2025-11-19 16:47:58The slums of Ember Hollow were places where even the moonlight hesitated to fall. Cracked rooftops leaned like broken ribs, and foul-smelling mist rose from open drains. Scavengers prowled the alleys—rats, thieves, and worse. In this forgotten corner of the realm, the cries of abandoned children were no more significant than the whistling of the wind.
Tonight, however, something stirred differently.
A faint, whimpering sound came from a dirty bundle near a collapsed wall. Two infants huddled together—one boy and one girl—wrapped in torn cloth that still carried the faint scent of phoenix ash. Their cheeks were smeared with dust, but their eyes glowed with unusual brilliance. The girl, Lyra, slept fitfully, clutching her brother’s sleeve. The boy, Arin, remained awake, tiny brows scrunched as though he sensed danger crawling closer.
They were only a year old—soft, fragile, defenseless.
Or so it seemed.
A group of bandits moved through the slum path, boots splashing through muddy puddles. They weren’t ordinary criminals. Their leader, a tall man with a jagged scar across his chin, carried a club studded with iron nails. He was known as Grath One-Eye, infamous for selling children to the darker markets far beyond the kingdom’s borders.
He spat to the side and growled, “Spread out. Heard a babe cry earlier. Could fetch a good price.”
The men snickered. “If it’s healthy, maybe. If not, we toss it.”
Grath’s one good eye scanned the path. “We take whatever we find. Buyers aren’t picky these days.”
The slums held no laws at this hour. No guards. No mercy.
Grath stepped closer to the collapsed wall—and stopped.
“Huh?”
His boot nudged a bundle. A soft coo escaped from within. He gestured to his men, who quickly gathered around.
“Well, well,” he chuckled, kneeling. “Look at this. Two kids for the taking.”
He reached out and unwrapped part of the cloth. Lyra stirred, her small hands fluttering. Her dark lashes trembled, and her eyes opened—revealing irises like molten gold. They sparkled faintly, unnatural even in dim light.
One of the bandits recoiled. “Boss, their eyes… something’s off.”
Grath snorted. “Kids born strange all the time. Might fetch extra coin.”
He reached toward Lyra.
And everything changed.
Arin, who had been silent until now, suddenly let out a soft, warning cry. His tiny hand rose, as if trying to push the man away. A faint ripple—barely visible—shimmered in the air around him.
Grath froze when a strange sensation crawled up his spine. “What was that?”
Before any man could react, Lyra whimpered louder. Arin’s eyes snapped open completely—revealing a swirling mix of night-purple and ember-red, like shadows wrapped around flame.
The air thickened.
The bandits stumbled back.
The slums grew silent, as if the world itself held its breath.
A faint spark glimmered around the infant boy’s body. It grew. Expanded. A small pulse of shadow intertwined with shimmering ember light rolled outward like a wave.
“What the—?!” a bandit shouted.
Then came the burst.
A sudden shockwave—silent but powerful—erupted from Arin. It wasn’t a flame. Not exactly. It wasn’t darkness either. It was both. A spiraling helix of black flame and radiant red luminance shot outward, slamming into the ground and the air with equal force.
The bandits screamed.
The one closest to the twins flew backward, crashing into a pile of broken crates. Another stumbled and toppled into the filthy gutter. The third dove aside, rolling desperately to avoid the fiery-black arc that grazed his sleeve and burned through the fabric as though it were soaked in oil.
Grath One-Eye scrambled back, fear replacing greed in an instant. “What monster child is this?!”
He tried to steady himself, but his hands were shaking too violently.
On the ground, Arin continued to stare at them—not with malice, not even with understanding, but with instinct. The shadow-flame spiraled higher for an instant before collapsing inward, as if sucked back into his tiny body. The aura vanished. The alley grew normal again, except for scorch marks carved into dirt and stone.
The bandits gaped in horror.
“Boss… let’s get out of here,” one stammered.
“Yeah, yeah! That ain’t no child—that’s a demon!”
“Run, fool!”
They fled so quickly they nearly tripped over each other.
Grath was the last to retreat. Even as he stumbled backward, his lips trembled with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
“That wasn’t normal…” he whispered. “That was… power. Ancient. Forbidden.”
Then he too vanished into the darkness, leaving the twins alone once more.
Silence returned—but it wasn’t the same silence as before.
The air around the children shimmered faintly with the remnants of Arin’s aura. The scorch marks glowed like dying coals before dimming to gray. Arin’s tiny chest heaved as he breathed, exhausted. Lyra, startled but unharmed, reached for him with her small hands, as if asking for comfort.
Their fingers intertwined.
The world seemed to breathe around them.
From the shadowy corner of a nearby shack, the old beggar who had watched their abandonment earlier slowly emerged. His eyes, hidden behind grime and wrinkles, now gleamed with sharp awareness.
He had seen everything.
He had been waiting for this moment.
“Well, now…” he whispered, voice crackling like old parchment. “So the rumors were true after all. Heavenfire twins—born of forbidden blood.”
He limped closer, leaning heavily on his twisted cane.
“Shadow and flame from birth… even the heavens fear what you two may become.”
His gaze swept over the scorch marks. He chuckled softly—half in awe, half in anticipation.
“But power like this… will attract far worse than bandits.”
He stopped a few steps away, eyes narrowing as he peered at the sleeping twins.
“And you, little ones… are already being hunted.”
The twins stirred again, their tiny hands still clasped.
The beggar’s smile widened into something unsettling—something knowing.
“The real enemies,” he whispered, “haven’t even arrived yet.”
He glanced toward the sky, where faint embers drifted far above—too perfect, too steady to be natural. Someone was watching. Someone powerful.
The old beggar stepped closer and knelt.
“Time to choose,” he murmured. “Do I leave you—to fate? Or…”
He reached out a trembling hand toward Arin’s forehead.
“…do I claim you before the others find you?”
The twins whimpered.
The air grew still.
And then—
a fiery crack split open the sky above.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
Chapter 13 — The Slum’s Three Friends
The slums were louder than usual that morning—shouts from street vendors, the clang of broken pots, the distant laughter of children pretending they weren’t starving. But beneath the noise, Arin felt a tension lurking in the air. As if the world itself was holding its breath after the strange symbol had appeared on their wall the night before.He kept Lyra close as they made their way toward the water barrels. Their shelter was no longer safe. They needed information—and allies.Whether he liked it or not.Lyra tugged on his sleeve. “Do you think someone will help us?”Arin hesitated. Help was hard to come by in the slums. But there were three people—three children like them—who had crossed paths with him enough times to matter.The first appeared without warning, as always.A cold voice cut through the morning air.“You’re late. The water’s almost gone.”Arin turned.Elira stood by the barrel, pale morning light reflecting off her dark hair. Her expression was as unreadable as ever—e
Chapter 12 — Arin’s First Faint Echo
The night fell heavy over the slums, carrying an unnatural chill that seeped through broken rooftops and thin blankets. Arin lay curled on the dirt floor beside Lyra, trembling uncontrollably. Sweat drenched his forehead. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts.A fever—violent and sudden.Lyra had begged him to rest in the warmest corner of their makeshift shelter, but warmth felt like a distant dream. Every pulse of heat sent another wave of pain through Arin’s body, as though something inside him was fighting to break free.“Arin,” Lyra whispered, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “Please stay awake. Please.”He tried to respond, but the world around him blurred into a haze of shadows and muffled sounds.His fever wasn’t normal.His visions weren’t normal.And worst of all—the presence watching them earlier still lingered in the back of his mind.Arin gritted his teeth. “I’m fine.”The lie fell apart the moment it left his mouth. His body shook harder, his throat tightened, a
Chapter 11 — First Sign of Divine Bloodline
The slums woke slowly that morning, as if the sun itself hesitated to pour its light upon a place that forgot hope long ago. Thin smoke drifted from broken chimneys. Mothers shook dust from blankets. Children with hollow eyes hunted for leftover scraps from the market three streets away.But inside a narrow alley, beneath a collapsed roof held together by old rope and desperate faith, Arin and Lyra sat huddled beside a shivering stray dog.It had followed them for two days—limping, ribs showing, fur matted with dried blood. Arin had tried to scare it off at first. One more mouth meant one more problem. But Lyra… Lyra couldn’t walk away.She never could.“Arin,” she whispered, cupping the dog’s head gently. “He’s going to die.”Arin looked away. He hated this feeling—the helplessness of wanting to save but lacking the power, the food, even the freedom to try. He had nothing. He was nothing. And the world made sure he never forgot that.“We can’t save every dying thing,” Arin muttered.
Chapter 10 — Growing in Filth
The slums changed slowly—rotting boards collapsing here, a new layer of grime added there—but for Arin and Lyra, change happened whether they wanted it or not. Days turned into months; months slid into years. The world did not pause for abandoned twins.And so, they grew.Not in comfort or warmth, but in filth.The slums of Ember Hollow offered no kindness. The air always smelled of spoiled rice and smoke. Beggars fought over scraps. Children disappeared without a trace. Gangs controlled the alleys like miniature tyrants. But even in this cesspool, two small figures endured—thin, hungry, and clothed in stitched rags.Yet, they were always together.Always.At age five, Arin already possessed the shoulders and arms of a child who worked far beyond his years. Every morning, he hauled buckets of water for a local tavern in exchange for stale bread. Every afternoon, he carried wooden crates for vendors—sometimes for coins, more often for kicks to the ribs.But he didn’t complain.He could
Chapter 9 — A Miracle of Survival
The slums of Ember Hollow were places where even the moonlight hesitated to fall. Cracked rooftops leaned like broken ribs, and foul-smelling mist rose from open drains. Scavengers prowled the alleys—rats, thieves, and worse. In this forgotten corner of the realm, the cries of abandoned children were no more significant than the whistling of the wind.Tonight, however, something stirred differently.A faint, whimpering sound came from a dirty bundle near a collapsed wall. Two infants huddled together—one boy and one girl—wrapped in torn cloth that still carried the faint scent of phoenix ash. Their cheeks were smeared with dust, but their eyes glowed with unusual brilliance. The girl, Lyra, slept fitfully, clutching her brother’s sleeve. The boy, Arin, remained awake, tiny brows scrunched as though he sensed danger crawling closer.They were only a year old—soft, fragile, defenseless.Or so it seemed.A group of bandits moved through the slum path, boots splashing through muddy puddle
Chapter 8 — The Night of Abandonment
“Some stories begin with love. Theirs began with being thrown away.”Night fell harshly on Emberfall Village.A storm gathered above the rooftops, stirring dust and dead leaves through the narrow alleys. Windows shut early. Dogs hid under porches. Even the wind felt afraid.Two infants—one boy, one girl—shivered in an old wicker basket as they were carried under the cloak of darkness.Lyra’s tiny fingers clung to the frayed cloth.Arin, barely awake, whimpered against the cold.Joren Vale cursed under his breath as thunder rumbled overhead.“Damn these brats,” he spat, struggling with the basket. “Should’ve drowned them when we had the chance.”Mirra, walking beside him, hissed sharply, “Quiet! Elden said no bodies. Just leave them. Quick and clean.”“Clean?” Joren sneered. “We already burned their house.”Mirra slapped his arm. “Shut up!”Behind them, the burned remains of Rylan’s cottage still glowed faintly—embers simmering beneath the ash. The smell of smoke clung stubbornly to th
You may also like
Reincarnated in an Otome game as background ugly character!!
Marvin Miño12.8K viewsThe Least Common Denominator
MokouFriedChicken25.8K viewsHis Biggest Secret
ijay16.5K viewsDivine Cultivator: Rebirth of the God Emperor
Dragonix Loki39.1K viewsRise Of Hades' Hellborn: Trumpets Of The Damned
Calvary539 viewsKUMAH
Kofi Akyea2.8K viewsNEPHLEM
Trevor.M.Muma1.7K viewsFaul: The Reincarnation
Norren2.4K views