Crimson Ascension

Helvan gazed at the ceiling beyond the clouds. A few torches no longer lit with the gentle light of night. It was unnatural. Eerie. Frightening. It made the night darker than usual for some—a Perfected had died, the dark prophecies spoken in whispers by the superstitious were proving to be true.

The Maker could hide from the rumors no longer. His power was waning, his life was ending. Death. It was a simple concept of life, existing as a shadow under all who lived. If something were alive, then death would sooner or later come for it.

He was no exception.

The fear that realization brought to those who witnessed the fall of a Perfected has resonated within the confusion Helvan now felt bursting inside his chest. None of what had transpired after Draven fought the will of Untaak'Dor had transpired according to prophecies dreamt by Korvax. None of it! Abyss take him, Corvanis was not supposed to die this soon. The Perfected was not meant to fight them.

Draven was not supposed to vanish.

Helvan did not fear for the young Archon's safety anymore. Powerful as he had become, there were few in the Haven who could pose a threat to him. The Silver Flame Inquisition would gather to avenge the death of a captain. The other two Perfected would hunt him down.

For the first time in years, Helvan didn't know what to do. "This is not what you showed me. What happened? The future changes once a Dreamer glimpses it, but even that action is restrained by the ties of fate. Like a leaf falling on the ground, it might waver from side to side, but its destination is meant to be."

"You've grown fond of poetry, old friend? It's good to see some of your sense of self has returned." A voice chuckled from the darkness. The silhouette of a man, woven out of faint white light, watched Helvan. "I've pondered the same question over and over. A Dreamer can glimpse the future, if they are lucky, but they couldn't hope to ever truly change it."

"Change is an illusion." Korvax nodded. "Slight deviations, yet the outcome is the same."

"Precisely. Slight deviations. No matter how much I tried, those deviations—the ripples—never became waves." The man walked out of the shadow. Hair light brown, the lean, tall body of a Sovran contrasting with his clothes, which were woven of light and white mist. "But what if someone else could? What if they had the… it isn't strength, I suppose. More like an affinity. An ease to bend the fabric of fate."

"The Fragments of Eternity, you mean."

That elicited a nod from the man. "Draven has not one, but two. The last Fragment, the one thought lost, the circlet forged by Asthagon himself."

"The Maker holds dominion over five, Korvax." Helvan shook his head at the Dream Echo. With his presence shielding Finn, at least one of their problems had been solved. The Maker would have a hard time finding the boy in Daesvor. "I do not sense his hand in the weavings of fate."

"We wouldn't know it, old friend." Korvax shook his head. "He might have attuned himself to the other Paths with the Fragments he stole, but that doesn't make him an Archon of every single Path. Besides, with Fallen let loose, he will be occupied for the unforeseeable future."

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"What about the boy? He's vanished. None of Menders of the Witnesses of the Beyond can track the sample of his blood—"

"Are you surprised? He's the Archon of Blood, Osenthar!"

"I have abandoned that name long ago." Helvan frowned but conceded the point.

Draven's growth in the Empyrean Arts had been carefully orchestrated. Why bother teaching anything but the basics if he could learn it from the beast slain for the single purpose of forging him into a weapon? It was counterproductive.

"Still, he cannot be allowed to roam free. All our plans will be in vain if we leave him to his own devices." Helvan insisted.

They needed to slowly expose Draven to more danger, marinating him with the right combinations between tragedy and reward to foster his determination—his motivation to strike at their foe. The death of his family and Myra had been a great incentive. Perhaps if Elevalein were to die, it would push him even further.

"And who will stop me?" A cold voice echoed from behind Helvan, sending chills down his spine.

He turned around, willing Chronos Domain to unfold. The world drained of all color. Korvax's eyes were frozen in shock. Draven stared at Helvan, face boiling with fury, red hair flowing in the air as if on fire. Abyss take me, was he here all along? How did he avoid my detection? Helvan scrambled for an excuse, for a way to turn things around.

He had heard too much. Helvan had to—

The ideas flitting chaotically inside his head froze as something grabbed hold of him. It had no hands, not that Helvan could see, yet he felt a prisoner to a vicious grip. He willed his body to move, yet it did not respond to him. By the Fallen God, what have we created? Helvan let Chronos Domain go, for holding it was meaningless. Draven ruled his blood, as if holding his heart in his palm.

"Dr—-" Helvan tried to speak, yet his jaws remained shut. His blood was no longer his. The mere thought of it terrified him. Ruling the unspilled blood of an Empyrean of his caliber was nearly impossible, yet Draven did without one hint of strain.

"I've had enough of listening to your lies, Helvan," Draven said, his tone frigid as ice.

He raised a hand and pointed at Helvan. Blood flowed out of Helvan's skin, congealing into a solid crystal that hovered in front of Draven's palms. The boy looked at it, as if contemplating what to do, before putting it away.

"Don't look for me. Stay away from Finn and Elevalein." He looked at Korvax for the first time since making his presence known. "Both of you."

"Son, you have to know—"

"Save it, Korvax." Draven turned to leave. "The bindings of fate shackle me no longer. I will do what I must. I'll protect those whom I hold dear, and if you ever try to take them from me again, I swear you'll regret it."

His silhouette vanished in the night, just as silently as it had arrived. Helvan stood frozen, his blood restrained by a force too strong to contain. At times like this, he hated the Maker for forging the seal that restrained his power. But if he were free, could he fight Draven's control off? That he had to ask it showed just how much the boy—no, the man—had grown in power.

It wasn't until half an hour later that he regained control over his body. Helvan looked at Korvax, but the bitterness in the man's face dissuaded him from any conversation. He, of all those who had orchestrated the rise of the Archon of Blood, was the only one whose hands were the bloodiest. Not even death had brought him respite; his sins stuck to his echo like a curse—like a reminder of what he did, and what he'd have to do.

Helvan would do what it took to secure a future for the Haven. No matter the cost. No matter what he had to sacrifice. If that put him at odds with the weapon he had forged to fulfil his will, so be it. Draven could have his life once it was over, not one second before.

He looked at the fading torches one more time before walking into the night.