Crimson Ascension

The torches had long since turned pale silver as the night claimed another day.

Draven walked back to the Orenn House with a head full of questions and a soul riddled with holes. Dragging his feet across the stone, the numbness of his limbs still prevented him from faking normalcy.

He steadily made his way to a place he never wanted to see again. The wounds of the soul were harder to mend than those of the flesh, a piece of information he learned the hard way, but they healed just the same.

It only took a monumental amount of hexion and time.

My… brother. Draven did not know what to think of that. His father had a whole other life hidden from them, or was it the other way around? For now, that his brother did not kill him would have to suffice. But Draven needed to find him again.

He grasped a piece of cloth stained with Elevalein's blood. The Art of Resonance allowed him to let the stranded droplet of dried blood guide him to its owner, the same way Overseer Travor had done to him. But it was too soon. Both of them needed time to process what had just happened.

Draven avoided using the main gate—bloodstained clothes and dragging numb limbs were not something he knew how to lie his way through. Better not to risk it, the servant gate it was. The guards let him in with raised eyebrows.

"Lord Nerovian is having one of those days," Draven spoke with a grim face.

They let him in without another word. The young lord's strict behavior was famous; even the least informed servants knew how prone he was to violence. It was a passable excuse that covered Draven against undiscerning eyes.

He walked with his head down—no need to raise more attention than necessary. The least-used parts of the labyrinth of flowers and foreign plants were usually empty, or so he hoped. He strained his ears for any sounds, physical or otherwise, while remaining attuned to the hexion fluctuations.

A heartbeat heading his way. Draven took a sharp turn left and avoided a guard on patrol. Three coming straight ahead. He doubled back to where he came, and took another path that led him to two stationary beats—two people talking, it seemed. As long as they did not move, he could not care less about the contents of their gossip.

"...Perfected..." Eridol's voice made Draven stop in his tracks.

"Shitty fucking luck is what this is!" Theodore exploded with impatience. "He can't just expect me to make the buffet for the ceremony tomorrow, Eridol. How can I even prepare everything in time? Last I checked, my cooks and I were not Chroners."

"Maker's mercy, Theodore." The chamberlain's voice grew annoyed.

Draven got closer, not within sight, but close enough to hear their conversation.

"The last thing on Lord Paradius's mind is whether you can present an Iridescent Roast tomorrow, yes? I don't know what is happening, but it's not good. Your Maker-forsaken buffet can go to the abyss—he is expediting the Heightening of his sons, no?"

No! That's not possible. The Severing is still days away.

The event would follow The Severing so it not only pleased the Maker but brought good luck with the scion's affinity. Rushing it made no sense unless Paradius had been exposed. Virien or not, spreading rumors about the death of the eternal ruler of the Haven was something worthy of death.

"Abyss take it, the man has lost his mind." Theodore was just as shocked, but for different reasons. "For the buffet to happen tomorrow, Paradius would need to heighten those brats tonight. You know, Eridol, bad luck is what I'm saying."

Tonight? Draven urged the remnants of his recovering will to imbue every single shred of hexion inside his soul.

"I'm aware, you little egghead! Who do you think had to run around like an idiot for hours to get it ready? Me, yes? I'm too old for this, for Maker's sake." Eridol sighed. "The Amethyst Palace is full of people who are even more miserable than you, so just shut up and do it. Like we all do, no?"

"It's happening right now?" Theodore huffed.

"It sure is. Even Arzhan left his post by the lady's side to guard the lower levels. Must be the first time since that incident—"

Draven ran before they finished. Maker, let me be there in time. Please!

There was only one entrance to the Amethyst Palace's lower levels, at least as far as Draven knew. Those stairs descended to the catacombs, a perfect place to undergo Heightening as it was virtually impossible to infiltrate.

Arzhan. Paradius. They are there. Fuck!

The way to the Amethyst Palace was unobstructed as Draven used the Art of Resonance to sense the heartbeats of all living things surrounding him—not to mention the main house complex had never been tightly guarded. The same was not true about the palace itself.

Six guards stood in front of the main entrance. If Draven tried to make his way through, there would be questions—all the blood on his clothes was a dead giveaway. He avoided it. The palace was full of windows, courtesy of ostentatious Sovran architecture, and he just needed to make use of them.

Draven circled back, looking for an entrance. He wasted time he did not have. Dammit, where in the abyss am I supposed to go? If he could go back in time, he would have studied the palace's layout, memorizing all its entrances and windows.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

But that was wishful thinking.

Two heartbeats, one agitated, one calm, directly outside of the room Arzhan guarded. There was an entrance, if his memory served him right. He rushed under the cover of plants and the falling darkness of night but stopped as he recognized one of the two people gathered just outside.

Seraphina. If she was out, it meant he still had time. Thank the Maker!

"It is necessary, you silly child." A short woman dressed in all the luxury Virien wealth could afford spoke with a sad smile on her face. "This place devours those who show weakness. It almost killed me, but I rose above those who scorned my origins and carved a place for myself. You must do the same."

"Yes, Mother." Seraphina nodded. "Did Nero come to visit you?"

If she was still outside, then she might as well show Draven the way in. It was the best facsimile of a plan he had come across so far, but it would have to do.

"Your brother never forgave me for who I am—for who I made him to be. I only hope that he comes to understand our situation one day." The lady turned her gaze in Draven's direction. He froze for a second, but her unfocused stare showed no hint of alarm. "I hear he made a mess of the Elore boy in the Hierarchy Stand."

"That scoundrel had it coming. Uncouth waste of space that dares call himself Sovran." Seraphina fumed. "To call my brother a half-breed to his face… Father should have taken his head on the spot."

"You criticize Nero's brashness, but the same insult makes your blood boil," the lady noted.

"It's… it's not like that!" Seraphina protested.

"It is however you let it be, Seraphina. The more you let it be your weakness, the more others will seek to use it against you. I might be a… ratling," she spat the word in disgust, "but that does not make me lesser than anyone else."

"I know, Mother. I'm sorry," Seraphina sighed.

Enough with the talk! Draven could not care less if the woman was the Maker herself. Show me the way in. Paradius Orenn married to one of the very catalysts his sector of the Haven produced. That truth might have shocked Draven another time, but his patience was running thin.

Their conversation dwindled until Seraphina and her mother parted with a hug. Draven closed his eyes, abandoning all other senses besides the one he needed. Arzhan was not present on the other side of the room—his strong heartbeat unnaturally absent—but the two guards stood like statues, guarding the way in.

Seraphina's heartbeat became clear in Draven's mind as her mother climbed up the spire until she faded from his awareness. Straight ahead into the room. A sharp turn to her left, opposite to the ascending stairs. Two seconds she stood in place.

Draven opened his eyes to see her pressing her hand against the wall next to the portrait of Lord Paradius Orenn. The bricks trembled. A flash of light illuminated the crevices in the wall, and the purple stone dissolved into dust that fell like a curtain to reveal a passage.

Once Seraphina walked through it, the wall returned to its original state, with not even a grain of dust remaining as witness to the bizarre event that had just transpired. That's my way in. Her heartbeat grew distant, muffled, but Draven focused his entire being on grasping it.

Down. Right. Straight. An unusual acceleration in its pace. Fear. It did not matter. He marched toward the guards, who spotted him with alarm.

"Halt!" they both shouted in unison, swords coming out to point at him. "State your name and business."

"Put your swords away before I have your heads on a pike!" Draven snarled with no need to fake his anger. "I'm Draven Orisanth, Primus to Lord Nerovian Orenn, and my business here is none of your concern."

The guards looked at each other, sheathing their swords after recognizing his face. They examined the bloodstains and holes in his vestments before one of them said, "No one is allowed through. Lord Paradius's orders, Primus."

Draven took a step closer, almost within reach. They were armored, but their sword hands had exposed skin. Just a little closer!

"Not one more step!" One of them barked. His hand hovered above the pommel of his sword. "Whatever business you have, Primus, it will have to wait until the morrow."

"Perhaps it is for the best if you clean yourself before sullying these grounds," the other one snickered.

"You are right. Where are my manners? I came here in a rush to deliver an important piece of news to my lord." Draven sighed. They would not let him through, and with most of his hexion dedicated to healing his soul, he did not like his chances against two armed guards. "If you would, deliver this letter directly to Lord Nerovian."

Draven rummaged through the pocket of his jacket. Their eyes followed him with curiosity, but when their hands dropped away from their swords, Draven burst into action. He shot forward and grabbed one of them by the hand. Dyad Vessel roared, and the guard collapsed to the floor with a wet thud, blood flowing from numerous holes spread throughout his body.

The other guard drew his sword. Draven turned around, taking a step back. But the cold metal slashed through his chest. "Sound the—"

No, you won't! He did not let him finish. A blood sphere shot from his hand, piercing the guard in the neck, who dropped to his knees, eyes wide, red warmth spurting from his wound.

Bile rose in Draven's throat as he ran away from the unconscious guards. No… he isn't unconscious. There was only a single heartbeat. He had killed one of them. Someone who was just doing their job. Trampling over the lives of the common people—it seemed he had truly become a Sovran.

He shook away the disgust and rushed into the room.

As much as it shamed him, the two fallen men were already out of his mind by the time he faced the portrait of the self-absorbed lord. Where is the damn thing? He palmed the wall for hidden levers and pressure plates. Nothing. Dammit. Dammit! He did not have time for this. His light pressing became heavier as his impatience grew.

Let me in! He threw a hexion-infused punch at the wall.

It lit with a familiar blue glow. Runes. They were hidden in this device somewhere, but Draven did not have the time or the patience to look for them. The wall collapsed in a curtain of dust, and he sprinted in without a second thought.

He descended the stairs, leaping over the steps rather than walking. Down! A corridor stretched in front of him with three pathways. Right! He turned to the side to come face to face with a fully fledged Empyrean.

"Altavir." Draven snarled.