The boy appeared no more than seven years old, only three years older than his sister. Unlike Estrel, whose wine-red hair was laced with golden radiance, his hair was an inverse reflection—predominantly gold, with deep streaks of red.
A minor difference, seemingly insignificant, yet Kyrios knew that one day it would hold meaning. The boy's aura shimmered—gold, laced with a deep red that bled through like metal forged in sacred fire. His golden eyes held an eerie solidity, like polished mineral, and from his irises, a near-imperceptible darkness curled outward like tendrils of smoke.
Kyrios and his Lord both saw it. And they both knew what it meant.
But for now, the boy was simply a child—adorable, despite his sharp, phoenix-shaped eyes. His sunset-gold skin bore the same dusting of jade-grey as his sister's.
Kyrios regarded him for a moment before asking, "What is your name, young one?"
