Date & Era: 15,000 BCE — Late Primarch Era
Location: Duchy of Hollowmark, Frostwane — Upper Keep and Hidden Birthing Cavern
The wind that night had a voice. It hissed through the mountain passes, slipping between the snow-laden pines, coiling around the ancient stones of Hollowmark Keep as though whispering to the very walls. Above the battlements, the sky was clear, unnaturally so after three days of storms.
Two moons hung in the heavens — one a pale silver disc, unblemished; the other a deep, muted crimson, its surface cracked like shattered glass. Together they bathed the Duchy in a strange mingled light, cold yet heavy, as if the air itself carried the weight of an unspoken prophecy.
Inside the keep's upper chambers, the smell of sage and burning pine resin filled the birthing room. Shadows from the wall torches wavered across embroidered wolf-and-fox banners, their ancient sigils dancing on the stone. Lady Selene Solari Malcolm lay upon the bed, her breathing ragged, dark hair plastered to her temples. She was not just the Duke's wife, nor merely a consort — she was the last daughter of the Royal Primarch Bloodline, a lineage whose name had been spoken in both reverence and fear. Only a handful in Hollowmark knew it.
The midwives moved quickly, their hands deft but trembling. They had heard the rumors — about the moons, about the year, about the old verses scratched into the Temple of the Dawn — and each whispered line seemed to settle into the chamber like frost.
A cry pierced the air. Then another.
Two voices, in perfect unison.
The women exchanged glances before laying the swaddled infants side by side. Their eyes were open — an ill omen in itself — and in those eyes shimmered silver irises ringed with a pale storm-white light.
One midwife crossed her hands into an ancient sigil, murmuring, "Void and Lightning… fused in one bloodline." Her words carried the weight of memory. This was not a gift often seen, and never before in twins. It was the mark of a body, mind, and soul in rare harmony — something not recorded since the Primarch Era.
The doors opened. Duke Alaric West stepped inside, his black fox-fur cloak shedding snow onto the rush-covered floor. He stood by the cradle, looking down at the twins without touching them. For a long moment he said nothing. Then, without breaking his gaze, he turned to Selene.
They did not speak. The silence between them was more telling than words — heavy with pride, fear, and something else neither dared name.
From beyond the keep walls came the howl of wolves, long and low. It rolled through the night like a war horn, answered moments later by the sharper cries of fox sentinels in the hills. Somewhere in those wild voices was a message: the omen had been seen.
By the next dawn, Alaric had made his decision. The twins could not be raised in Hollowmark. They would be hidden away in a fortress no map marked, trained by masters loyal only to him. There, beyond the reach of assassins and spies, they would grow strong — strong enough to face the storm their birth had called down.
Before they were taken from the chamber, Jason's tiny hand curled around Jackson's. Neither moved, and neither looked at the firelight — their eyes fixed instead on the high window, where the twin moons still hung in a sky that felt far too close.