Crimson Ascension

The intermittent sound of conversation reached Draven's ears with the distance of dreams. He waded through a fog of lethargy that robbed him of any measure of focused thought. He had been doing something important; he was sure of it. But abyss take him if he could remember it.

"...up." Something pressed against the center of his chest. "Wake up!"

Draven opened his eyes with a breathless gasp. Immediately, he noticed that something was wrong—half of the small, humid room was so dark that not even his unnatural vision could pierce it. A single metallic door provided it with fresh air.

His body felt heavy, rigid, and it did not respond in the way it usually did. Draven tried to rub his other eye open or to see if there was something stuck to it, but something held his wrist high in the air—something freezingly cold and strong.

"Who sent you?" Paradius walked into the room.

Who sent me? What was Paradius doing in his room? Draven must have taken one too many drinks in the Wild Voice to get so dazed and confused. He opened his mouth to utter a lie, but the pain held him back.

"Ugh," he whispered through breaths.

Arzhan and Altavir stood behind Paradius, neither of looking pleased.

"Whagh?" Draven mustered at last.

"This is pointless!" Paradius punched the wall. "Altavir, mend the cur so he is at least capable of speech."

"Lord Paradius, I must ask, why not just let Arzhan wrench the secrets out of this traitor?" Altavir snarled at Draven with anger, but there was also something else hidden in the way he stared at him. Hatred. Embarrassment. "Waste of hexion."

"Traditions are in place for a reason, Altavir. If we resort to Empyrean Art at the slightest hint of difficulty, what would become of us when devoid of it?" Lord Orenn shook his head as impatience settled in his forehead as an unpleasant frown. "Do as I tell you."

Altavir grabbed Draven by the throat, his fingers digging into his flesh. The mere contact made his skin burn unlike anything he had experienced before. His hexion touched Draven's will, subtly asking for permission to repair the damages.

He took one glance at his scripture before allowing it.

Draven Von Astrais
Dyad Vessel: Refinement [Median]
Blood Path: Reverence [Lesser]

Median Refinement? When did I…

Altavir retreated. "Abyss take me, but the boy should not even be alive," he muttered to Arzhan, who stayed silent.

"Now, Low Blood, or whatever your name is, who sent you?" Paradius signaled to Arzhan, who departed promptly. "Who dares send an assassin to thwart the Heightening of my heirs?"

Memories came crashing back into him. The meeting in the Wild Voice. Elevalein's ambush. The Heightening Chamber. His family, Maker forgive him. Dan. Mom. Tears streamed down his face, unbidden.

"Are they… did they…" He knew the answer, but something within him wanted to believe. "Are they alive?"

"Of course," Paradius snapped at him. "Alive, yes, but not thanks to the desperate stunt you attempted to pull."

They are alive. Dan and Mom, they are alive!

"Nerovian and Seraphina are Sovran of the Orenn bloodline, a minor hexion surge is not enough to kill them." Paradius scoffed, making Draven's stomach drop to the ground. "The same cannot be said of the Heightening Chamber. Damned abyss!" he roared. "Do you have any idea how expensive that remnant was?"

Draven's heart clenched within his chest. If Nerovian and Seraphina were alive, his family was not. "Kill me," he said. He failed to save them. "Just end it… please."

Paradius was taken aback. "The torture has not even begun, and you have already broken? I must say, there is a first time for everything. Regardless, I fail to imagine what methods Altavir could employ to make you lesser than you already are."

"You would be surprised, Lord Paradius." Altavir produced a mirror from his vest and pointed it at Draven. "Take a deep look at yourself, or what is left of you."

Draven looked at the thing depicted in the mirror. Black, charred flesh consumed the remnants of melted clothes in an abhorrent mixture of dried blood and soot. Chains held his legs and arm—one arm, the other was missing at the shoulder. It's not me. One eyelid melted into what remained of his face, nothing more than a twisted rictus of what had once been a person.

It's not me!

It could not be him. He closed his eyes and sobbed silently at the things he had lost that day. His dignity. The humanity he had taken for granted. His family.

"Splendid!" Paradius laughed. "It is not without reason that you are employed under my house, Altavir. Though you have certainly made me question that decision once you lost to this untrained cretin. Altavir, I held you to a higher standard than that."

"I'm telling you, I had the bastard!" Altavir snarled his hatred at Draven. "He was no better than someone Heightened yesterday. I had him the whole time—"

"Until you screamed like a madwoman down the corridor." Arzhan entered the room, an iron rod in his hand. "All that to an opponent devoid of hexion. You losing to him surprised even me, my friend."

"Why don't you keep your mouth shut like always, Arzhan?" Altavir snapped at the giant man. "Hurry up and search his soul for what he did to me. That wasn't an Art!"

"There is no need." Paradius raised a hand to receive the iron rod. It looked like some sort of branding device. "Whoever sent him had the means to equip him with an Az' Tenri Circlet. A gift to my house, I am sure. A blessing from the Maker himself, disguised as a disaster."

"A Providence…" Altavir muttered breathlessly. "I see. Well, better not get too close, as that attack seems to trigger with direct contact. Still, lord, in the hands of someone like him? Truly a waste."

Arzhan nodded.

"It does not matter." Black claws grew where Paradius's nails used to be. He clenched the metal in his hand, eyes careful not to look at the rune on its end until it turned red hot. "His execution will be in six days. No house in Elysium would dare lay claim to the artifact in his soul after sending him to do their dirty work, lest they bring the attention of the Silver Flame Inquisition."

Paradius approached him with an uninterested look on his face, hot metal in his hand as if the task at hand was an everyday chore. The shape of the rune became clearer, and more distinct than ever before. It spoke to Draven in impressions rather than words. It made what was less become more.

Amplification.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Draven Orisanth, or whatever it is your name, to walk amongst mine in pretense is an act not unlike the customs other families employ. Were you but a spy, your punishment upon discovery would have been a swift death. But that is not what you are—what you attempted to do."

Paradius's hand blurred as he pressed the hot metal against Draven's flesh, under his remaining eye. Dyad Vessel absorbed all of it, as always. Distant. Shallow. Warm. He wanted to laugh—this pain was nothing compared to the one he felt inside.

"You have conspired to end the lives of my sons, prevent them from claiming their birthright—"

"They were not his right!" Hatred exploded out of Draven, spittle flying from his mouth. If he died, Paradius would join him, he swore. "They were people. Innocent people. You slaughtered them like cattle."

"The ratlings?" Paradius pulled out the branding iron. There was burnt skin stuck to the rune. He threw it to the side in disgust.

"Is that what you call your wife when you are screwing her in bed—"

"Silence!" Lord Orenn's fist broke Draven's jaw in a hexion-infused punch..

"Ratling fucker." Draven spat blood and teeth on the ground.

Beckoning the hexion from beyond the rift to come, Draven imbued it with his will—Paradius would pay for what he had done. He commanded it to flow outside his astra, into his body, to form the blood spheres, but the hexion dissipated as soon as it ventured outside his shield.

"It is useless. The collar on your neck, the chains that hold you imprisoned, are made of veotherium. It will gorge on all the hexion you try to emit." The lord motioned to the armored mountain beside him. "Arzhan, show this cur the consequences of what he has done."

"The powerful Lord Paradius," Draven rasped. Paradius would have a taste of Dyad Vessel, and when he did, his screams would be a melody. "Bed a ratling and don't even have the guts to kill me yourself."

"Be very careful of what you wish, Draven. I understand physical pain does not faze you as it should, but the wounds of the soul cannot be shrugged off that easily." Paradius scoffed.

Arzhan approached Draven with thunderous steps, green mist drifting from the slits in his helmet. The ground bounced from side to side. What was down became up.

"The Call of the Abyss can detach one's soul from its mortal vessel. I would wager you are struck with a dizziness not even the senses of a Mender can overcome," Arzhan's deep voice rumbled closer.

Draven threw up.

"It seems I was right." He touched Draven's head. Now! Draven urged Dyad Vessel to release the pain into the giant, but nothing happened. "I have suppressed the connection between your soul and will, traitor. Abandon your attempts at wielding hexion or your Providence."

"Y-you… will pay for this—"

Knives stabbed him from all directions. Inside his head, cutting bloody paths on his limbs and eyes. Nowhere was untouched. Dyad Vessel did nothing to dampen the pain. Draven screamed until his voice went out. He begged Arzhan to stop.

The giant did not comply. After what seemed like hours, the torture stopped.

"His soul was already wounded, Lord Orenn, by another Evoker." A voice spoke somewhere, but Draven could not make sense of it from where he stood, buried in a darkness that restrained every piece of him. "It is unfathomable to me how he could best Altavir under these conditions."

"Heal him," Paradius said.

The darkness was wrenched away. The numb hold over his body disappeared. His jaw snapped back into place. The pain disappeared.

"Now do it again." Lord Orenn looked at him, a satisfied smile on his face. "We will only glimpse the full truth once his shell has been thoroughly broken."

The pain came back. Again and again. Until Auden welcomed death with every shred of his being—what remained of him.

***

The assault on Draven's shield subsided as the sound of footsteps grew distant.

Hour after hour, day after day, Arzhan weighted his Presence against Draven's shield. It cracked under his strength and experience, pieces of it falling apart to wound his soul deeper, but it did not break. Breaking it meant death.

Draven hoped Aemon had fled, for he knew he would not last much longer. Unbreakable Veil might have grown stronger under the stress, but his will to endure only eroded with time. Nothing mattered anymore; he had failed. The flimsy hope he kept was a hindrance—it only led to more excruciating pain.

But he feared what he would become if that last light faded.

Lack of purpose was the road to oblivion, so Draven gave himself a new one even when he would rather have died long ago. Train. Resist. Just long enough so Aemon escaped the same fate. He imbued his will into the hexion, collecting it in his reserve until another cycle of it began. Over and over and over again.

Channel. Imbue. Channel. Imbue.

He leveraged his will to compress the refined hexion, refining more until his astra began to grow. It was painful, but it did not compare to what Arzhan could inflict.

Emitting might be a hopeless endeavor, but the other two Tenets were the pillars upholding his sanity. He dared not break his shield to rebuild it, for he knew Arzhan lay in wait; sometimes, Draven heard his heartbeat beside him, an illusion or dehydration; he did not care.

"Do not approach him, young lord." Draven froze in fear for a second, but exhaled a sigh after not hearing Arzhan's footsteps. "Shackled as he might be, the traitor is still a threat."

It was just Altavir.

"Draven—" The sound of choking and vomit brought Draven back.

He opened his eyes to see Nerovian doubled over on the floor, vomit dripping down his chin. Wild eyes filled with guilt and disgust. It was not how Draven imagined his reunion with the lord.

"Nerovian." His voice sounded distorted. "Come to gloat? Or is it another one of your lessons?"

"Are you alright?" Nerovian spoke like a child, unlike someone born of higher blood. "Where is Mom?"

"I didn't take you for a coward. Gonna cry to your ratling mother? Mommy, help me!" Draven laughed until tears streamed out of his remaining eye. The great and proud Nerovian was reduced to a sniveling child. "There's justice in this world—"

"Shut up!" Nerovian roared, his voice assuming a commanding tone for a second. A moment later, confusion overtook clarity. "Mom? Ai!"

Draven's heart stopped. It can't be. That almost sounded like his brother. "Dan?" he whispered.

Nerovian raised his head at the name. "Bro?" There was recognition on his face, almost as if he was responding to someone calling him.

"Dan!" Draven drew Nerovian's attention. There's no mistake. "It's me, Dan. It's Aiden!"

"You don't look like my brother," Nerovian said. "Argh! Get out of my head!" He thrashed on the ground, hands gripping his temples.

"I know I look different—"

"You look like a corpse, you damned traitor!" Nerovian seemed to win the struggle inside his head. "And you say that little ratling was your brother? That would make you a… half-breed."

"Where is Dan? No, bring him back, you fucker! Bring him back, you piece of shit!" Draven pulled against the chains. His charred, half-mended skin broke under the strain, but physical pain did not affect him.

"Aiden. Aiden Greystone," Nerovian spoke his name. "So that is who you were—a disappointing revelation. Father and Arzhan were speculating which of the Great Houses sent you, but it turns out you were just a ratling."

"You mean a ratling like you, Nerovian?" Draven met his eyes, all pretense and deception thrown to the wind. "If I am a disappointment, I wonder what that makes you."

Dan was dead; only fragments of his will and echoes of his personality survived Heightening. Whatever Draven had done to those runes caused the ritual itself to have unforeseen consequences. No wonder Paradius had been furious.

Nerovian backhanded him in the face.

"Weak." Draven spat blood on his face.

Nerovian stumbled back, taken aback.

"Pathetic. I could have killed you whenever I wanted. You have nothing else besides a big name attached to your own—"

He punched Draven in the stomach.

Draven almost released Dyad Vessel on him, but hesitation stayed his hand. Dan was dead, his mother was dead, but the thought of making even an echo of his brother suffer made him sick to his stomach.

"I am not like you, Ai!" Nerovian snarled, a crazed look on his face. "The bloodline of Orenn flows through my veins. My soul is heightened to the Path of Chaos, my fate ends not in chains in a dungeon. We are nothing alike."

"Ai." Draven coughed. "That's what my brother used to call me. But you're right, we aren't the same. If I knew that Heightening meant killing a miner, I would have never become an Empyrean."

A hint of guilt passed over Nerovian's face.

"You are a coward, Nerovian." Anger boiled inside of him. "The day someone else takes your mother, straps her to an altar, reduces her to nothing more than a catalyst, you will understand how I feel!"

Nerovian fled the room with horror on plastered on his face.