Crimson Ascension

Fifteen cores vanished from his palm, dissipating like mildew under the morning light of the torches, and their hexion flowed into the circlet with expedient glee. Draven let his reserve drain and flow onto the black ring without wasting time.

Only ten more points? He had been expecting to get at least twelve more, but the increase in the necessary hexion for subsequent points had grown exponentially. I suppose that's enough for now.

Draven surrounded the small black sun inside his soul with a shroud of his will, letting it become a shield. The last thing he could afford was for the Hemomorph to steal that hard-earned power for himself. Once he felt confident that the shield would at least warn him of the creature's awakening, he conveyed his intent to the remnant.

Half of the accrued hexion flowed into Durability, while the other half settled in Recovery. When the pain came, Draven was ready. Fire burned every cell of his body, but he only gritted his teeth and endured—physical pain became easier to power through with enough exposure.

After a few minutes, with Dyad Vessel filled to the brim, he summoned the scripture to inspect the changes. The blue scroll unfolded in front of his eyes, a light only he could see illuminating the surroundings.

REFORGED BODY [+10]

Reforged Body grants a durable physical vessel.

Not bad. Draven whistled, a thin smile forming on his lips. The less hexion he spent to mend his injuries, the more he would have to spare to use against his foes. Not bad at all.

FLAME HEART [+10]

Flame Heart grants resistance to foreign influences and poisons. The Heart Flame can be ignited.

He scrutinized the words with a frown on his face—the description couldn't be more vague. Ember Heart had minor benefits that combated poisons and foreign influences, whatever that meant, but Draven lacked the time to truly put it to the test. Still, it had been straightforward to understand.

Heart Flame…

In the deep recesses of his physical vessel lay the answers to the questions written in blue light. Draven projected his consciousness inside the chamber where his beating heart sang and inspected it for changes. At first glance, he found nothing.

Can be ignited… It's not ignited yet. An idea solidified in his mind as the hexion flowed out of his body and drenched his heart in the crimson, refined liquid. Warmth spread inside his chest, originating from the beating organ, then a red flame burst into existence around it.

Draven gasped.

His body felt lighter, better than it ever felt before—the sensation was akin to getting a perfect night of sleep and waking up completely refreshed. Serenity filled his mind as his body burned with peace. Draven's thoughts became clearer. Everything around him suddenly became easier to grasp, to understand.

Abyss take me, this is great.

The hexion consumption was higher than what he could refine, so keeping the state active indefinitely was impossible, but by the current rate at which the liquid drained, it would last for days.

"You're grinning like a weirdo again," Finn said, chuckling with a knowing smile. "What's the matter now?"

"It's… hard to explain. I've never felt so refreshed before," Draven muttered, returning his consciousness to the real world.

"That doesn't sound that hard to explain." Finn scoffed. "But I feel you, this life takes a toll on you. It might not seem like it at first, but it fucking builds up, man."

"You're right. I tried to focus on what's ahead, and somewhere along the way, I left behind crumbles of myself." Draven banished the scripture away. "It finally feels like I'm getting them back, little by little."

Finn nodded, but his bitter smile was at odds with the acknowledgment.

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Draven looked into the night, toward the mountain in the distance. The absence of light did not hinder his sight—everything was as clear as if the sun had been glowing in the sky. Part of himself missed the mystery of night, the palpitation of looking into a shadowed alley without knowing what the darkness hid. Part of himself knew it wouldn't matter, even if he became blind again.

He had seen enough to know what sort of things hid away from sight—what people chose to ignore in plain sight.

The Old World was easier to endure, to understand. It was kill or be killed. There were no deceptions, occlusions of information hiding under the pretense of an oath of secrecy. It was one's life on a scale against another's, as it should be.

As it always had been.

***

Draven sat cross-legged on the ground, close to the fire, just enough so that its warmth brought peace. A red mask covered the frown on his forehead, the sheer concentration emanating from his body.

Tomorrow, the hunt for an Ascendant hexbeast would begin. All battles had the implicit possibility of death, but hunting one of the ten strongest beasts in the Old World escalated that to almost a certainty. Regardless of how confident the two other Empyreans were, Draven refused to join their efforts with an empty reserve.

Archon or not, it would be suicide.

So, he sat down, consciousness projected deep inside his astra. Each punch sent a crack spreading throughout the Unbreakable Veil like a spiderweb being woven by invisible spiders. Failure meant an opportunity for improvement. Failure meant that a road to progress.

Beckon. Imbue. Draven repeated the mantra, splitting his focus to draw on the hexion from beyond the rift inside his astra. The cloud of his will imbued it, made it his.

"It's good that you haven't grown complacent," Helvan spoke, getting his attention. "Your Unbreakable Veil is far from the resilience of Ekron."

Draven spared him half his attention, continuing to refine hexion as he replied, "I know that, old man."

"May I sit?" Helvan asked.

"It's not like you're taking anyone else's place," Draven retorted in a curt tone. He might not hate Helvan for not fulfilling his promise, not after what he learned from Korvax, but he certainly hadn't forgiven the man.

"I will save us both the trouble and skip the small-talk. I told you there was a path to advancement only Archons could tread." Helvan raised an eyebrow. "Are you ready to learn it?"

Draven stopped refining hexion. "You know I'd never refuse."

Helvan chuckled. "Only a fool would, and you're no longer one."

No longer? Draven suppressed his annoyance, though a part of him felt proud of the off-handed compliment.

"Other Empyreans shave at a meridian's barrier gradually, forcing their way through it at a gentle pace. I do not blame them; if the matter is rushed or handled improperly, the consequences are death or a crippling injury to the soul and body." Helvan nodded, inspecting Draven's mask with a look of longing. "That, however, will only take one so far."

"How come? I know it's slow, but it's better to be careful than to die," Draven said, puzzled.

"Being careful is one thing, Draven." Helvan shook his head, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning back against a dead tree. "Being slow is another. Slow means death. Would you wait and take ten years to become a Greater Eminence? Do you think you would live that long with the number of people hunting you down?"

"Abyss take me, when you put it like that…" Draven couldn't help but agree. "But most people don't have the displeasure of being chased by the entire Haven."

"True enough, but you are an Archon—your very existence displeases the Maker. He will only rest after he has ripped your soul from your body, extracted the Last Fragment of Eternity to claim it as his own, and remade you into a soulless husk of a Perfected."

"So the Perfected were all…" Draven didn't finish the question, but Helvan nodded. "How come you're not one, then?"

"I was lucky." Helvan rasped, cutting him off before he could ask more questions. "But I have not come to talk about the past. While other Empyreans have to battle the increasing regeneration speed of a meridian's barrier, hoping they overcome it in a long, arduous battle, we are different."

"We can command more hexion at a time. I don't know about you, but my will is many times that of a normal Empyrean." Draven sighed. He wanted to know more about Helvan's past, but the method to blast through an Eminence's ranks was more tempting.

"Indeed, that is the heart of the matter. You see, the only reason others prefer the slow method is because of the fear of the backlash when using the more… violent approach." Helvan grinned, white teeth shining viciously in the night. "But what if you could reduce the damage? Constrict it to a point where it wouldn't outright kill you?"

"Then I'd be a Greater Eminence tomorrow," Draven said with a chuckle.

The only reason he hadn't tried to open another meridian was due to the fear of a backlash even stronger than the previous one. The first meridian nearly killed him, so the second would do the job without fail had he not taken the steps to shave its resistance first.

"Are you gonna spit it out or not?" Draven said.

"It is simple in theory. Weave a shield of pure will to envelope the meridian, forge it to a point that the hexion backlash will be contained within rather than rampaging through your organs and soul. It has to be strong, something that withstands any attacks." Helvan stood up, dusting his robes.

"That sounds a lot like the Unbreakable Veil," Draven frowned.

"Why do you think I taught you that in the first place?" The Sovran smiled before walking into the night.