Black ash drifted endlessly through the lifeless sky.
It never settled.
The wind carried it across the ruined wasteland like snow from a world that had long since burned away.
Not a single blade of grass remained.
The earth itself had cracked open, exposing rivers of glowing crimson beneath the surface as though the land still bled from wounds that would never heal.
Far beyond the endless wasteland…
A castle of black stone pierced the sky.
Its jagged towers resembled enormous claws reaching toward the heavens.
Blood-red light glowed faintly from narrow windows carved into the ancient fortress.
The air surrounding it felt heavy.
Oppressive.
Even the wind seemed unwilling to pass too close.
A deep howl echoed across the empty land.
Then another.
Somewhere in the darkness…
Something answered.
Inside the castle…
Heavy footsteps echoed through the empty halls.
Each step struck the obsidian floor with enough force to send faint vibrations through the stone.
Servants immediately stepped aside.
They recognized those footsteps.
Abigor.
His crimson cloak swept behind him like flowing blood.
The countless burns that scarred his face seemed even darker beneath the dim torchlight.
His jaw remained clenched.
His crimson eyes burned with barely restrained fury.
Every soldier he passed instinctively lowered their gaze.
None dared greet him.
None dared speak.
They simply waited for him to disappear before breathing again.
He stopped before a massive iron door.
Silence.
Then—
“AZRATH!”
His voice thundered through the hallway.
The stone walls trembled.
Without waiting for permission…
Abigor shoved the doors open.
The heavy doors slammed against the walls.
Inside…
The room resembled a twisted kennel.
Animal bones littered the floor.
Chains hung from the ceiling.
Deep claw marks scarred the stone walls.
Near the center of the room…
Azrath sat cross-legged on the floor.
He wasn’t training.
He wasn’t meditating.
Instead…
He was scratching behind the ears of an enormous black wolf.
The beast’s charcoal scales shimmered beneath the firelight.
Its crimson eyes glowed like burning coals.
Black mist constantly drifted from between its ribs with every breath.
The corrupted beast happily rolled onto its back.
Azrath laughed.
“Who’s a good Nightmare?”
The enormous wolf thumped its tail against the stone floor.
Only then did Azrath lazily glance toward the doorway.
“What?”
He sighed dramatically.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Abigor didn’t answer.
He crossed the room in three strides.
Before Azrath could even react—
A massive hand wrapped around his throat.
The stone beneath Azrath shattered as Abigor lifted him effortlessly into the air.
His feet dangled helplessly several inches above the ground.
The smile disappeared from Azrath’s face.
His fingers clawed uselessly at Abigor’s wrist.
The difference in strength…
Was overwhelming.
Nightmare immediately sprang to its feet.
The beast released a furious snarl that echoed throughout the chamber.
Rows of curved fangs emerged as black saliva dripped onto the floor.
Without hesitation…
It lunged.
Its jaws opened wide enough to swallow a man’s head whole.
Abigor never even looked.
His free hand lazily swept sideways.
The impact sounded like thunder.
Nightmare’s enormous body flew across the chamber as though struck by a giant.
Stone exploded where it crashed into the wall.
Dust filled the room.
The beast whimpered before struggling back onto unsteady legs.
Abigor never once took his eyes off Azrath.
His grip slowly tightened.
Veins bulged across Azrath’s neck.
His breathing became ragged.
“Master…”
Abigor’s voice remained calm.
Almost terrifyingly calm.
“…gave you one order.”
Another squeeze.
“You were to leave the boy alone.”
Azrath’s face slowly darkened.
Still…
A grin spread across his lips.
Then…
He laughed.
Even while choking.
Even while barely able to breathe.
“Hehehe…”
The sound echoed through the chamber.
“You…”
He wheezed.
“…actually think…”
Another laugh escaped him.
“…one little Reaper…”
“…could kill him?”
Abigor’s expression never changed.
“Why?”
The single word carried enough weight to silence the room.
Azrath only smiled wider.
He refused to answer.
For several long seconds…
Neither of them moved.
The only sound was Azrath’s labored breathing.
Finally…
Abigor tightened his grip one last time.
Azrath’s eyes rolled back.
His skin darkened to an unhealthy crimson.
Just as consciousness began slipping away—
Abigor released him.
Azrath crashed onto the stone floor.
He collapsed onto both hands and knees.
“HAAAH!”
He desperately pulled air into his burning lungs.
Each breath sounded painful.
Slowly…
The color returned to his face.
Abigor looked down at him.
Disappointment.
Nothing more.
“If the boy dies…”
He spoke quietly.
“…so do you.”
Azrath looked up.
His smile faded.
Abigor stepped closer until only inches separated them.
“You are strong.”
“But do not mistake Master’s patience…”
“…for permission.”
His crimson eyes narrowed.
“What Lucifer desires…”
“…becomes law.”
“No exceptions.”
“No excuses.”
He turned toward the shattered doorway.
“Oh…”
He stopped without looking back.
“And one more thing.”
His voice grew colder than the winter wind.
“Do not allow your pride to convince you…”
“…that you are irreplaceable.”
The meaning was unmistakable.
Even someone as powerful as Azrath…
Could be discarded.
Abigor walked away.
His footsteps echoed down the hallway until they disappeared into the castle.
The chamber fell silent.
Azrath remained kneeling on the floor.
He rubbed his bruised throat.
Then…
Slowly…
A grin returned.
“Hehehe…”
He looked toward Nightmare, who limped back to his side.
“You hear that?”
He scratched behind the wolf’s ear again.
“They’re all so worried…”
His crimson eyes gleamed with unsettling excitement.
“…Makes me want to meet the kid even more.”
Nightmare let out a low growl.
Somewhere…
Deep within the castle…
A pair of crimson eyes opened in the darkness.
Lucifer had heard every word.
A crooked smile slowly spread across Lucifer’s face.
“…Good.”
The word escaped him almost as a whisper.
As though the world itself had moved exactly as he expected.
His fingers tapped slowly against the armrest of his throne.
Not excitement.
Satisfaction.
Everything was unfolding according to a plan no one else could see.
Hundreds of miles away…
A powerful breeze swept through the forest surrounding Riven’s cave.
The towering pines swayed as their branches danced overhead.
Blue-and-white birds burst from the treetops, their songs echoing through the morning air as they glided effortlessly above the valley.
The world felt peaceful again.
Sunlight poured through the cave entrance, warming the cool stone floor.
Inside…
Everyone remained staring at the mysterious spirit.
The translucent woman stood quietly in the center of the room.
Her sapphire hair drifted gently despite the still air.
The elegant bow resting across her back seemed almost alive, faint blue Vyr flowing along its carved limbs like veins of light.
She carried herself with effortless confidence.
Not arrogance.
The quiet confidence of someone who had mastered her craft long ago.
Riven studied her for several moments.
Something about her felt familiar.
Not her face.
Not her voice.
Her weapon.
Slowly…
Pieces of an old conversation resurfaced from his childhood.
His mother’s gentle voice echoed inside his mind.
“There are many paths a Vyr user can walk, Riven.”
“Some fight with blades.”
“Some protect others with heavy armor.”
“And some…”
“Can strike their enemies long before they’re ever seen.”
Riven looked toward the elegant bow across the spirit’s back.
“…You’re…”
He paused, searching his memory.
“…a Sky Shot.”
The spirit’s eyes brightened.
A small smile spread across her face.
“Very good.”
She placed a hand against her chest and gave a graceful bow.
“I am.”
She looked lovingly toward the bow resting across her back.
“I was once considered one of the greatest Sky Shots in all of Velora.”
A faint grin tugged at her lips.
“I wasn’t simply good…”
She lifted her chin ever so slightly.
“…I was exceptional.”
Javon chuckled under his breath.
“She’s humble.”
“I heard that.”
She answered without even looking at him.
Javon immediately looked away.
“I wasn’t talking.”
“My name is Aisling Fontaine”
“OH MY GOD!” yells Vistara
Javon jumps slightly covering his ears from her scream.
Syanna smiled, trying to hide a laugh.
Vistara stepped forward, her eyes filled with admiration.
“…That’s incredible.”
“I can’t believe I am meeting the Aisling Fontaine. The Azure Huntress.”
Aisling smiles at the fact she is remembered when suddenly something catches her eyes in Vistara’s Vyr path.
She studied her.
Really studied her.
Her smile slowly disappeared.
Instead…
Her expression became thoughtful.
Curious.
She slowly circled Vistara.
Once.
Twice.
Her glowing blue eyes carefully examined the way Vistara stood.
The way she breathed.
Even the way Vyr naturally flowed through her body.
Vistara shifted uncomfortably.
“…Is something wrong?”
Aisling stopped directly in front of her.
“…Tell me.”
“What class do you practice?”
Vistara blinked.
“My dad is making me become a Bladebearer.”
“…Hmm.”
Aisling tilted her head.
“…Interesting.”
She folded her arms.
“Very interesting.”
Silence settled over the cave.
Then…
She smiled.
“…They’re wrong.”
The room froze.
Javon’s eyebrows shot upward.
“…Excuse me?”
Aisling pointed directly at Vistara.
“You.”
“…You’re not meant to be a Bladebearer.”
Vistara stared at her in confusion.
“…I’m not?”
Aisling slowly shook her head.
“No.”
“Your Vyr doesn’t flow toward your hands.”
“It gathers in…”
She gently pointed toward Vistara’s shoulders.
“…your back.”
Only Aelwyn’s expression changed.
His eyes narrowed.
He hadn’t noticed.
Aisling continued.
“Your breathing is naturally balanced.”
“Your posture favors distance.”
“Your instincts watch before they strike.”
She smiled warmly.
“…You possess the qualities of a Sky Shot.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Javon slowly looked at Vistara.
Then toward Aisling.
Then back again.
“…Wait…”
He scratched his head.
“So…”
“She’s been learning the wrong class…”
“…this entire time?”
Syanna’s mouth slowly fell open. The source of this chapter is g.com.
“…Is that even possible?”
Aelwyn finally stepped forward.
His expression had become unusually serious.
“…It is.”
Everyone looked toward him.
He folded his hands behind his back.
“When a parent thinks…”
“…they know what is best for their child.”
He looked thoughtfully at Vistara and he sighed quietly.
“But Vyr…”
He tapped his chest.
“…has a will of its own.”
“It chooses the path.”
“It cannot be forced.”
Aisling nodded approvingly.
“Exactly.”
She looked back toward Vistara.
“You’ve spent years trying to make your Vyr become something it never wished to be.”
Her smile softened.
“Imagine…”
She gently rested a translucent hand over Vistara’s shoulder.
“…how strong you’ll become once you stop fighting against yourself.”
Vistara stood completely speechless.
She wasn’t questioning whether she was strong enough.
She was questioning whether she had ever truly known herself at all.
Vistara stared silently at her trembling hands.
The cave seemed quieter than before.
Even the crackling candles along the walls had become little more than distant whispers.
“…This whole time…”
Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
“I kept telling myself…”
“…that I just wasn’t talented.”
She slowly curled her fingers into a fist.
“I trained every day.”
“I practiced until my hands bled.”
“I copied every stance my instructors showed me.”
She laughed quietly.
It wasn’t a happy laugh.
It was the laugh of someone finally understanding years of frustration.
“And every single day…”
“…I wondered why everyone else seemed to improve faster than I did.”
She looked down.
“I thought…”
“…I simply wasn’t good enough.”
Tears slowly gathered in the corners of her eyes.
“They told me to work harder.”
“So I did.”
“They told me to believe in myself.”
“So I tried.”
“But…”
Her voice broke.
“I wasn’t failing because I was weak…”
She looked toward Aisling.
“I was failing because…”
“…I was never meant to walk that path.”
The realization struck her harder than any sword ever could.
Years.
Years spent believing something was wrong with her.
Years spent comparing herself to people she was never supposed to become.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Then another.
She smiled through them.
The weight she had carried finally began to lift.
“I…”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, laughing softly.
“I actually have talent…”
The words sounded almost unbelievable.
Syanna smiled warmly.
“You always did.”
“You just hadn’t found where it belonged.”
Javon nodded enthusiastically.
“Exactly!”
“You were just trying to stab people from way too close.”
A small laugh escaped Vistara.
Even Aelwyn smiled.
Only one person remained silent.
Riven.
He simply watched her.
He didn’t fully understand why she was crying.
But…
Seeing someone smile after carrying pain for so long…
Made him strangely happy.
Without realizing it…
The crimson scar beneath his shirt began to pulse.
Once.
Then again.
A faint red glow slowly seeped through the fabric covering his chest.
It was subtle.
Barely noticeable.
Everyone’s attention remained fixed on Vistara.
Questions flew from every direction as Aisling excitedly circled her, eager to hear every detail about the awakening of her newfound power.
Even Javon, who usually found a way to joke through any situation, watched with genuine curiosity.
Everyone…
Except Aelwyn.
His faded blue eyes lingered on Riven.
Not on the boy himself…
On the scar.
It pulsed so faintly that anyone else would mistake it for a trick of the light.
But Aelwyn knew better.
He narrowed his eyes.
Where have I seen that before…?
His fingers drifted absently into his beard, slowly combing through the silver strands as he searched the endless halls of his memory.
Centuries of battles.
Forgotten kingdoms.
Ancient libraries.
Faces of kings.
Broken temples swallowed by forests.
Thousands upon thousands of memories surfaced before sinking back into darkness.
No…
Not there.
His brow tightened.
He had seen that mark.
He was certain of it.
His gaze briefly shifted toward Aisling as she laughed with Vistara, completely unaware of the storm brewing only a few feet away.
Then it returned to Riven.
The scar.
Always the scar.
His thoughts accelerated.
One memory collided with another, names and places crashing together faster than he could separate them.
It felt as though the pages of a thousand old books were being flipped at once inside his mind, searching desperately for a single forgotten passage.
A ruined cathedral…
A battlefield drenched in ash…
A prophecy…
A throne…
Fragments.
Nothing more than fragments.
Aelwyn closed his eyes.
Think…
Silence.
Then—
A single memory surfaced.
Not a complete image.
Just a voice.
Ancient.
Terrified.
“Should the Crimson Brand ever return…may our goddess have mercy on us..”
His eyes snapped open.
His breath caught in his throat.
The color drained from his face.
His hand slipped from his beard and fell limply to his side.
“…My gods…”
The words barely escaped his lips.
No one looked his way.
They were still celebrating Vistara.
Still smiling.
Still laughing.
Completely unaware.
Aelwyn stared at the boy standing among them.
Not at Riven…
At the scar.
His voice fell to little more than a whisper.
“…The Crimson Brand.”