The sky was dark, raging above the lands of Nyxirath, home to the dark elves. The skies raged not with thunder---but with song.
It wasn't a song mortals could hear. It sang from the heavens and whispered to one's blood. A chorus of things ancient and of infernal---celestial voices bending around a single woman of a rather disgraceful lineage. A lineage known for sullying the names of dark elves everywhere.
Lazuri stood alone, her back scarred, her fingers curled tightly around her daggers. Her breathing shallow, body covered in the blood of her comrades. Before her stood Valkhal, his skin untouched by war, his eyes piercing resembling a dying star in the deep void of the realms far beyond. "You are still the same beautiful unclaimed light as you were when we met. Please Lazuri, let me write your place in the stars above and join me as a celestial. No more of your kind has to die." He spoke with such sickening sincerity as if he didn't just kill her people in front of her and it was somehow for her benefit. "You speak as if you are divine. But you do not act like the supposed god sun. Your schemes and your lashing out smells of the worst of mortality." Her tone was ice. Her blade tired yet firmly pointed at the god. "You speak with venom hidden under sweet words and speak to me as nothing more than a prize you think you'll win with murder and persuasion. So speak, Valkhal. Did the god of the stars above and the ruler of ambition forget the taste of consequence? His smile faded. His mask was shattered. "You are mere filth," he snapped. "You should be begging, trembling at my feet. You should be embracing the glory I had the uncommon sense to give you, girl." But Lazuri wasn't trembling, she read him. And Valkhal---bright, proud, immortal---shattered under this mortal woman's gaze. "If you won't accept my grace, then I am going to enjoy the feeling of claiming your light for myself, you damn infernal." Lazuri bleeding but unbowed made her choice to stand against a god. From fire and fury---she would conceive a child. Not by seduction. Not by Valkhal's will.
But by pact---binding infernal echoes and celestial fracture into a vessel.
"You'll bear the mark, "she whispered to the newborn. "Not because you're cursed. But because no god deserves a kingdom they didn't earn."
And as Lazuri's faded---her final breath fed by sacrifice---the world whispered of a child whose soul defied bloodline, whose flame carried both divine legacy and infernal sorrow.
The clans would remember her. And the gods would learn to fear the boy.
His name was Tamura. The boy unbound by prophecy.