Crimson Ascension

The group walked in a somber mood. The heartbeat of hexbeast surrounded Draven in concerning numbers—too many to count—but not a single one made their move. An unspoken truce had been established, or perhaps the creatures were biding their time.

Helvan seemed to agree, a frown and narrowed eyes never leaving his face. His hand never strayed too far from the sword at his hip.

Draven trained the Unbreakable Veil as he walked, dividing a small portion of his attention to break the shield and remake it. The dome of darkness around his astra might still cave under a series of strikes, but each failure brought more resilience to it.

Once, Myra's Presence had been enough to shatter it in seconds, but now the shield did not budge even while under Corvanis's full strength. It was a nice reminder that his hard work paid off, slowly but surely.

A heartbeat grew agitated, reluctant. Scared. Draven glanced to the side as a hexbeast that looked like an overgrown lizard approached with reddened eyes. Lesser Reverence. The strength of its astra was piddling, but he did not underestimate it.

"I got this one." Finn drew a straight sword from his hip. "Come, come, little guy, I'm not gonna hurt you."

The hexbeast hissed, springing to motion with four swift limbs. It lunged at him, missing a bite at his hip. Finn stepped forward, delivering a simple chop at the beast's neck. The sword dug in only a few inches. Shallow.

He yanked the blade out, eyes narrowing.

Blood poured out of the creature's wounds, staining the ground, wafting into the air. Draven felt something within himself stirring—the Hemomorph—but he suppressed it with a wrathful intent. It had the guts to possess his body, meddle in his hexion control, and even steal from him.

Come out again, and it'll be the last time you see the light of day. Enough was enough.

The hexbeast screeched and lashed with its tail. The air hissed and parted as a wave of hexion went out with the motion. Finn raised his sword to parry the unseen blow, but a long gash opened on the side of his torso.

"You little fucker!" he roared, closing the distance with a set of measured strikes.

The hexbeast did not bother dodging, it relied on the thick red scales protecting its body as it tried to exchange a cut for a bite. Finn did not give it a chance.

A well-placed slash carved one of its fingers, sending it off balance for a moment. He raised his sword, ready to plunge it into the beast's chest, but stumbled forward as if pushed, and the beast took the chance to land a vicious bite on his arm.

Draven moved to help, but Helvan held him back. "I want to see what manner of Dreamer he is."

Blood poured out of his arm, out of the missing chunk of flesh on his dominant hand, but rather than worry, Finn only smiled. He roared, eyes pulsing with white light. Suddenly, the hexbeast's movements became sluggish, easy to read.

Its tail lashed in three consecutive motions, but Finn parried them all. He moved forward, weaving between unseen blades of wind, noticeably faster than the beast, and plunged his sword into its heart.

The hexbeast wheezed and stopped moving.

Finn knelt by its side, opening the creature's head with a small dagger, and a few minutes later returned with a small core in hand. "One down! Hope you're taking some notes, Draves."

"What did you do?" Draven asked, confused by what he had witnessed.

Finn and the hexbeast had been evenly matched in speed, but that changed when he performed some sort of Art. He did not get faster, but the beast became slower.

"Ever had the dream where you try to run but you're so damn slow?" Finn grinned. "Lucid Dreaming can conjure captured nightmares into the world, but it's damn taxing on my reserves."

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"So, you made it slower." Draven nodded, genuine surprise on his face. "Why the abyss are you always complaining when you can do useful stuff like this?"

Finn shook his head. "Complaining about being a genius is part of my charm."

"Just shut up and come here." Draven grabbed him by the arm, flooding hexion to mend the chunk of missing flesh on his arm. "There. Good as new."

Finn raised an eyebrow. "You make it seem so effortless…"

Draven found Finn's surprise puzzling. Mending such a minor injury cost him little to no hexion, after all. Rather than ask about it, Draven extended his hand. "My services are not free, lord Aemon."

"Stop! You know I hate that maker-damned name." Finn grumbled, handing the hexbeast's core out. "It's not like I have a fancy Az'Tenri Circlet, anyway. Knock yourself out before that snake thing eats it."

You don't need to remind me. Draven sighed in frustration.

Even while maintaining a tight rein over his will, he could not guarantee restraining the Hemomorph. He suspected nothing short of the veotherium dampeners could solve the issue. But to cripple his Empyrean prowess while stranded in the Fallen's Tomb was not something he was willing to do.

He grabbed the core from Finn, mustering all his focus into suppressing the Hemomorph. The circlet activated, drawing in the fabric of the obsidian core—assimilating it—until it dissolved into thin air. Still, Draven felt no tangible changes. He fell short of meeting whatever threshold was required to unlock the attributes.

But not by much; he knew it.

On a whim, he willed the circlet to absorb his refined hexion, letting the reserves within his astra reduce by half before a thrum shook his soul. Draven smiled as he understood what that meant.

Draven Von Astrais

Providence: Dyad Vessel - Refinement [Greater]

Malediction: None

Path: Blood - Eminence [Lesser]

—

REC: 0

DUR: 0

ART: Hemomorph's Mantle [1/1]

—

+1

He inspected the scripture for changes, scrutinizing every word, until his eyes fell onto the very last line. Interesting. +1, eh? He willed the hexion store inside the number to flow into Durability without having to think twice. After all, there was no point of being‌ able to mend wounds if anything could hurt him.

To suffer potentially fatal injuries from a Greater Reverence hexbeast had been a lesson he intended to take once.

The hexion flooded his body, melding into his flesh, swimming amidst his blood vessels. The sensation was warm at first. Gentle. Soon, like the flip of a switch, warmth turned into the fury of a dozen pyres.

Draven fell on the floor, convulsing, gritting his teeth as the pain strangled the wind out of his lungs. He could not move. Not one inch. The heat ceased every nerve and muscle fiber, breaking them. Remaking it. It knew not what was to be gentle.

"Draven!" Finn knelt by his side. "Helvan, what's going on?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, I imagine," the Sovran spoke in an unconcerned tone. "To reforge a body with hexion is not a pleasant experience."

After a few minutes, the pain faded away. Draven stood up, an embarrassed look on his face. "I'm alright, Finn. It just… caught me off guard."

"Alright?" he scoffed. "You looked like someone was twisting your ball off!"

The blush on Draven's face took a deeper shade. The pain itself had been mild compared to what he was used to, but whatever the circlet had done to his body had sent him to a helpless state.

I'm not doing this again in the middle of nowhere. If I do it in the middle of a fight… I'm as good as dead.

Draven flexed his muscles, trying and failing to spot a change in how tough his boy was. His skin felt more rigid, he thought. Maybe I'm overthinking. Eager to find out, Draven unsheathed a dagger from his belt and methodically pressed it against his arm.

"You're not doing that psycho stuff again!" Finn snapped the blade out of his hand. "Didn't I tell you how creepy it is when you cut yourself…" his outraged tone slowly gave place to silence.

Draven followed his gaze, already urging hexion to mend the wound, except he found nothing but a thin white line that gradually gained color. Before long, it disappeared like a dream in the morning light.

Not a single drop of blood. He frowned. The dagger was sharp; he was sure of it. Though he did not put enough strength to cut his flesh, there should have been at least a scratch.

"Now you understand, Draven." Helvan walked up to him, hands crossed behind his back. "Scions of the Great Houses, those who wield Az'Tenri Circlets, are unlike the average Empyrean."

"The Attributes may vary depending on the path on treads, so you will not find an Evoker who has enhanced Durability. In fact, you will find no one but a Mender with those attributes." He sighed, motioning for the group to follow. "Come, it is time you know what other people are capable of."

"Why now?" Draven could not help but ask. "You had enough time to tell me before, but didn't."

"The chances of you running into another wielder of a circlet were slim before." Helvan looked at him, his eyes absorbing all the surrounding light. "In this place, however, it is but a matter of time."