Crimson Ascension

The rune circuit carved in the ground flickered, its light lasting a full second before one of the many runes connected to Amplification cracked. There was no explosion, only a rupture in the stone. If Draven didn't know better, he'd think that meant an even bigger failure.

But it had been months since he began experimenting.

Each attempt brought him closer to success. Each failure revealed how vast the gap between knowing and not knowing truly was. A remnant wasn't made of a random assortment of runes, it was forged with a profound organization that left no avenue for misplaced power to flow.

Draven had long since abandoned the Space rune, as it had no tangible benefit on the remnant he wished to make. He remembered the feeling of power coursing through his veins, like molten metal brimming with might. The refined hexion—a calm liquid—had been agitated, amplified to a point it had become berserk.

In that state, he could use less hexion to achieve better results. Attacks had been stronger, mending had been faster, and even infusing his body with it produced a strength previously unreachable.

That's what I want. Draven reminded himself once again. But it needs to have a way of controlling its output.

He drew Amplification in the center, encased it in a circle, and began carving the next rune before the nature of the Sixfold Corridor erased all his work. Regulation was next, followed by Amplification and Stability. The circuit flared with power as he fed hexion to activate it. The trickle of crimson liquid shone, its light abruptly becoming more brilliant until it fizzled out as the stone cracked.

Draven sighed. He was close, so close. But he couldn't shrug off the feeling that he was also incredibly far, misguided.

The deep recesses of his soul always brought a sense of peace, so that's where he went, seeking to empty his mind of the growing concerns. Would he make it in time? Were Finn and Elevalein alright? Without him to assist, they wouldn't hold the hexbeast at bay for long. How much time had it passed?

Solitude made even the biggest enmities small. Though he once despised the serpent, Draven now sought the comfort of another's voice—a brief conversation to assuage his worries. When he looked up, his eyes widened with sheer disbelief.

Morph's astra was as big as his. Three small balls of fire orbited around it, basking in the red and black flames of their larger counterpart. Four astras. Four sources of power that defied common sense.

"How's that possible?" Draven muttered to himself.

The red serpent popped out of the larger sphere, an excited glint in its slitted eyes. "What do you mean?"

In the months that passed, Morph had learned how to speak more eloquently. It was almost like a toddler learning from observing their parents. Draven shuddered at the thought. Since when had he become the father of a hexbeast?

"How do you have four astras? It shouldn't be possible. An astra is the nexus of your soul, the concentration point where your affinity connects to the realms beyond." Draven approached, inspecting the sphere with his eyes and senses. "It shouldn't be possible."

"It's not an astra." Morph jumped on Draven's shoulder, wrapping itself around his neck for support. "That's a storage. Look inside. No rift."

Draven ignored Morph's heat around his neck. The first time that happened, they had almost fought to the death due to the misunderstanding, yet now he found it comforting. He knew the serpent meant no harm; it never had. His hatred, his guilt, had distorted the previous events so he only saw yet another enemy looming above him.

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Now, he understood Morph's intention. The creature didn't have a secret plan like Helvan. It didn't hurt others for pleasure like the Sovrans did. It didn't hold a dark past like Corvanis. Morph was like a child, and all its actions had been influenced by what it had observed Draven himself doing.

The rage. The hatred. The loneliness. It was looking at a mirror and seeing his reflection.

"Who would've thought, you're quite smart." Draven nodded, patting the serpent on the head.

"I know," Morph hissed, closing its eyes.

Draven encompassed the astra and the orbiting spheres with his will, examining them. The astra was at the limit of how large it could become—any further attempts might cause its crystalline structure to burst apart. The three balls of flame hovered around it, condensations of refined hexion turned solid due to high concentration.

It was smart. Perhaps unheard of. Morph had used the proximity with his astra, and its natural pull to forge a container for the hexion his astra couldn't hold. The sphere hovered in a circle, perpetual, stable. No beginning. No end.

Inspiration struck Draven like a brick.

He opened his eyes. The dark room was unchanged, with no traces of any runes on the floor or debris from previous failed incidents. The Hemomorph's Mantle wrapped around his finger, forming a sharp claw that could easily cut through stone.

I've been thinking about the problem the wrong way. Remnants only have a linear structure if they can only be used once.

Draven carved Amplification, encasing it in a containment circle. Instead of connecting it to the next rune like words forming a sentence, he drew the runes around Amplification like a secondary sphere. He carved Absorption directly above it, with Regulation below, and Stability on both sides. Each rune was encased in a circular line, like a hexion being contained by an astra.

A single stroke connected Amplification to the runes below and above it.

Hexion trickled out of his hand, flowing into Absorption, passing through Amplification, then Regulation, before rotating through Stability. The remnant shone with a powerful light, stable, constant. Everlasting. He had done it. After countless attempts, months of ceaselessly combining runes, he had done it!

Abyss take me, I actually did it. Draven willed more hexion to flow, and the glow grew stronger. With another thought, he suppressed the flow, and the brightness dimmed. It actually… works.

Disbelief flooded his senses, alleviating the worry he had been feeling all along. It wouldn't be in vain. Though he couldn't advance in the Eminence ranks, he had gained an understanding about the making of remnants—a knowledge only held by the very Empyrean who created the Haven.

He only needed to find out how to inscribe the runic circuit into his flesh. The brand on his face was a wound of flesh and soul. Even though it originated from a burn, its scar persisted even in the Sixfold Corridor. That puzzled Draven to no end.

How could flesh harm the soul? A Mender couldn't attack the soul of another Empyrean, and an Evoker couldn't strike at the flesh—all practitioners of the Art knew that as soon as they formed their astra. Perhaps the runes operated by different rules.

Maybe…

Draven dove into his soul again, appearing outside of his shield. He inspected it with his will, scrutinizing every inch of the structure until he made sure it was impeccable. With another thought, he appeared in front of his astra. His will alone revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Not satisfied, Draven ordered the flames to subside. If his will couldn't find it, he'd have to rely on his ethereal sight. The moment he saw the imperfection in his crystalline astra, he gasped. It wasn't a crack or any sort of ridge. It was a rune, a wound carved through flesh and soul.

Amplification. It was the very rune that saved his life and condemned him to death. Jagged, unstable beyond common sense, it tore a chunk out of the center of his Empyrean power, branding it with a deficiency hidden in flames.

It was here all along.

Draven traced his finger gently along the surface of his astra, caressing the lines carved in it—the rune. It meant a great deal to him. A reminder of what he lost, what he had been forced to become. He doubted that the fight in the Orenn House would have ended with anything but his death were it not for this scar.

"I'm sorry." Draven sighed, feeling an insurmountable weight pressing down on his shoulders.

He willed the hexion to mend the imperfection, his astra draining at a visible pace as it battled the resistance from the rune. Draven steadied his will, refined his resolve, and with a last look, erased the rune from existence.

"I'm sorry, but from here on out, I will walk my own path." The Hemomorph's Mantle enveloped his finger.

Draven steadied his focus and began to carve. To reforge his destiny, he needed to become a living remnant.