Crimson Ascension

It was rarely that Helvan enjoyed the company of one of his brothers, for he had spent centuries in hiding, crawling through every dark corner of the Haven in search of answers that might lead to a path of salvation.

Now two of them met in this forsaken arena, and he knew it would not end well.

Draven had tapped into the power of the runes, but something was wrong with him. Helvan wished to know which rune Draven had carved into his flesh, but he had lost the memories of their mysteries along with his soul. No longer was he able to see or understand them.

He was blind, like everyone else.

The Perfected, his enslaved brother, spoke. His voice was ice, devoid of emotion, unlike how it had once sounded in life. Ulissan von Merz had been a kind man, but now he was nothing but an empty shell.

"Do as he says, Draven." Helvan stood up, ignoring the smoldering pain on his back. Astral Razor was reduced to a cane.

Draven did not do as he said.

Helvan focused his hexion within himself, slowing the flow of time around him with Chronos Domain, but he did not intervene. Had he been what he once was, able to yield the full extent of an Archon's power, he would have stood a chance at stopping Ulissan. Now, however, attempting to do so was begging for death.

Ulissan raised his hand and slapped Draven in the face.

The boy's head exploded. His bones thoroughly shattered under the blow, jutting out from his skin as if an insurmountable weight had hit him. His body struck the walls of the arena like a blood-filled mosquito under the wrathful hand of its victim.

No one could survive an attack like that.

A gasp echoed out from the crumbling crater, almost sounding like a complaint—a grunt of pain. Helvan let go of Chronos Domain, moving under the facade of old age to ward off the predatory gaze of his brother—he must not be recognized, lest oblivion would soon follow.

He arrived at Draven's tomb to witness a sight he had never seen before. Even after living for over three hundred years.

Draven's head sprouted out of his shoulder, one layer at a time. The bones grew with mind-numbing speed, then muscles, and lastly, his skin. However, the impression of wellness only lasted a second, for his bones shattered once again, his skin destroyed, and steam rose from his body as if molten metal ran inside his veins.

But Draven was alive. As impossible as it might seem, Draven was alive.

Helvan looked over his shoulder to see the Perfected carrying Paradius by the neck. The Virien did not protest; he merely accepted his death. He forfeited his life, but his family's lives might still be saved with the help of the missing Evoker. What mattered was that no one was left to see what unfolded next.

Helvan tapped into Timeless Void, letting his will wrench an object wrapped in bandages back into reality—into the palm of his hand. He unwrapped the artifact, a giant silver finger covered with blurred runes.

Asthagon's finger.

It was time to use it, old friend. Draven was the one, there was no doubt about it anymore. If Helvan let him die, then the Haven would be lost.

Helvan took a deep breath, facing the echoes of fear that threatened to emerge in his soulless will. He infused his hexion into the artifact and crushed it into a silver powder that spread around him and Draven as a dome isolated them from time, space, and dreams.

"Elissandor Wight." The world trembled under the name only a few still lived to recall. "Elissandor Wight." Cracks in space surrounded Helvan as a Presence as vast as the unfettered sky crushed him to his knees. "Elissandor… Wight!"

"After all this time, you are the one who seeks me, my son." The Maker spoke, and his voice almost shattered Helvan's will.

His skin was alabaster white, with long silvery hair that fell to his waist. Emerald eyes, ever settled in a collected, condescending gaze, looked at Helvan and no secret was left unturned.

A silky robe hung loosely around his immaculate physique. A projection of the real him. Asthagon's artifact ensured Helvan's position remained uncompromised, yet Helvan had to stop himself from quivering under a fraction of the Maker's Presence.

"I am not your son, Maker—murdering my father does not make you so." Helvan stilled his hexion, urging his will to resist.

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The Maker ignored him, turning his eyes to Draven. A smile parted his lips. "The Sixth Fragment is reborn. Asthagon must have paid a severe price to hide his existence from me, but your loyalty to me has overcome Sha'Vitri treachery."

"He is dying," Helvan said.

"The call of the abyss holds no authority in my presence." The Maker examined Draven, or rather the rune on his face. "Amplification. Crude, without outlet or restrictor runes, it will remain ignited until his reserve runs dry. Until his body and soul break under its increasing power."

"He cannot be saved with the seal you placed upon me." Helvan tore away his robe, revealing the intricate layer of runes carved in his chest. "Release my strength, and the boy will live."

The Maker looked at Helvan and scoffed. "That will not do, Osenthar. Not at all. You will release the boundary that surrounds you, this unnecessary veil. Do so, and I shall come. It is in the best interest of all who dwell under my Haven that I acquire the last fragment; there is no future if the wrath of the Sha'Vitri is unleashed, not if I am not here to protect us all. The Fallen must not be allowed to live again."

"A thousand more years of slavery to the forgotten. A thousand more years of having their lives shaved away to power the Obelisk while you cower at the prospect of having your power diminished to do so!" Something boiled inside Helvan. It felt like an emotion. Rage.

But that was impossible without a soul.

"It is their life's purpose to serve," The Maker's tone was frigid. "What difference does it make if a few ratlings die each year? The Haven stands strong, does it not? The Sha'Vitri are sealed away, are they not? It is their sacrifice that provides a life to the rest of us. Why should I weaken myself needlessly, when others were born to do so?"

Helvan raised the Astral Blade and stabbed Draven in the heart. The wound closed around the sword instantly, but the damage to his soul echoed like a wailing animal in its death throes.

"What are you doing?" For the first time in eons, the Maker lost his composure.

"Release the seals you placed on me, or I will destroy his soul," Helvan demanded.

"You would not dare." Elissandor did not seem quite as sure as his words implied. "If the last fragment dies, then there will be nothing standing between the Sha'Vitri and the Haven."

"Do not test me, Elissandor." Helvan twisted the blade, carving a larger portion of the boy's soul away. "Fear. Anger. Hesitation. I lost all those when you ripped away my soul to claim my fragment as your own."

The Maker stared at Helvan. "A truce then."

The glow in his eyes flickered, and the runes on Helvan's chest wavered. He did not release the seal, merely loosened it temporarily, but Helvan knew better than to test his patience. The Maker was a man who would rather die than kneel.

"Savor your victory today, Osenthar, for it will not be long until I find you." He vanished without a trace.

The hexion within Helvan ran through his veins as his Presence stretched out without shackles. The restraints placed on his will were gone—though not for long—and it felt as if he could breathe again, really breathe rather than gasp for air.

He touched Draven's forehead, pulling his body against the flow of time to a state it had been before the rune on his face had ignited. The boy looked like an armless, mangled mess of flesh and burns—wounds an Archon such as him could mend given the time. He did the same for his soul, erasing the wound the Astral Razor had dealt upon him.

It was a better alternative than death.

Before the shackles tightened again, he focused his entire will into his flesh, rejuvenating it, reverting the effects the Beyond had wrecked into it. White hair became dark and full of life, as Helvan regained his youth.

The shackles tightened around him. He did not have long. Maybe with his power back, he had a chance—measly as it was—to bring Myra back. She appeared in his grasp, or what remained of her. He leveraged all the power at his disposal to revert time; he had to bring her back.

She deserved better than this.

His Astra roared as hexion vanished at an incomprehensible pace. He was close; he could feel it. A little more! Something blocked her soul from returning. Someone.

Elissandor Wight!

Helvan roared as the surrounding boundary collapsed. Myra's body looked immaculate, reverted to a state devoid of damage. But her soul was gone. The Maker ensured it stayed that way. He would pay for that. One day, Helvan swore.

"Halt!" A Chronos Domain froze Helvan's body in time. "What has happened here? Where is Paradius Orenn? Answer me!"

Helvan shattered the Chronos Domain with no more effort than lifting a finger. The shackles tightened further. "Nospheo, The Blade of Eons, if I'm not mistaken."

Nospheo widened his eyes, channeling hexion to escape. Helvan locked him in time, frozen in a tighter grasp than the other Empyrean could ever achieve. "Ascendence! Who… are you?"

Timeless Void recalled Myra into its grasp, and Helvan picked up Draven from the ground. The boy was alive, though unconscious, which was more than most were lucky enough to claim.

"I am Osenthar von Karth, Archon of Time." The sweat on Nospheo's forehead and the paleness of his face told Helvan that he recognized the name. "Flee this city, for it will soon fall to ruin." Helvan threw him a refined blood crystal. "Keep it close. Dark times are coming. We will need all the strength we can muster."

The torches winked out. Darkness fell on Anaverith. Helvan wished this place alone had to suffer for what happened today, but he knew destruction would not stop there. The Maker was dying. The Sha'Vitri were on the verge of escaping. The Haven was on the brink of collapse.

The Fallen stirred.

Helvan remembered the promise he had made to Korvax. He would forge Draven into a weapon strong enough to ward off the prophecy or die trying.

END OF BOOK 1