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The character with black hair stepped cautiously onto the stained earth, boots sinking slightly into the saturated soil. The scene before them was a massacre frozen in time—an entire landscape drowned in blood. Crimson streaks painted the ruins of buildings, their shattered windows and scorched walls bearing silent testimony to a battle long ended. The air was thick with the metallic scent of death, though not a single body remained. Where lives once fell, only silence lingered. Pools of blood shimmered under the dim sky—some a deep, glistening red, others a sickly yellow, and some pitch-black, as though ink had spilled from the souls of the fallen.

The woods nearby had fared no better. Trees bled from their bark, their roots choked by thick puddles that defied nature. Even the streams ran red, winding like veins through the desecrated land. Scattered across the ground were weapons—blades dulled, guns broken, staffs splintered—each one a clue to the chaos that had unfolded. There was no sign of who had fought, or who had won. It was as if the battlefield had swallowed the dead, leaving only the instruments of their fury behind. The character stood motionless, heart pounding, the silence pressing in like a weight. Something had happened here—something monstrous—and it wasn’t over. Not yet.

Their two siblings stepped into formation behind them, forming a silent triangle amid the ruin. The youngest, tall and still, stared ahead with unsettling calm—red eyes glowing faintly against the grisly backdrop, their face a perfect mask of emptiness. Not a flicker of emotion crossed their features, as though the carnage before them was no more than a painting on a distant wall. Beside them stood the eldest sibling, blue eyes wide and trembling, reflecting every detail of the blood-soaked world in terrible clarity. Horror clung to them like a second skin, shoulders tight, breath shallow, as if the mere act of witnessing this place demanded more strength than they could bear.

The wind carried no sound but the rustling of bloodstained leaves and the soft clinks of weapons settling in the dirt. The sibling with red eyes tilted their head slightly, studying the scene as if trying to decipher a riddle hidden in the gore. The one with blue eyes took a step back, unconsciously reaching for the black-haired figure as if to ground themselves. They all felt it—this place was wrong. Not just death, but something deeper had taken root here, something that twisted the very essence of life and drained it into unnatural hues. And somewhere in the silence, something watched.

Hi, I’m the one with black hair—Acheron. My eyes are bright yellow, not just in color, but in the way they seem to catch light even when there isn’t any. My siblings, Fox and Salem, stand with me now, as they always have. We never knew our parents—if such people ever existed. Sometimes, it feels like we weren’t born at all. Like we just appeared one day, fully formed, already bearing the weight of something ancient in our bones.

Fox is the youngest, the one with red eyes and a face like still water—calm, unreadable, almost inhuman. Salem, with those sharp blue eyes, feels everything too deeply, every horror and echo of the past reflected plainly across their features. We’re not sure what we are, or why we’re here. But as we stand in the middle of this blood-drenched world with no corpses and no answers, I get the sense that the truth is out there… waiting for us to dig it up.