Crimson Ascension

Fire burned in Draven's lungs as if he had been holding his breath for a long time. He gasped, coughed, and shuddered as sensations overwhelmed him all at once. Itchiness. Pain. Burns. Coldness in his wrists, foot, and around his neck.

"What did you do?" Arzhan rasped with a frigid tone. "How did you hide your soul from me?"

A quick look inside his astra told Draven that his reserve was as vast as they had been inside the Sixfold Corridor, deeper than a lake and endless as the vast horizon. Greater Reverence. The space inside the burning crimson sun was filled to the brim.

"Answer me!" the giant demanded.

Needles of emerald glass materialized around him, their mere presence an unspoken threat, a living reminder of the pain that caused him to flee.

"Do your worst, big guy." Draven mustered a smile.

When the pain came, he was ready with renewed purpose and the resilience birthed from escaping the brink of collapse. The needles pierced him, dug holes into his soul, their torture unimaginable and inescapable. He suffered through it, embraced it, and focused his entire being on not uttering a sound.

Arzhan left hours later, and Draven thanked the Maker with tears of relief. New purpose or not, enduring this sort of trial shaved away any kind of mental fortitude; he knew it was impossible to keep himself together for long, but he did not need to wait forever.

The powerful sound of a beating heart broke the silence in the prison, appearing from nothingness to chase away the building insecurities that festered in his resolve. He did not need to look up to know who the man in front of him was, or his purpose in being there.

"Helvan," Draven snarled out his name.

"Aiden—"

"Is dead," Draven interrupted. "You can call me Draven. Draven von Astrais."

The elderly man dressed in black robes nodded. Though his demeanor was collected, his eyes betrayed alarm as he observed Draven's mangled, broken state. "I could apologize or beg for your forgiveness, but I suppose that would not appease the rage you feel at the loss of your family."

"You suppose?" Draven chuckled humorlessly. "They died when you could've stopped it, you bastard. You gave me your word! Everything you said was a lie."

"You want the truth, Draven? Very well." Helvan sighed, suddenly looking tired, utterly spent. "Months ago, I ventured into the Beyond. For all the power you believe I hold, I was powerless out there. Only the shreds of my former strength allowed me to survive the way back. But I knew the outcome before the journey started, ever since I learned about the illness that shaved away at the Maker's life. That was thirty years ago."

"You knew?" Draven whispered in disbelief. He knew all along the Maker would die. "Why did you send me here, then?"

"I ventured outside of the Haven to acquire the tools to forge a weapon, Draven—a living armament stronger than any Empyrean Art alone could create." Helvan raised his head, not one hint of reluctance on his face. "That weapon was you."

The dryness in Draven's throat became uncomfortable.

"I did not send you here, Draven. It was your father, Korvax von Astrais, who orchestrated this plan in the hopes you secured the tools necessary to walk further than any Empyrean ever could, into the ground that not even Archons have dreamed of."

"I always doubted your father's wild prophecies. Some even deemed the man insane, but that all changed the day I met you in the Gate." Helvan looked at the branded mark on Draven's cheek. "The day I realized you were capable of seeing the runes—the sixth Sighted to exist besides the Maker and the Perfected—I knew Korvax was not insane."

"No! No. No. Just stop with the nonsense, Helvan." Draven pulled at the chains, but they did not budge. "How dare you use the name of a dead man to validate your lies? That's low even for you."

Helvan opened his palm, and a rectangular pink tablet appeared within it.

"Your father was more than the man you knew, boy. He foresaw many things, even the day I revealed such events to you." He approached Draven with the tablet at hand.

Without asking, Helvan pressed the tablet against his forehead.

***

A few pieces of coal set the small fireplace alight, the warm flames licking the cook-pot and heating the food within. A comfortable rug, made from pieces of old clothing, rags, and other fabrics stitched together, was placed in front of the fire to provide comfort against the cold ground.

A man sat down in front of the fire.

"Draven," he said, his tone filled with warmth. "I'll die tomorrow."

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"Dad!" Draven ran toward him and tried to hug him, but his arms passed straight through his silhouette.

"It can't be avoided, not this time," Korvax sighed, poking at the fire to breathe some life into it. "House Astrais will hunt me down until they find the Az'Tenri Circlet I stole. It pained me to kill my brother, to take what's rightfully his, but I had no choice. He wouldn't listen, even though I dreamed of the end. There's too much at stake—way too much."

There was no joviality in his tone. He carried himself with the finality of someone facing their impending death.

"The future changes every time we glimpse it, like the surface of a puddle rippling whenever it is touched. But those waves are bound to settle, so whatever events are set in the distant future are difficult to change—some would say impossible, but I don't believe in that word." There was something in Korvax's hand, a pink tablet. A dreamstone. "Sounds simple when I say it, but to change dreamed events requires power beyond what I can achieve."

"Power like yours." Korvax closed his eyes. "An Archon, the sixth to exist in the thousands of years since the creation of the Haven. Someone whose affinity to the Paths is beyond that of a normal Empyrean. Someone who is born Sighted."

How long had he carried that knowledge? Years before Draven was born? It seemed like a crushing burden. To carry it all alone required a kind of strength that was difficult to fathom.

"I can't reveal much to you. I'm sorry, son. I tried to protect them, but no matter what I did, the future remained the same." Tears streamed down Korvax's face. "I'm so sorry, Aiden. If there was another way, I would die before entrusting this to you." His voice trembled as he sobbed.

Draven had never seen his father look so broken.

"I hope you can forgive me one day."

***

Helvan looked at him, the expectation palpable. He did not speak; words were unnecessary after what he had shown, but he awaited an answer, nonetheless.

"I'm an Archon?" Draven asked.

"As am I, the fifth Archon. You are the sixth, Draven," Helvan stated matter-of-factly.

"So you are… Sighted like me." Draven accused him. Why had he kept that information to himself? That power could have changed things.

"Not anymore." The ground shook, rattling the chains that held Draven with a cacophony of metallic clicks. "But I once was, and that knowledge still resides within me, even when I'm nothing but a shell of my former self. Korvax must have told you, but there are things I cannot reveal to you."

"You broke your word, your oath; you lied." Draven cut through his speech. "I don't trust you, Helvan."

"Trust your father, then." Helvan placed his hand on the contraption.

Draven did not see what he did, but the bindings opened effortlessly under Helvan's grasp. He fell to the floor, his body devoid of strength, though the hexion was already working to restore it. Urging his heart to mend his body, he let it drink from his reserves as much as required, but the wounds healed slowly.

The tears in his soul, though diminished after Arzhan had healed them for the next session, still lingered as half-mended scars, preventing him from carrying himself with any measure of finesse. Hexion rushed out of his astra to mend them, but the damage was so extensive—so old—it would take time.

A loud explosion echoed above. The ground rumbled, throwing Draven a few inches from the cold stone. "What is going on?" he demanded.

"We are rescuing you. Is that not obvious?" Helvan extended a hand, but Draven slapped it aside. "We lack the time for tantrums."

The ground beneath Draven changed color in the blink of an eye, monotonous grey becoming lustrous purple. His one-eyed reflection stared back at him, his mangled face in all its ugliness. He wore ragged, half-burned clothes.

Helvan transported them out.

"Abyss take me! What did they do to you?" Red hair brushed against his neck as Myra embraced him. "They'll pay for this, Aiden—"

"Draven," he corrected. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"Aiden… Draven, I—" she stammered, looking away in shame. Her eyes were black with the lack of sleep. "I'm sorry. I couldn't keep my promise."

"It's not your fault, Myra. I know you tried. That's all that matters now." He shook his head as foreign hexion entered his body, attempting to mend the extensive damage. "Don't drain yourself."

She nodded, her face pale after examining the state of his wounds.

The sound of clashing steel echoed relentlessly through the vast hall, as guards all around fought people dressed in black clothes. The hexion in the air was an erratic mess of colors, a consequence of many Empyreans wielding their arts with abandon. Like an interlacing, multilayered veil, numerous Presences permeated throughout the open hall.

"To use my Chronos Domain in these circumstances is not something I want to risk. From here on out, we keep our heads down and leave as quietly as we possibly can." Helvan nodded to Myra, who helped Draven to his feet. "We are moving out."

Helvan guided them ahead, using his keen perception to avoid any guards. The main door to the Amethyst Palace was locked shut, but the hallways that led to the east wing were unmanned by House Orenn's guards. That was where they headed.

The sound of footsteps ahead—four beating hearts pounding with fear—passed in front of them. Dark purple armor adorned the guard leading three people away: Nerovian, Seraphina, and Lady Orenn, while another followed closely behind. Helvan pressed his body against the wall to minimize their exposure, and Myra followed suit.

His efforts were in vain.

Nerovian's eyes widened as he spotted Draven. His mouth opened, undoubtedly to utter a warning. Hexion raged inside Draven, eager to be unleashed, crimson tendrils stretching out in all directions along with his Presence. But Nerovian looked away after nodding, urging the guards forward and out of sight.

"Withdraw your Presence, Draven!" Helvan admonished. "Do you want to give our position away—"

"They are headed for the Hierarchy Stand arena, my lord." Arzhan's deep voice roared behind them.

"Abyss take us all." Helvan shook his head. "Run. Now!"

"Just do your thing and take us—"

Two Presences encompassed him as they ran.

"It is too late for that. As I am, activating Chronos Domain against the Presences of two Empyreans of their caliber is all but impossible," Helvan snapped as he ran.

The hallway opened into a vast open field. The light of the torches above assaulted Draven's eye. Rows of seats, grown out of the ground itself, surrounded the arena—a feat only a Transmuter could accomplish.

While they were crossing it, a man emerged from the exit they were heading towards, with a dark face and a glistening bald head in the light.

Altavir.