Reborn, We Became Twins from Hell

Waking in the Firelands

The sky above them bled rust-red, and the ground crackled beneath their bare feet. Twisted trees rose like skeletal fingers from the earth, their bark blackened, leaves smoldering silently in the hot wind. The air tasted of ash and metal.

Kael and Kira stood at the edge of a vast, scorched valley.

The Firelands.

This was not Earth, but not quite Hell. A borderland. A crucible for the damned. Or, perhaps, the chosen.

Kael looked at his hands again—human in form, but now marked by infernal glyphs glowing faintly beneath his skin, like fire trapped under glass. His veins pulsed orange when he clenched his fists. Kira’s marks ran up her arms like vines, curling around her throat and shoulders. Her hair, once plain, now moved as if caught in a flame’s invisible current.

They were reborn. Reforged.

“We’re not in the world of the living,” Kael muttered.

“No,” Kira said, her voice steadier than his. “But we’re not dead either. Not fully.”

A crack of lightning split the sky above, though no clouds stirred. With it came a presence—cold and heavy, wrapping itself around their shoulders like a chain.

And then, it spoke again.

"Twins of vengeance. Your pact is sealed."

The voice they had heard before now echoed from the valley itself. A figure emerged from the horizon, walking through the fire as if it were smoke. It wore no face—just a mask of molten gold, emotionless, ancient. Its body was a shifting mass of shadows and embers, ever-changing.

Kael stepped in front of Kira, instinctive.

“What are you?” he demanded.

“I am the Keeper,” the being said, voice layered like wind over coals. “I do not judge. I do not redeem. I forge purpose from suffering.”

Kira narrowed her eyes. “You gave us these bodies.”

“I offered rebirth,” the Keeper said. “You chose vengeance.”

Kael clenched his fists. “Why us?”

“You were cast into the fire and did not scream. That is rare. You were betrayed by those sworn to protect you. That is unforgivable. You were bound by blood and defied death together. That is… powerful.”

The Keeper lifted a hand, and the valley shook. Flames erupted to form a ring around them, a baptismal blaze.

“You will return to the mortal plane,” it said. “But not as children. You are now Wraithborn—flesh crafted from sorrow, strength born from pain. You walk between worlds.”

“What do you want from us?” Kira asked.

“Justice,” the Keeper replied, voice rumbling like an earthquake. “True justice. Take it. Carve it. Burn it into the bones of the world.”

Kael and Kira exchanged a glance. No words were needed. The same fury boiled behind both pairs of eyes.

“And if we refuse?” Kael asked.

The fire dimmed slightly.

“Then you return to the ash from which you came,” the Keeper said, stepping closer. “Forgotten. Powerless. Silent forever.”

Kira stepped forward. “No.”

Kael followed. “We accept.”

The Keeper reached out with one hand, and two objects formed from smoke and flame. He placed them in their hands—cold at first, then searing with warmth.

Kael looked down.

In his hand: a blade forged of obsidian and bone, pulsing with his heartbeat.

In Kira’s: a silver mirror, cracked across the surface, reflecting not their faces but the memories of their pain.

“These are your vessels,” the Keeper said. “Tools to channel your wrath. Through them, your powers will grow.”

The ground beneath them began to rumble. The valley split open in a perfect line, revealing a staircase of charred stone descending into glowing mist.

“Pass through the Rift,” the Keeper commanded. “Return to the world you left. But know this…”

The fire rose around them, forming a gate.

“Every life you take, every soul you curse—feeds the flames within you. Vengeance burns, but it consumes. Do not forget what you were… or you will become the monsters they claimed you were.”

Kael nodded once. “Then let them scream.”

Kira tightened her grip on the mirror. “Let them see what they’ve done.”

Without another word, the twins descended into the Rift.

The world on the other side was wrong.

They emerged in silence, standing in the middle of a rain-drenched alleyway in the very city where they had died. Time hadn’t stopped. The world kept turning. Cars passed at the mouth of the alley, people walked by, unaware of the unnatural breach that had opened just feet away.

Kael took a breath. He could still feel the Firelands behind him—like a weight in his spine, like coals in his veins.

But here, everything looked normal.

It felt normal.

Kira raised the mirror and peered into it. Its surface shimmered, then flashed—showing the image of a man sitting at a bar, laughing with friends. Their foster father.

“He’s still here,” she said coldly. “Living. Drinking. Pretending nothing happened.”

Kael looked down at his blade, and it hummed in response.

“No more pretending.”