Pinkytinkloo

Once, they reigned supreme over the Lunaris Kingdom: Nyara Goddess of Night,  Kail God of Night, and their daughter, Iyla, the Child of Night. But two centuries ago, the cruel hand of humanity struck them down, shattering their celestial reign. Betrayal led to their demise, their divine essence scattered across Earth. Now, reborn and unaware, they live mortal lives, their memories lost to the ages.

Nyara, a 24-year-old woman on Earth, bears a striking birthmark that mimics the night sky across her back and arms. This causes her to feel alienated from her family and the world, she always covers it up. A nagging sense of incompleteness haunts her, a void where a past life should be.

Kail, now 25, carries a strange birthmark from his chest down his arm, a faint echo of his godly past. He walks a lonely path, disconnected from those around him, feeling a profound sense of loss, as if something vital has been stolen from him.

In a secluded forest, a 5-year-old girl named Iyla was discovered as a baby in forest, abandoned and marked with radiant patterns from her shoulders to her arms. She resides in an orphanage, forever overlooked for adoption due to her unusual markings.

Veil Of Night

I come from the Moreau family, a name synonymous with power and fear in the magic urban underworld. A magic mafia family. But while my family thrives in the shadows, I've always felt like a ghost among them, distant and detached. There's Isaac and Shaun, my two older brothers, both ambitious and ruthless, eager to climb the ranks. Then there's Zoey, my younger sister, bubbly and bright, seemingly untouched by the darkness that permeates our lives. My mother, Maya, is the iron fist in a velvet glove, the true strategist behind the Moreau empire. And Andre, my father, the stoic and unyielding patriarch.

I'm the quiet one, the enigma. Ever since I was a child, I've struggled to express myself, to connect with my family on an emotional level. They see it as a sickness, a flaw in my character. They say I'm cold-hearted, but they don't understand that I simply don't know how to feel, how to express the emotions that seem to come so easily to them. So, I channel my lack of feeling into being the reaper of the family, doing all the killing for the family business. I simply do not care.

My birthmark, which stretches from my chest all the way down my arm, is another point of contention. To outsiders, it looks like an elaborate tattoo, a symbol of my affiliation with the Moreaus. I couldn't care less what others think of it. In fact, I like it. It's the one thing about myself that feels genuinely… mine. It marks me as different.

Dinner at the Moreau mansion is always a strained affair. I prefer my own space, so I've claimed the entire east wing of the mansion as my own territory. It's quiet, secluded, a sanctuary where I can escape the suffocating presence of my family.

Despite the distance, I still feel this gnawing emptiness within me, the persistent feeling that I'm missing something, or someone, important. It's a void that I can't quite define, a longing for something that feels both familiar and utterly unattainable.

The family sees me as hot-headed, a loose cannon that needs to be carefully controlled. I can hear the unvoiced assessment and I do not care.

"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to join us," my father grunts as I take my seat at the long, mahogany table. "Good to finally see you, you brat."

My mother smiles serenely, waving her hand dismissively at my father's gruffness. "Ignore him, sweetheart. Come, sit and eat." Her voice is soft, but there's an undercurrent of steel that reminds everyone who's really in charge.

Isaac and Shaun immediately launch into a discussion about business, rattling off names and figures that I barely register. They're obsessed with power, with expanding our influence, with solidifying our place at the top.

Zoey, ever the cheerful peacemaker, beams at me. "Kail, you got your locs did today! They look nice!"

"Thanks," I mumble, avoiding eye contact.

The rest of the meal is a blur of chatter. Zoey dominates the conversation, gushing about school, about her friends, about everything and nothing. My parents listen with indulgent smiles, occasionally interjecting with questions. Then Zoey turns to me, her bright eyes shining with genuine curiosity. "So, Kail, how was your day?"

"Same old, same old. Mission and killing," I reply flatly, my voice devoid of emotion.

A flicker of discomfort crosses Zoey's face, but she quickly recovers, launching into another story. I tune her out, focusing on the food, on the silence within my own mind. I do not need to listen to what others are saying. And then I wonder, yet again, who and what am I waiting for.

Chapter 10: Distant Echoes