Riven’s expression tightened as he looked across the fire at Aisling.
The brief relief he had felt after learning that the Church might not immediately condemn him disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.
There had been something in Aisling’s tone when she mentioned the bad news—something careful and restrained, as though she had already considered the consequences and found none of them comforting.
“What is the problem?” he asked.
Aisling did not answer immediately.
Her pale-blue eyes drifted toward the cave entrance a short distance behind the campfire before sweeping across the thick wall of trees surrounding the clearing.
The small valley was isolated beneath the forest canopy and far enough from the nearest road that travelers could pass within a mile without ever realizing someone lived there.
For years, that isolation had protected Riven.
It had allowed him and Raku to hunt without interference, train without observation and disappear whenever the outside world became too dangerous.
Aisling finally returned her attention to him.
“The problem is that once the Church completes your awakening, they will discover that you are a Soulmancer. And because you may be the last one alive, your life will no longer belong entirely to you,” she said.
“Soulmancers are rare enough that the Church keeps detailed records of every one they discover. They would document your name, your appearance, your Vanguard and every spirit bound to it. They would want to know what classes those spirits belonged to, what abilities they possessed and how powerful your connection to them had become.”
Riven’s brow furrowed.
“They would monitor me?”
“Why do you think the Soulmancers were all in one kingdom? First, they would probably call it protection,” Aisling replied.
“They might assign priests, scholars or armed escorts to travel with you. They would claim those people were there to guide your development and ensure that no kingdom attempted to use you. But protection and observation often become the same thing once powerful people decide that your existence matters to them.”
The fire shifted between them, throwing sparks into the darkening air.
Vistara leaned forward slightly.
“Would they really watch him that closely?”
Aisling nodded.
“Once word spread that a new Soulmancer had awakened, every kingdom in Velora would want to know where he was. Nobles would offer him land, titles and wealth. Military commanders would try to recruit him. Scholars would want to examine his Vanguard. Some people would approach him politely. Others would simply look for a way to control him before their rivals could.”
Riven looked toward the surrounding forest.
For most people, attention might have sounded like opportunity.
To him, it sounded like a cage.
He imagined entering a town and watching guards whisper as he passed.
He imagined priests recording every spirit he added to his Vanguard.
He imagined being followed into forests, inns and villages by people who claimed they were only there to protect him.
The thought made his shoulders tense.
“So there would be no more moving quietly,” he said.
“No more entering a town without someone knowing who I am. No more disappearing into the forest whenever I choose.”
“No,” Aisling answered softly.
“Once the Church officially recognizes you, people will know your name. Every guard station could receive your description. Every temple could be told to report your arrival. Even if the Church never imprisoned you, you would probably spend the rest of your life being watched by people who believed they had a right to know what you were doing.”
Riven released a long breath and rubbed one hand across the back of his neck.
The heat from the fire did little to ease the cold pressure forming in his chest.
“So those are my choices,” he said.
“I complete my awakening without the Church and become their enemy, or I allow the Church to awaken me and lose whatever privacy I have left.”
Aisling’s expression softened, but she did not disagree.
“That is the choice as it currently stands.”
Javon, who had been sitting on the opposite side of the fire, began bouncing one leg against the ground.
At first, the movement was slow.
Then it became faster.
His lips moved as he muttered beneath his breath.
“Lost prince. Soulmancer. Survives impossible battles. Has women staring at him. Still hasn’t properly awakened.”
Syanna glanced at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to understand why the gods placed every blessing they had left into one person,” Javon replied.
“I am processing the unfairness of Riven’s existence.”
Riven ignored him.
His attention remained fixed on Aisling.
“How could I complete my awakening without the Church?”
Aisling sat straighter.
“Well, first we would need someone who understands the structure of your Vanguard, the flow of your Vyr and the condition of your soul better than the rest of us.”
Her eyes moved to the center of Riven’s chest.
“We need Aelwyn.”
Riven followed her gaze.
Before Riven could respond, Aisling’s form collapsed into a sphere of sapphire light.
The orb shot forward and disappeared into his chest.
A cold ripple passed through Riven’s body.
His Vanguard shifted around her presence, and for a moment he sensed movement somewhere deep inside it.
Aisling’s energy moved quickly through the vast inner space, searching for the elderly spirit who had isolated himself with his notes and theories.
Javon stared at Riven’s chest.
“I still don’t understand how all of them fit in there.”
Vistara glanced at him.
“It is not a physical room.”
“I know that,” Javon said.
“But it still looks like people are throwing themselves into his body.”
A second pulse of light interrupted him.
Aisling emerged from Riven’s chest first.
One of her hands was wrapped firmly around the sleeve of Aelwyn’s robe.
The elderly spirit stumbled out behind her, his long silver hair slightly disheveled.
Several glowing pages floated around him before fading into pale sparks.
“Aisling,” Aelwyn groaned, pulling his sleeve free from her grip.
“I was in the middle of something.”
“Whatever you were doing can wait for a moment,” Aisling replied.
“Did you hear what we discovered?”
Aelwyn’s irritation faded.
He adjusted his robes before looking around the fire.
His gaze moved from Aisling to Riven, then to Vistara, Syanna and Javon.
“Yes,” he said.
“I heard most of the conversation.”
Riven leaned forward.
“Aisling believes I experienced only a partial awakening.”
Aelwyn stroked his beard.
“I believe she is correct. What happened to you was not a traditional awakening. Your soul opened under extreme emotional pressure, and Raku formed a bond with you before the process could stabilize.”
“After examining your Vyr more closely, I found that it is flowing throughout your entire body, but the current remains unstable.”
“Then can you finish it?” Riven asked.
Aelwyn did not answer.
The silence lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make everyone uneasy.
Vistara studied his face.
“Aelwyn?”
The old spirit’s eyes lowered to Riven’s chest.
“It may be possible,” he said.
Javon groaned.
“There it is.”
Syanna looked at him.
“What?”
“Whenever someone says something ‘may be possible,’ it means the next sentence is going to ruin everyone’s evening.”
No one laughed.
Aelwyn continued watching Riven.
“The awakening ritual itself is not the greatest danger. The process would require us to reopen every pathway through which your Vyr flows. Your body, soul and Vanguard would all need to align at the same moment.”
Riven’s fingers curled against his knees.
“What would happen if they did not?”
“At best, the ritual would fail and leave you weakened,” Aelwyn replied.
“At worst, the damage could spread through the Vanguard and harm every spirit connected to you as well as activate the Crimson Brand.”
Aisling’s expression hardened.
“Raku included.” Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Aelwyn gave a slow nod.
Riven immediately looked down.
The thought of harming Raku deepened the concern on his face, but something Aelwyn said caught his attention.
“Wait, Aelwyn…”
“The Crimson what?”
Aelwyn did not answer.
The fire cracked sharply between them.
Syanna slowly rose from her place near the flames.
Her gaze moved from Aelwyn to Riven’s chest.
“What is the Crimson Brand?”
Aisling studied Aelwyn’s expression.
“You recognized that scar.”
It was not a question.
Aelwyn lowered his head.
“I recognized what it resembled.”
“And you did not tell us?” Aisling asked.
“I did not possess enough evidence to speak with certainty.”
Vistara stood as well.
Her earlier concern had become something sharper.
“Aelwyn, what is on Riven’s body?”
Riven remained seated.
His hand still rested against his chest.
Beneath his palm, the scar suddenly warmed.
The sensation was faint.
Almost gentle.
Like a second heartbeat answering from beneath his skin.
He pulled his hand away.
Aelwyn noticed the movement.
“What did you feel?”
Riven stared at him.
“You tell me.”
The old spirit fell silent.
Riven’s voice remained calm, but there was a growing edge beneath it.
“You have been inside my Vanguard thinking about where you have seen the scar?”
Aelwyn remained silent for several long moments.
The crackling fire filled the empty space between them.
His ancient eyes never left Riven’s face.
“…That’s right,” he said at last, his voice quieter than before.
“The Crimson Brand…”
He closed his eyes as memories centuries old surfaced once again.
“…Varnis bore the same mark.”
The words settled over the group like a heavy blanket.
Vistara frowned.
“The same one?”
Aelwyn nodded slowly.
“I remember him.”
His gaze drifted beyond the dancing firelight and into the dark forest, as though he were no longer looking at the present but into memories centuries old.
“I was still alive then.”
A faint, bitter smile crossed his face.
“If memory serves me correctly…”
He rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
“…the year was 812 V.C.”
Javon tilted his head.
“V.C.?”
“The Vyr Calendar,” Aelwyn answered absentmindedly.
“Don’t you still use the Vyr Calendar?”
Javon, Syanna and Vistara shook their heads.
Aelwyn slowly blinked before looking at the group.
“…What year is it now?”
Everyone exchanged confused looks.
“You don’t know?” Javon asked.
“I have been dead for centuries.”
Aelwyn smiled faintly.
“I have lost track.”
“I attempted to search Riven’s memories for the answer…”
His smile became slightly amused.
“…but it appears he never paid attention during history lessons.”
Riven looked mildly offended.
“I was a little busy surviving.”
“…A fair point.”
Syanna answered instead.
“It is the nineteenth year of the Concord Calendar.”
Aelwyn raised an eyebrow.
“The Concord Calendar?”
“The Concord Treaty ended the Velorian Unification War,” Syanna explained.
“When the treaty was signed, every kingdom agreed to abandon the old calendar.”
Javon nodded.
“The years started over.”
Aelwyn repeated the words quietly.
“Nineteen…”
He looked into the fire.
“What was the last V.C. year used?”
Javon rubbed his chin.
“I’m the oldest living human here—barely—and I think the final year was 1612 V.C.,” he said proudly.
“So much time has passed.”
The realization carried both relief and sorrow.
Nearly eight centuries…
Kingdoms had risen.
Wars had ended.
History itself had begun again.
Aelwyn took a deep breath before starting his story again.
“Varnis appeared seemingly from nowhere.”
“No kingdom claimed him.”
“No family name was ever discovered.”
“He simply arrived…”
“…and declared war on the entire continent.”
No one interrupted him.
“For decades, he marched across Velora. Cities burned, fortresses fell, and kings vanished. Some battles were so devastating that their scars remain upon the land even now.”
Aelwyn’s voice became quieter.
“And then…”
“He disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“No one knows how. No one knows where. One day he was leading armies… The next… he was simply gone.”
Silence followed.
“Hmm…”
He stroked his beard slowly.
“I had hoped…”
His voice trailed away.
“…I truly hoped I was wrong.”
Riven watched him carefully.
“You’ve been avoiding this.”
“I have.”
“You’ve known about the Brand since you first saw it.”
“I suspected.”
“You never told me.”
Aelwyn lowered his head.
“I am sorry.”
His voice carried genuine regret.
“I did not wish to frighten you with nothing more than suspicion.”
Riven’s golden eyes narrowed.
“Are you still uncertain?”
The old spirit lifted his gaze.
For several seconds he simply looked at the young man.
Then he answered.
“No.”
A pause.
His expression grew heavier than anyone had ever seen it.
“…Not anymore.”
The words settled over the quiet clearing.
No one spoke.
Syanna finally stepped forward.
“What is the Crimson Brand?”
Aelwyn released a slow breath.
He looked toward Riven once again.
Not as a scholar studying an ancient mystery.
But as a mentor forced to tell someone the truth.
Riven met his gaze without hesitation.
He already knew whatever came next would change everything.
Aelwyn turned toward the fire.
The orange flames reflected across his translucent face.
“When I was alive…”
He began slowly.
“…the Crimson Brand was spoken of only in whispers.”
“Most believed it to be a myth.”
“A story invented to frighten children.”
His expression darkened.
“It wasn’t. The Brand is not a curse. It is not a disease, and it is not something that appears by chance.”
He paused.
“It is a contract.”
The air around the fire seemed to grow colder.
“A contract?” Vistara asked quietly.
Aelwyn nodded.
“The Crimson Brand is bestowed upon those who willingly pledge themselves to Lucifer.”
“But Riven never agreed to serve him,” Vistara said.
“No,” Aelwyn replied.
“That is what frightens me. Every memory I have of the Crimson Brand says consent is required.”
No one moved.
“In exchange…”
“They receive power.”
His voice became grim.
“Power beyond what their bodies should ever possess.”
“Their Vyr grows stronger.”
“Their strength increases.”
“Their wounds heal.”
“Their limits begin to disappear.”
Javon frowned.
“That doesn’t sound like much of a price.”
Aelwyn slowly turned toward him.
“Because I have not told you what they lose.”
Silence.
“The Brand does not simply grant power. It feeds. Little by little, it consumes the bearer’s humanity—their compassion, restraint and reason—until they no longer recognize the difference between protecting life and destroying it.”
Aisling folded her arms.
“So every bearer eventually goes mad.”
“Yes.”
Aelwyn’s answer came without hesitation.
“Some resist longer than others.”
“But every path ends the same.”
He looked toward Riven.
“The stronger the Brand becomes…”
“…the less of the original person remains.”
Riven instinctively pressed a hand against the diagonal mark beneath his shirt.
The scar felt warm.
Almost…
Alive.
Aelwyn noticed.
His heart sank.
“I have seen what the Brand can do.”
His voice became almost a whisper.
“I watched villages vanish in a single night.”
“I watched soldiers butcher their own families because the Brand convinced them they were enemies.”
“I watched kingdoms collapse beneath its influence.”
His eyes closed.
“And no one wielded it more completely than Varnis.”
The name hung in the air.
Aelwyn looked directly at Riven.
Aelwyn’s expression hardened.
“Varnis slaughtered thousands. He razed cities and left fields so soaked in blood that nothing grew there for generations. He may not have held the blade that struck your parents, but it was his army, his command and his war. Their deaths belong to him.”
The fire continued to crackle.
The evening wind whispered softly through the towering pines surrounding the clearing, rustling the branches high overhead.
Yet to Riven…
There was no sound at all.
Only one sentence.
Varnis killed your parents.
His hand slowly tightened over the Crimson Brand.
Not because it hurt.
He understood exactly whose mark he carried—and what it might eventually turn him into.