Crimson Ascension

Draven sat on a comfortable couch, enjoying the melody of a myriad of instruments being played by masterful hands. Waiters walked with silver plates full of marvelous dishes and drinks of vibrant colors, but none of that caught his attention; the view in front of him was too otherworldly to ignore.

From the highest floor of the Soaring Spire, an expensive restaurant that catered to the rich and powerful, Draven witnessed the entirety of Varn'Kess. The city was built surrounding a crater, a depression in the terrain that did not appear natural, and the buildings that sprouted in its surroundings did their best to stay straight. In the very center of the hole, a black rent in reality stole light, pulsing with an ethereal beat that resembled that of a heart.

It's almost as if… It's alive. Draven attempted to regain his composure, but failed.

Being a miner had been simple, though the cruelty of the daily routine certainly did not make it a desirable lifestyle. As Empyrean, however, he had to walk among Sovrans who wielded incredible magic, look at a fracture in reality while standing on the floor of a restaurant that was at least a few hundred paces above the floor.

It's some ratshit alright. He calmly smelled the fragrant tea, trying to appear unbothered by the view. It's a good thing I'm wearing a damn mask.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" An unusually deep, arrogant voice brought his attention away from the windows. "A masked man trying to drink tea through the holes of his nose? Suspicious!"

Draven turned with a smile under his mask. "Finn, lazy bastard! I thought you'd sleep until you died."

"Hey!" Finn chuckled, pulling out a chair and sitting beside him. "Some of us gotta work hard to become stronger, unlike a certain suspiciously masked super-criminal."

"Dammit, man. Lower your voice!" Draven muttered in a hush. "And in what world does sleeping count as hard work?"

"Daesvor, the land of dreams, my ignorant friend. Weird place, that one." Finn raised his hand to call an attendant to his table. "I gotta say, being an Empyrean is all well and good, but I don't remember signing up to be attacked by random nightmares. Every. Damn. Time."

"Any progress, my lesser friend?" He moved the mask to sip the tea, but something in Finn's posture caught his attention. Draven unfolded a part of his Presence, brushing it against his friend's unveiled astra. "Or should I say, Median friend?"

"Damn right you should!" Finn grabbed a drink from a passing attendant, downing it in one sip. "Before you know it, I'll catch up to you."

"Are you now?" With a smile, Draven let the darkness seep away from the Unbreakable Veil.

Draven allowed the foreign Presence to intrude into the domain of his soul, prod the shield, and peek within. But he had to suppress a chuckle when Finn's proud expression turned into stunned silence.

"Lesser Eminence," Finn muttered, stunned. "In two months… and you haven't even been trying. Seriously, man, you give me creeps sometimes."

Before Draven could say anything, someone else intruded on his conversation.

"I see you ignored my advice again," Helvan spoke as he approached with Corvanis in tow. "I might as well stop giving it if you refuse to listen."

"How's that surprising, Finn?" Corvanis asked, taking a seat as he nodded to Draven. "You are talking to a man who went from Lesser Reverence to Greater Reverence in four days. Without training."

The compliment surprised Draven, given his father's killer had been the one to produce it, but what got his attention was the lost look on Helvan's face. The Sovran stood frozen, his hand extended as if to grab a cup, his lips trembling slightly.

They say time heals all wounds, but that's ratshit. Draven adjusted the mask on his face. Time had not healed the rune scar on his flesh, nor did it soothe the pain of losing his family and Myra. That a Chroner, an Empyrean who ruled over time, felt lost at the mere mention of those four days Draven wished to forget was enough to make him accept that the pain would never truly disappear.

He had to live with it. Burying it deep within his soul, hiding from the feelings certain names evoked, was not a solution.

"Say, Gramps." Draven nudged Helvan with an elbow, bringing his attention back to the world. "I know keeping secrets is your number one hobby, but isn't it about time you told us what in the abyss we're still doing in this damned city?"

Helvan sighed, collecting himself and taking a sip of tea. "Not yet, Draven. After what happened yesterday, we cannot afford to move the plan forward."

"What do you mean?" Finn frowned.

"Draven lost control." It was Corvanis who replied. "I told Myra—" He bit his tongue, a sad wince making him hesitate. "I… told her grafting a core into a person was not wise. Who was to know the consequences of it? There have been so few survivors, if any, from the process that it is impossible to know what effects it would have."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Draven snarled, "Why are you spinning it like it's my fault? You better shut your damn mouth before I—"

"I am not." Corvanis cut him off. "Before you what? Think you can throw your weight against me, boy? Try it. I am waiting."

"Enough!" Helvan slammed his fist on the table, sending cracks spreading throughout the wood.

The man looked at his hand with shock, almost as if surprised by the outburst, but he soon collected himself with a sigh. "For the damages and disturbance." He rummaged through his pocket, producing ten hexion cubes to place at the table.

"Corvanis, you will train Draven," the raven-haired Sovran said. "You once were no better than he at controlling your emotions."

Draven stood up from the chair. "I'll pass, old man—"

"I did not ask you. He will teach you. You. Will. Learn." Each of Helvan's words came out through barely contained rage. "Korvax entrusted your life to me, and I intend to make sure you are ready to face what is coming."

Before Draven could ask the once old man to elaborate, a tremor interrupted him with the force of a natural disaster. Glass fell from the counter of the restaurant's bar, bottles of spirits clinking together and producing an eerie sound that grew to a crescendo.

A wave of hexion passed through Draven's body, infiltrating his soul, and dissipating once it hit the Unbreakable Veil. He stumbled, surprised, before regaining his balance. With no need to ask, he looked through the window, searching for the source of the overbearing, all-encompassing Presence.

"The Fallen stirs," Helvan muttered, and he walked to get a better view.

Draven focused on enhancing his vision with hexion and looked at the fracture in space and air. Tiny black and gold dots erupted from the rent, like a swarm of ants abandoning their nest. From the city, a hundred figures gathered in wait, dressed in silver and green armour.

The bartender approached with a white cloth in hand, sweat building on his forehead. "Another outbreak so soon. It's no wonder House Astrais is organizing an Incursion with the Magisterium Arcana. Maker knows what in the Haven is happening."

"What do you mean, good man?" Finn tapped the man on his shoulder.

"It's a Hexbeast outbreak, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary, really," the bartender winced, trying to convince himself.

"For something that common, you're pale and sweating like you saw a Perfected?" Finn shook his head, letting his Presence unfold alongside his words. His eyes, once black, shone like white lanterns. "I ask you again, what is going on?"

"Alright. Alright! Outbreaks happen once a year, it's common sense. But this is the third time this year that those damned beasts wreak havoc in our city. The third! Maker protects us all." The bartender looked up and sent a prayer. "Some are even saying the Maker should send a Perfected to stay in the city until it gets back to normal."

"Let us hope it doesn't come to that," Corvanis shivered.

Draven ignored the conversation between Finn and the bartender. House Astrais, hm? Sounds like Elevalein has his hands filled. He wondered if the dire situation in Varn'Kess had been the reason to push the lord to seek the truth about his father's fate—an Az'Tenri Circlet was useful in times like this.

As the battle in the distance ensued, the scent of blood travelled amidst the winds. Draven sensed the heartbeats of a few empyreans fading out of this world, even as hundreds of Hexbeasts were felled. But the longer he watched, the more he felt a foreign emotion sneakily attempting to wrestle his choices.

He had to stop himself from grinning at the metallic taste that filled his nostrils. Maybe Helvan is right. I need to get this… thing under control. I can't afford to lose control.

***

Draven walked amidst the bustling streets of Varn'Kess, making way to the arena Helvan rented for his training with Corvanis. The alleys were empty; no one dared to venture outside after a recent outbreak. Who knew if the Evokers of House Astrais had taken care of all Hexbeasts? He could sense no inhuman heartbeats nearby, but it was pointless to convince the common folk of it.

Whenever he got closer to the crater, the scent of blood threatened to draw his steps closer, but he kept the feeling in check. Or tried to. Draven did not know if it was curiosity or the Hemomorph's meddling that tempted him, but he decided to find out.

One look won't hurt. He remembered saying similar words before, and the events that unfolded certainly hurt. I'm not powerless anymore, he thought.

Before he realized it, Draven stood on the edge of the crater. The residential and commercial buildings had long since given place to military barricades, stone and metal spikes bursting out of the ground to impale creatures borne from nightmares.

A permanent sort of black ink stained the red leathery skin of the Hexbeast, much like what the plague looked like in the Catalyst Districts. The creatures resembled nothing he had ever seen, nor did they belong to a single species. Some resembled nightmarish horses, while others looked similar to Paradius Orenn in his Chaos Form.

Just thinking about that man made Draven's blood boil. He was glad Helvan killed him, truly. But abyss take him if he did not regret blacking out and failing to avenge his family and Myra with his own hands.

Can't change the past.

Soldiers patrolled the area, some even carrying the bodies of fallen comrades, while Menders tended to the wounded. Draven did not feel obligated to help; these were not his people, and they would turn on him the moment his face was uncovered.

"Sir!" An armoured man approached him with a stern face. "Please step away from the choking point. It's not safe. Once the Evokers have confirmed all beasts were slain, the city shall be notified."

Draven departed with a nod.

Making his way to meet Corvanis, a familiar heartbeat entered his ears, buried under a multitude of living people. Draven was surprised he could discern Finn's tune with such certainty, especially since he had not even been trying. Still, he made his way to him, but stopped once he felt the Presences of four men who surrounded his friend.

Finn stood inside a dark alley, surrounded by armoured men who waved their hands in threatening motions. They looked unlike the rank-and-file soldiers seen at the choking point, and they meant business.

Is he in trouble? He gritted his teeth and circulated hexion throughout his body, debating if he should take out the dampers—facing four Empyreans at once was no easy feat. Dammit Finn, what did you do now?

His questions and worry soon faded as Finn walked out of the alley without a scratch, a dark frown etched on his face. Soon, the four men followed, parting ways to mingle into the building crowd that repopulated the streets, but Draven glimpsed the symbol etched in the chest of one of them.

It resembled a silver flame.