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Chapter Text

6,000 Years Ago — The Beginning of the Age of Gods

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
—Friedrich Nietzsche

“OSIRA!”
Pain exploded across her stomach as the rider’s blade sliced through her. He galloped past without looking back, leaving her to collapse in the blood-soaked dirt.
Death had always promised peace, sweet, silent, final.
But not for her.

Not for their families.

As her heartbeat slowed and her vision dimmed, Osira saw her, Afon, draped in smoke and gold, her enemy by nation, her love by choice, standing untouched by the slaughter. A child of peace. A daughter of Evren. Yet beautiful and untamed in her madness.

Osira’s grief sharpened into fury. Not just at the blade that struck her down, but at the betrayal of silence. Afon had said nothing. Had done nothing.
She simply looked away, as if the sight of Osira’s suffering cost her more than war itself.

She wore the golden crest of her mother’s peace, yet stood unmoved amid the blood. Her silence cut deeper than the blade ever could.
Osira’s voice broke before her heart did. “You promised me.”

Love, Osira realized, could hollow you just as much as it could make you whole.

If Osira was to die for the one she loved, then everyone would feel her pain too.

With the last of her strength, she pushed herself to her feet. Blood ran freely down her torn robes as she raised her voice, fierce, raw, and full of rage.

“My name is Osira, first daughter of the Abyssal Mother, Ciar, Lover of Darkness, Queen of Madness.
Hear me, oh gods above, far from my reach, and bear witness.
I curse you, Mother of Earth, Evren, Lover of Nature, Queen of Peace:
For every child of mine who dies by the hand of yours, so too shall one of your blood perish.
But unlike you, I will give you hope.
When the time comes, one child from each of our lines shall rise,
And together, they will ascend to glory…
Or descend into madness.”

As her words echoed across the battlefield, the gods, both high and low, fell silent. The air turned thick with silence. The wind stilled. Clouds blackened, coiling above like watching eyes.
Then Ciar, the Abyssal Mother, appeared behind her daughter, not just a goddess, but a grieving sister whose sorrow had long since curdled into silence.

She did not speak. She did not weep.
She only reached out, and from Osira’s bleeding body rose chains of obsidian, dark, sharp, and eternal. They slithered like serpents across the blood-soaked ground and pierced the earth beneath Evren and her firstborn, binding both divine lineages in a curse woven from grief and vengeance.

But the gods, in their arrogance, heard only vengeance, not the warning buried beneath it.
The ground cracked like veins of blood. Birds fell from the sky, hearts stopped, wings broken. Even the stars above flickered, dimmed, and died as silent as Osira’s love Afon had been. The sky cracking like glass under pressure.

The battlefield held its breath. Not with fear but the anticipation of what would come to be.

Two goddesses. Two families. One curse.
It would endure until the last child of both lines rose to glory…
or fell to madness. Together.

But with all great curses, something was always forgotten.
What they did not see was the tear in Osira’s eye as she fell, the part of her that still loved.

And when the wind finally moved again, it did not howl, it whispered her name, over and over, like a wound that never healed.

Between the children of Mother Earth, the Brightwoods.
And the children of the Abyssal Mother, the Nightingales.
They never stood a chance to discover what was left out.

Some say Osira’s scream still echoes in the voids of the world.

Some say she never died at all.

In Awan City, thousands of years later, the wind still whispered her name through rust and rain.

After all… if Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
What mere flame could match the wrath of a goddess daughter betrayed by both love and blood?

Chapter Text

“Attachment is the root cause of all suffering.”

The night of madness

The sun was sinking beneath the sea, its light breaking on the horizon like molten brass. The last embers of daylight caught the teeth of the city’s skyline, cog-spired towers, steam cranes creaking over the harbor, and glass domes threaded with copper piping that hissed faintly in the cooling air.

Awan City was shifting into the night. My favorite time.

The streetlamps flickered on in a cascade, one after another — globe-shaped lanterns fueled by electric coils and piston pumps, casting their mechanical hum into the narrow alleys. Overhead, the sky was a wash of soot and moonlight, and somewhere far off, the gears of the West Side tram ground to a halt with a shudder of steam.

It was almost time.

Bel, Xander, and I were leaving this godforsaken island, soon. A few more steps, a few more pieces in place, and we’d be free.

If we could escape before my domain ceremony, I wouldn’t be bound to my family’s legacy. No rituals. No chains. No blood feuds. I’d be free of the Nightingales. Free of the war with the Brightwoods. Of him and his shadow.

Even if I couldn’t go, as long as Xander got out, I could live with it. Knowing he was safe, with Abellona, was enough. After all they were the only ones I had left.

“Zel? Are you there?”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Bel had found me.
She stood tall at 5’10”, her long dark red braid swinging over the worn leather of her stormcoat, a brass clasp glinting at her shoulder. Her pointed elven ears caught the light from a nearby clockwork sign advertising hot coffee for five cogs a cup. The bronze of her skin reflected the lamplight like she’d been carved from dusk itself — fierce, unbreakable. My sweet sister.

“Yeah,” I whispered back. Eyes closing in relief

She glanced over her shoulder, scanning for shadows or spies, before stepping into the deeper dark of the alley. Bel pulled me into a hug, her fingers trembling against the back of my coat.

“Come on. If we stay here, someone’s going to find us,” she murmured. “And I’m not in the mood to deal with that tonight.”

We slipped out into the West Side — neutral territory — the strip of the island belonging to neither Brightwood nor Nightingale, but the neutral families and their patron gods or the nomades as they were called in Awan after all if you didn’t have ties to the two big families that controlled this loathing prison then why stay forever only to be forced to witness the deaths and births of thousands of Brightwoods and Nightingales alike.

The steam from the elevated tram rails curled overhead, wrapping the night in fog. Automaton vendors trundled by on brass wheels, their tin voices hawking cheap cider and sugared nuts. Somewhere, a busker’s fiddle cut through the hiss of rain on cobblestone.

We ducked into Tom’s Diner — one of the last holdouts from the city’s pre-industrial days. Its warped glass windows were fogged, its booths patched with copper rivets where springs had burst. Overhead, a ceiling fan creaked in uneven circles, run by an exposed gear assembly that clanked with every turn.

Inside, the smell of machine oil and frying onions hung thick.

A man sat in the far booth, hood shadowing his face, steam curling from the mug cradled in his hands.

Friday night. This place should’ve been empty except for us. That was the first warning.

We slid into our usual booth. Bonnie — the only waitress worth remembering — approached with her usual tired charm. The faint blue neon from the sign outside painted her midnight skin, highlighting the bright azure stripes beneath her right eye and across to her left ear. Her cobalt hair was tied back in a gray bandana, a set of bronze goggles pushed up on her forehead.

“Hiya, you two. Havin’ the usual?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Bonnie. How’ve you been? How’s your mama doing?”

Bonnie smiled faintly. “Better. I’ve been training my domain outside the city. And Ma’s been great — your sister’s medicine really helped.”

A pang hit my chest—equal parts pride and guilt. Xander had helped her. He’d want to hear this.
She walked away, her boots clicking on the copper-plated floor.

“Can you believe this might be one of the last times we get to see her?” Bel asked softly.

I barely had time to answer before Bonnie returned with our plates… and a black cherry milkshake topped with whipped cream and a single glossy red cherry.
“The young fella over there said to give the siblings a treat for visiting. Said your meal’s on him tonight.”
My blood turned to ice.
I turned.

Honey-blonde curls. Amber eyes. A smile that cut like glass.

Caspian Brightwood.

The scars were new. But the air around him — brighter, sharper, with an edge of something unhinged — told me everything.

The curse had chosen him.

I turned back to Bel, forcing my face to stay neutral.
“Thanks, Bonnie,” I said quietly. “But we’ll have to rain check dinner. I don’t plan on accepting anything from that man again.”

Bonnie’s eyes flicked to the corner booth. Her expression changed — sharpened — as if a hidden gear had just locked into place.

She straightened, and the air around her shifted. The quiet, worn-out waitress was gone. In her place stood something dangerous — her posture coiled like a spring, the faint scent of ozone curling around her as static jumped between the brass studs of her wrist guards.

Not a waitress. A weapon.

Her patron god — Oya, Lady of Storms — stirred in her gaze, and for the briefest second, I caught the shimmer of lightning dancing in her pupils.

“You two get out,” Bonnie said, her voice edged in steel. “I’ve been dying for a fight. Whatever he’s done to you, Grim — he’ll pay for it. Now run. Don’t look back.”
Bel and I didn’t argue.

I grabbed her hand and bolted for the rear door, the mechanical hinges screeching as we shoved it open. The alley beyond was thick with fog from the street steam vents, glowing faintly in the amber light of gear-lamps.

We ran.

Our boots clanged on copper manhole covers, splashed through puddles that shimmered with oil rainbows. We cut down narrow service passages lined with humming power conduits, past clockwork delivery drones trundling toward the markets, past the whispering nightwatch automatons whose jointed heads followed us without a word.

This wasn’t just an escape. It was treason. If we were caught, we wouldn’t be punished.
We’d be erased.

The Brightwoods and Nightingales didn’t forgive traitors. Not even their own. Never had an outsider been spared and in the eyes of both families Bel was an outsider to the city.
The pain in my legs and the burning in my lungs kept me moving, but I could feel the fear gnawing at my heels.

“Azrael, stop!”

Her voice cut through. I stumbled to a halt, boots grinding against wet stone. The moon — thin and crescent — cast a pale gleam over the copper roofs in the distance. The city stretched behind us in a tangle of smokestacks and brass towers, and beyond that, the black sweep of the sea.

We were nearly at the forest’s edge — the Grove’s outer boundary. Neutral land, wild and unmechanized, where the gods’ roots ran deeper than any city foundation.
Bel faced me, her breath clouding in the cool air.

“We’re close,” I said quietly. “Just a little farther. Xander’s waiting for us at the grove. We just have to—”

“Zel.” She stepped forward, resting her hand against my cheek, forcing me to meet her eyes. The brass buttons on her coat glinted in the moonlight.
Tears shone in her gaze, but her voice stayed steady.

“When it happens — when the domain takes you — we’ll be there. The whole way.”
Something cracked in my chest. “No not yet there’s still time before it happens..” my voice cracked. I was a man drowning at sea; this wasn’t what was meant to happen.

“You’re strong,” Bel said. “The strongest person I know. Even if you go to the mainland alone, you’ll be okay. I’ll protect Xander until you come back for us.”
Her smile was bittersweet.

“Let’s walk the rest of the way. Let’s enjoy the last bit of quiet while we can.”
I nodded that the fight had been drained from me without being off the island and not going to the bloodstone to receive my domain. I'd be lucky to make it out of this alive. If I was to die then it would be in the arms of those I loved.

The forest was only a few minutes ahead — its canopy a silhouette of black steel-wood and silverleaf, branches threaded with faintly glowing prayer wires strung there decades ago by the city’s wandering gods.
We walked arm in arm, the hum of the city fading behind us. I remembered another night — lantern festival two winters ago — Bel, Xander, and I laughing until Xander nearly drowned in his tea.
The last night we were just kids.

Beneath our boots, the cobblestone gave way to dirt. The air changed — cooler, heavy with the scent of moss and something older. Ahead, the ground dipped toward the Grove of Souls, its ancient roots untouched by the city’s smog.

Somewhere in the dark, the Heart Tree stirred.

The wind bent in strange currents, and I felt it — her voice, coiling through my blood like smoke through pipes:
You are mine, Azrael. You always have been.

The grove began to awaken. My bloodline had already been claimed. There was no escape from a divine contract once sealed.
She wouldn’t let me go. Not now. Not ever.

The gods didn’t believe in freedom. Only in power. Only in legacy.
And I was the last of her line.

I’d always been hers.

Somewhere deep in the roots, another voice stirred — colder, sharper, carved into my bones and filling the air with the scent of lilies and the taste of iron:
Then be unmade, Azrael, as I was.

It wasn’t spoken. It was burned into the marrow of my name.
A curse.
A vow.
A promise.
The gods never forget.
Now neither would my soul.

Chapter Text

“Never look back; it only slows you down. After all that’s not the direction your going”

Present day- seven years latter

I never wanted to come back here.
Not after that night.
Not after we ran.
Not after everything we lost.
But it was finally time. I had a promise to keep.

As the moon waned and the sun began to rise over the horizon, I walked the length of the dock toward the steam-hazed shores of Awan City. The air was colder than I remembered—salt, coal-smoke, and silence wrapped in the tang of machine oil. Out on the tide, the silhouettes of rust-red cargo dirigibles drifted low, their propellers churning the morning fog.

The sea whispered warnings I chose to ignore.

The creak of the wooden boards beneath my boots triggered a memory: laughter—Bel’s, bright and unguarded—while Xander chased us down this same dock, waving a ribbon of seaweed like a banner. I crushed the memory before it could bloom. This was not the time for softness.

Xander would be receiving his domain tonight. What kind of man had he grown into without me? Without us? The thought twisted in my chest. If the bloodline had broken him, I’d have only myself to blame.
No matter what happened seven years ago, I had made a promise. I would be there for him. Even if he couldn’t forgive me for what I was about to do.

The city’s skyline still looked the same—iron spires and brass clocktowers jutting up from the cliffs, a thousand windows lit with the pulsing glow of power coils. Awan City had always been a contradiction: the 21st century wrapped in 19th-century bones, where gods walked the same streets as gearwrights and scholars.

I reached the outskirts of Nightingale territory, hesitating at the border etched into the cobblestones by both blood and divine will. A single iron arch marked the line, its gears still turning after two centuries, powered by a clockwork heart said to have been blessed by Ciar herself.

Once I crossed this line, I wouldn’t be able to leave again. Not unless I broke something far greater than tradition.

“Don’t look back now, Zel,” I whispered to myself. “The only direction you can go is forward.”

And I stepped over.

From the wilds of the forest to the cramped brass-lined backstreets, I moved with purpose—past the shrouded market stalls where automaton hawkers whispered prices, past the steam trams coughing black clouds along the rails, past the glowing sigil posts that hummed with prayers to the Mothers.

Until I reached it.

The Bloodstone.

A place older than the city that surrounded it. A slab of obsidian veined with crimson, set into the cobblestones like the beating heart of Awan. Copper piping encircled it, carrying the heat of offerings down to the ancient vaults beneath. This was where domains had been given for generations.

An altar of the gods.
A throne of sacrifice.
Not a soul was out.
Too early.
Too quiet.

I drew my dagger from the sheath in my boot—a slim blade etched with Ciar’s spiral—and made a small cut across my palm soon to be the first of many. Blood pooled onto the obsidian slab, steaming as it touched the warm surface.

The first three drops hit the stone.

And then I felt it.

A whisper of laughter.
A flash of Bel’s smile before the world burned. The scent of scorched roses and blood.
Time folded in on itself like a wound reopening.

The weight.
The curse.
The blood of my ancestors screaming beneath my skin.

Iron in the air.

Echoes of old screams riding the wind.
And just like that, I was sixteen again—a scared boy with nowhere left to run.

“I, Azrael Von Nightingale, offer to the Mother of the Abyss—Ciar—my blood that gives me life, and my soul that has no worth to anyone else. May you be appeased with these meager offerings and accept my servitude. So mote it be.”

The temperature dropped instantly.
A shiver crept down my spine. Numbness filled my chest.
Then I heard her voice—melodic, warped, beautiful in its madness.

“That was by far the most lackluster offering I’ve ever received, my little angel of Madness,” Ciar said dryly.

“Ciar,” I sighed. “I’ve always hated that nickname. And besides—at this point, I’m just doing this for formality. Melantha nearly had a heart attack when she found out I never completed the ritual.”
Her goodbye still clung to me. Bittersweet. Recently. Raw.

“Rude,” she murmured. “Any other god—bloodbound or not—would have crushed you for such insolence. But I understand. I’ve felt your pain. Held your tears in my shadows. I only wish for you to be happy. My offer still stands—”

“Don’t,” I snapped.

The air shifted. Even as much as she loved me—and I her—Ciar was still a goddess. A force older than war. A mother of madness.
But she could never understand what it meant to be born to a bloodline like mine. To mortal to be god and to godly to be mortal.

What it meant to be raised to die and never telling another soul.

I was tired.
I was grieving.
I was done pretending.

“God or not, there are things that shouldn’t be spoken of on this island without caution. Especially not here. The Bloodstone remembers everything. And we never know who… or what… it shares its stories with.”
Silence followed.

Then, the world stirred. The city was waking.
The ritual was complete. After all these years.
I pulled my hood back over my head and stepped into the shadow of Awan’s iron gates as they groaned open of their own accord. The gaslamps flickered—though none were lit.
The curse was awake. And it recognized me.
But I knew the worst was yet to come.
Because now, I wasn’t just connected to Ciar.

I was bound to the island.
To the curse.
To the blood.
This wasn’t just a promise kept.
It was the beginning of the end.

Her voice echoed one last time in my mind—gentle now, maternal in the way only Ciar could be.

“Oh, sweet child... rest in this Mother’s embrace. When war comes to your door, you will be ready—for you are the last of my mortal line. I will stand with you until the bitter end.
Two lines born of love and war, bound by betrayal. The day will come when you must choose—to rise to glory… or descend into madness. Should you fall, the Abyss will welcome its prince home. Never again will you fight alone. This is my offering to you.
So mote it be.”

And despite everything—I believed her.
The gods were tired.

Even the Mothers could no longer bear the deaths of their children.
The curse would end with us.

“To glory,” I whispered, “or to madness.”

And then I stepped into the deepest shadow.
I didn’t know which would break me first—seeing Bel’s face again, or Xander’s.
But I knew I couldn’t avoid either.

Unseen by me, someone watched from afar. A wraith in the night.

No sound.
No scent.
No trace.

Bel stood in the shadows, cloaked in dawnlight and disbelief. Her breath hitched when she saw him—taller now, sharper around the eyes, but unmistakably Azrael. Her brother. Her shadow.
The one she had mourned for seven years.

I’ll know he’s really gone when even the shadows forget his shape, she’d once whispered into the dirt where they burned his offering of blessings.
But now—here he was. And the shadows knew him well.

He was alive. He was back.
Joy struck her first—pure and staggering. A miracle she hadn’t dared ask for.

But then came the dread.

Because if Azrael had returned now—on the morning of Xander’s domain ceremony—then nothing would ever be the same.

Not for Xander.
Not for their family.
Not for the island.

Bel pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling a cry she couldn’t name. Her brother had come home.
But the brother she loved had not. Something else—older, colder—had come in his place.
She said nothing. Made no move. Just watched.

And though Azrael didn’t know it yet—
She had seen everything.
And she would remember.

Chapter Text

“Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light. Now I walk alone—even in the dark”

I woke up drenched in sweat, my throat dry like I hadn’t tasted water in months. My skin felt too tight, as if I were wearing a body that didn’t belong to me. And despite the hours of sleep, I was still exhausted.
Such was the price of my domain.

Steam hissed through the old radiator at the foot of my bed, its copper pipes glowing faintly with heat. Outside my apartment window, the city was already coughing itself awake—steam-trams rattling over the rails, airships groaning above the rooftops, messenger automatons clanking down the street.
I pressed my palms to my eyes and exhaled.

“Thoth, Isis… I need your guidance. Share your wisdom with me, so I may know what I must do.”
Seven years had passed since the Night of Madness. I never thought I’d see him again.

He was alive.

The truth of it pressed against my ribs like a blade. I had spent seven years telling myself he was gone, swallowed by the curse, claimed by Ciar to brutally survive. Seven years building walls where there had once been trust. And now, in one glance, he had torn them down.

I shoved the thought away
I used to tease Azrael for how seriously he took his training, how he’d whisper stories to Xander to help him sleep, even when he was barely keeping his own eyes open. Back then, his smile still reached his eyes—soft, rare, but real.

We were still whole then.

Before the Grove.
Before the blood.
Before we lost her.

I had kept watch over the Bloodstone all these years, hoping to understand it—hoping to find a way to free Xander like I had once promised. I never expected that the day I focused on strengthening my domain would be the day I saw him again.

He had aged—no longer the young man I once knew. But I would know him anywhere. My brother, in all but blood.

I didn’t wait for an answer from my gods. I dressed quickly, pulling on my harness and boots, and ran out the door—past gearwrights tightening bolts on tramlines, past an old woman winding the key in the back of a brass-plated delivery golem. My patron gods hadn’t even responded yet.
I was running for the Bloodstone.

He couldn’t have left yet. He had just finished the ritual.

Please don’t leave yet. I’m sorry. Just… be there. Still.

Legs pumping. Arms burning. Breath ragged. I strained my ears for anything—one heartbeat, one sound—to tell me this was real. That after all these years… after all the nightmares…
My brother in all but blood had returned. He had finally returned home to us.

The sun was just cresting over the Brightwood spires, their polished copper domes catching the light like a row of tiny suns. The rest of the city was still shrouded in smoke and shadow, the Nightingale towers standing dark and jagged across the divide.

When I reached the Bloodstone, I fell to my knees. The altar was still slick with fresh blood—his blood—but Azrael was gone.
I had missed him.

The sound that tore from me was equal parts rage, grief, and joy. He was here. He was back. And we would see him again in just a few hours, when the moon rose high and Xander made his offering. His sacrifice.
“Calm yourself, little destroyer. Why do you rush and beg for forgiveness when there is nothing but the air to hear your pleas of salvation?”
The soft, commanding voice of Isis curled through my mind.

“Give her time, sister. She was not ready for this. None of us were. In all my years, and with all my knowledge, I don’t believe there is a god who is ready for what the last heir of the Abyss has done. His return heralds a new time for all of us. After all, no heir from Evren or Ciar has made it in the past twenty years.”

Thoth’s voice—deep, masculine—was the same as it had been the night I hid in the ruins, clutching my bleeding leg and praying Azrael had made it to the boat.

A slow-burning ache pulsed down my left leg from hip to ankle now, a reminder that even mercy has a price. That was my punishment for helping him escape. My reminder from a god and a mortal, the pain was to be never ending, always there to remind me and I was honored to have it.

“What’s done is done,” I murmured. Voice cracking from the strain of my screams “The only thing left to do is prepare for what’s to come.”

I pushed forward, summoning strength I didn’t have, and sent out my astral projection. The metallic taste of magic filled my mouth as my spirit slipped free of my body. I could move faster without the weight of flesh and bone holding me back.

For seven years, this was the only way I could enter Nightingale territory to see Xander. Even now, they refused to call him by name—always Ophelia. But after today, he would be free of their expectations.

“Xander, wake up.”

He stirred in his bed beneath the shadow of a half-broken chandelier, the gears inside its arms still clicking faintly from decades of use.

“Mmmhp, Bel… it’s not even seven. Why are you here?”

But even half-asleep, he turned toward the window, as if he could feel the weight of Azrael’s shadow stretching over the city.

He was still so young. But I remembered him at ten—helping me carry Azrael through the dock fog, hiding us from the watch patrols, lying to the priests.
And then watching Ciar appear in the sky to claim what was hers.

No. There wasn’t time.

“Meet me at the Grove at noon. Be there. I love you, little brother. Soon, you’ll be free.”

The projection snapped back into me. My eyes flew open as I choked on the rush of air, my soul slamming back into its vessel. The city sounds returned—steam hissing, engines clattering, someone shouting orders to a skyship crew overhead.

“Let us take her home, brother,” Isis murmured. “The drums beat strong—but without rest and care, she will not make it to the arrival of the war that knocks on our doorstep.”

“Breathe. You have done what you were meant to do, Abellona,” Thoth added. “But you… you must decide where you stand when the gods choose sides.”

“There are no sides,” I whispered. “Not anymore. Just the curse, it's hunger. And the end for all of us.” I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. One breath brought me the taste of iron and rust, the next the dew drops of a new day.

“ To glory or to madness may we all survive the choosing” unbidden a tear ran down my cheek like a shooting star in the abyss, unseen and without fan fair
Neither god answered.

Because they both knew the truth.

The curse was breathing again.
The chains stirred in the deep—hungry, awake.
And soon, war would return to Awan.

We didn’t have much time.