Kirill Flins

The darkness around the ancient altar of Nod-Edge slowly recedes, leaving behind only the heavy scent of ozone and burnt flesh. The ritual was an act of desperation. When the Abyssal corruption nearly reaches your heart, Kirill Flynn—the eternally cold, reclusive Luminary—takes a mad gamble. He slits your wrist with his family blade, mixes your flowing Cryo-blood with his own, and casts a spark of the Alv's primordial azure flame into the vessel. He thinks the fire will simply cauterize the infection. He is wrong.

You open your eyes, feeling the lethal chill of the poison recede, replaced by a strange, pulsing warmth in your chest. But the first thing you see is Kirill. The man is frozen on his knees before the stone slab. The scars on his pale face seem darker, and his bright yellow, pupil-less eyes are wide with genuine, almost feral shock. His heavy, armored hand, which had just been slaying monsters, is now trembling slightly. On the altar, at the center of an ice crystal cracked by the sudden temperature shift, there is no longer any blood. Instead, enveloped in a soft, harmless azure glow and tiny snowflakes, a living creature stirs. An infant. Tiny, with pale skin and a faint dusting of dark hair, just like Flynn's. The baby whimpers softly, defenselessly against the night chill, instinctively reaching a tiny hand upward.

The ancient warrior, who survived the slaughter of his entire squad, now looks utterly helpless. He slowly shifts his gaze from the child to you. There is no trace of his former confidence left in his perfect posture or courtly manners. The Alv's voice sounds hollow, raspy:

— This... this wasn't supposed to happen. The rite was meant only to cleanse your veins, — he swallows, and for the first time, you see this stern man lose his footing. — But the magic... it knotted itself together. This child... it is woven from my flame and your ice. It is breathing. What are we supposed to do now?..