Crimson Ascension

Draven grew up hearing about the legends of Sovran magic and the incredible feats it could achieve. Specters. Mind-control. Incredible physiques. Immortality. It all seemed possible to him, with the limited experience of a miner boy. No matter what sort of wild stories were spread, none of the residents of his District dared to doubt.

All those stories, as fantastic as they seemed, didn't prepare him for what he attempted. An oath, spoken inside his soul, to a being whom he knew very little about—a denizen of the Beyond. It was ridiculous, even when compared to the things he had grown up hearing, but it was reality.

Draven could try to argue, justify himself to a being that barely knew how to speak, or he could let his soul do the talking. He chose the latter. "I, Draven von Astrais, hereby vow that no harm shall come to you. As long as you don't conspire or harm me or the people I care about, I will treat you as family."

The serpent's eyes shone with surprise—it had been expecting a fight for its life, not the admission of guilt. Moments later, it nodded. "Morph accept." It agreed to the words and promised to do the same.

No black smoke exploded from a leathery scroll, for there were no oath-binding artefacts to aid the accord this time. However, Draven felt its effect was similar, if reduced. He didn't feel compelled to follow what he said, but the words spoken hovered above his thoughts like a constant reminder.

He had no intent of breaking it. He'd given his word, and that was a vow of its own.

Draven opened his eyes, returning to the Old World. There was something he needed to do, a show of his commitment, of his solid vow. The small cores inside his makeshift pouch were cool to the touch, but the sensation did not last long as Draven willed the Az'Tenri circlet to absorb it.

"Give me your cores," he asked Elevalein, who complied with a frown on his face.

He absorbed the Evoker's share too, willing it to his remnant. Instead of assigning it to his attributes, Draven urged Morph to consume them. The red serpent drained the hexion with glee, absorbing it into its astra, which nearly doubled in size.

Draven placed a hand on Finn's forehead, and felt a hexion that, though foreign, wasn't unpleasant, enter his friend's body. In a matter of minutes, Finn's breathing became easier, cleaner. No blood seeped out of his mouth, his lungs were intact.

Finn wasn't awake; he slept with a peaceful expression on his face. A quick inspection told Draven that the Dreamer's body was devoid of injuries, mended with grace and care.

Thank you, Morph. He thought to himself, certain the red serpent would hear it even though it was busy refining all the new hexion that entered its astra.

"We should go." Draven picked up Finn and moved to the far north.

A rocky outcrop stood in the distance, no more than a few hours of walking to a regular miner, a dozen minutes running to a Sovran. It was a high, grey stone jutting out of the ground like a miniature mountain—the perfect place to rest and recover.

***

No fire warmed the camp on the rocky grounds. There was no wood in the surroundings, and lighting up a beacon to their pursuer was a decision Draven wouldn't take lightly. Still, the cold of the night fell short of inconveniencing a Sovran's body.

Beckon. Imbue. Beckon. Imbue.

Draven immersed himself in the refinement of hexion, sensing that Morph did the same. The Heart Flame made his thoughts clear, focus easier to achieve, and training more efficient. Gradually, the hexion spent in a desperate series of ambushes gave place to more of the refined red liquid.

"He comes. Scary hunter." Morph's voice echoed inside his head. "Aiden not strong enough."

"How did you kill Paradius and Altavir? One of them I could have understood, but both at once… I—we weren't that strong," Draven said, trying to find the answers that plagued him ever since.

Morph didn't reply. Instead, he conveyed a stream of thought, images, and memories as an answer. In an instant, Draven relieved the missing moments of that fight, as if he had just fought it. Once again, it all ended once he met the Perfected.

"The Amplification rune." Draven nodded. "I knew it would strengthen the effects of my hexion, of my Arts as an extension, but I never thought it would work to that extent."

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"Strong but dangerous," Morph warned. "Like fire, warm but burns."

"With no other runes to regulate its flow, Amplification would consume my hexion until nothing remained. It seemed to get stronger as time passed, though." Draven remembered the broken pieces of the remnant that sent them away. "My body is stronger now than it was before. It should be strong enough to handle it."

"Strong body now. More hexion too." Morph nodded, not quite understanding his meaning.

"More hexion?" Draven cursed as the realization hit him. "There's no guarantee the rune won't draw hexion out of your astra, so even with a stronger body, now there's more wood to add to the fire. Nothing changed."

"Yes." Morph nodded, still confused.

Draven shook his head. The Hemomorph—Morph, as it called itself, had the mental capacity of a child. Perhaps it was one, in a way. Though it could converse and sense Draven's thoughts, sometimes it struggled to comprehend difficult concepts like the workings of a rune.

A spike in Finn's heartbeat brought Draven back to the Old World.

"What's… where are we?" Finn woke up.

"Good question. In the middle of nowhere, maybe." Draven said, smiling to see his friend awake and well. "How are you feeling?"

"Wait!" Finn's eyes shot wide open. In an instant, the confused call of dreams vanished as fear brought clarity to his mind. "I was asleep? No, dammit! Why did you let me sleep?"

"I didn't let you; you sort of almost died. It seemed reasonable to let you recover." Draven frowned.

"I can't sleep if I'm not protected, Draven! Didn't I tell you why we had to come here in the first place?" Finn stood up, pacing with newfound energy in circles. "But I don't remember anything. Daesvor didn't pull me in."

"You said the Maker couldn't find you if you were here." Draven looked around, sensing Elevalein patrolling in the distance. No hexbeast close. "What's changed?"

"Nothing's changed! I just didn't think I'd need to mention it. It wasn't like I planned on sleeping like a complete amateur." Noticing the confusion on Draven's face, Finn explained. "Look, man. An Empyrean can hide their strength behind a shield, right?"

Draven bobbed his head. It was common sense. Even the weakest or most inexperienced had formed shields around their souls.

"Does that prevent an Evoker from knowing you're an Empyrean?"

"Not as far as I understand," Draven said. "Evokers can pierce through most shields and sense what is underneath."

"Exactly. The Old World acts like a shield, but rather than protecting my soul, it hides my consciousness every time I sleep." He sat down, tired of all the fruitless pacing. "It won't hide me from a Dreamer, not completely. It would just mask my whereabouts. To hide, I'd need to weave another layer of protection around my consciousness, but I can't do that if I'm unconscious."

"So you're saying we're screwed? More than we already are? It only gets better." He chuckled.

"Why are you laughing? This isn't funny!" Finn snapped.

You're damn right it isn't, Finn. Abyss take me, I'll have to do it. Again. He didn't look forward to what he was about to do. He thought they had more time. Wasn't it buying time the whole reason they entered the Old World to begin with? How come it had run out so soon? It was ironic, funny even, but Draven was no longer laughing.

Draven unfolded part of his presence, stretching it only far enough to reach Elevalein. More than that and the hexbeast might take notice. Or something worse. The Evoker shivered, sensing the message behind it, and returned promptly.

"Good to see you're awake, Finn," Elevalein said, a genuine smile on his face. "Why did you call me? It's not yet time for switching our watch."

Finn grumbled to himself, still struggling to restrain the frustration and sheer despair of knowing he might have become a beacon for the Maker to find them.

"That's not why I called you. Elevalein, I know you can't control your hexion all that well. It's not a secret at this point." Draven said, wincing when he remembered what he said to him before. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"No harm done," Elevalein said, sparing no more words.

"I won't ask why; it's not my business. Believe me, I had to deal with something similar before." Draven stared at the ground, contemplating what he was about to ask. "But I need you to use your Art on me."

"A soul wound should be easy enough for me to heal—"

"I don't need you to heal a wound. I need you to make one—a wound serious enough that it almost kills me. And I need you to be precise. There's no room for mistakes in this." Draven cut him off.

"What in the abyss are you saying? This isn't the time for playing around, Draven!" Finn snarled, but that anger soon turned to doubt, then surprise. "Wait… are you trying to…"

"Yeah, Finn. I'll enter the Sixfold Corridor again. If time is running out, then I'll just go to the place time has no hold over." Draven sighed.

He'd need to replicate the circumstances of his last visit: an Evoker to almost kill him, and a Dreamer to help his consciousness find its way back. A Dreamer and an Evoker, two Empyreans he could trust with his life. The conditions were not something one could easily achieve, yet Draven had them—almost too easily, just when he needed them.

You saw this far, Dad? It feels like I'm walking a path with a rope tied around my neck. No agency. No real choice. Every decision I make, it feels like it's not my own.

Draven looked at Finn, then Elevalein. If he wanted to protect what was dear to him, he could no longer afford to follow the path others paved for him, the path which led to his family's death. To Myra's death. If there was a rope tied around his neck, Draven needed to find a power that could rip it to shreds.