greatest leaders of the greatest religions united in one place.
Such a thing was rare.
It occurred only when a Cursed Child was born.
The last time had been twelve hundred years ago.
He had to travel to a country at the center of everything the only land where all religions were accepted in one place. Even atheists were welcome there. In fact, the island was primarily governed by atheist leaders, and most of the population followed that belief.
After a short journey, he arrived with his family in the country of Adunatio. It was not the largest nation but it was one of the most important.
Yet the journey was not over.
They still had to reach the capital.
Unum.
It was not as the boy had imagined. Most buildings were light gray, but vegetation covered the ground, the walls, even the massive structure that served as headquarters for all religions.
Vines crawled across stone. Leaves shimmered in filtered sunlight.
Akira.
That was the child's name.
He stared at everything in awe especially the tallest buildings. Nothing like this had ever existed in the village where he grew up.
When they arrived at the entrance of the grand building, guards stood before two massive doors.
Akira and his parents barely glanced at them.
Until the guards blocked their path.
The parents tried to explain the situation.
One guard replied coldly:
"Only the child."
They could not defy the rules.
For the first time, they let their son enter a building alone.
Inside, staff escorted him through vast corridors. Their footsteps echoed softly against stone floors polished smooth by centuries.
They stopped before a door.
The two attendants left, leaving him alone.
The wood felt cool beneath his palm.
He pushed it open.
The room beyond resembled a tribunal chamber as though he were about to be judged by the world itself.
There were not many inside.
Only ten.
When the door closed behind him, the heavy sound reverberated.
Outside, a young female staff member passed briefly. For an instant, she glimpsed the figures inside. Curiosity flickered in her eyes. She pressed her ear against the door.
Silence.
Inside, several speeches had already been delivered.
At last, all representatives turned their attention to Akira.
The air felt thick. Heavy.
One of them spoke.
"Whom do you wish to serve? What is your religion? Who is your god?"