NOVEL NEXT Chapter 118: Descent...
A flicker of tension sparked behind Ethan's eyes, but he didn't speak immediately. He studied her—her tone, her stance, her choice of words.
Not a declaration of war. Not yet. But a challenge, wrapped in doctrine.
"Then let me ask this," Ethan said. "What is the Crimson Accord? And why now?"
Ashara tilted her head slightly, strands of silver hair glinting under the moonlight. "The Accord is balance. We were formed during the War of Origin to preserve the sanctity of the deeper Labyrinths… to ensure that what was sealed below remained sealed. You've awakened a key, Ethan Drakethorne. And keys… invite doors."
Ethan's brow twitched. "I didn't awaken anything on purpose."
"No one ever does," Ashara replied. "Intent is irrelevant to the Labyrinth. Cause and effect are bound in deeper chains."
"Then answer this," he pressed. "The vision I saw—the black flame, the boy, the beast made of teeth—was that the future?"
Ashara's smile was faint, barely a curve. "No. It was the past."
A cold silence fell.
Behind Ethan, Nelda and David exchanged uncertain glances. Kaeryx let out a low, reverberating growl that made several Dragonkin kneel in instinctive submission. Ashara didn't flinch.
"You're saying that actually happened?" Ethan asked. "That thing was real?"
Ashara nodded. "Still is. Imprisoned. Bound by five anchors. The Rune Stones."
"And I've claimed one," Ethan muttered, understanding dawning.
"You've disturbed one," Ashara corrected. "Claiming comes later. But disturbance alone was enough for us to act."
Ethan inhaled deeply, then exhaled slow. "So why are you here, really? To kill me?"
Ashara blinked once, golden irises flickering like coins in fire.
"No," she said. "To test you."
At that moment, a pulse of pressure exploded from her body—a wave of essence unlike anything the others had felt before. Not just mana. Not aura. It was something older. Sacred. Almost divine. Kaeryx's wings flared, eyes narrowing.
"You carry a mark," Ashara continued. "One not native to this world."
She stepped forward, extending a single hand. In her palm, a crimson ember rose, flickering with unstable energy.
"This flame is soulbound," she said. "If you take it… the Accord will recognize you. Not as an enemy. Not as an ally. But as one worthy of trial. One who walks the border between fate and rebellion."
Ethan looked down at the ember. It pulsed slowly, faintly resonating with something deep in his chest—some echo of the same fire he'd seen in the vision.
He reached out.
Then hesitated.
"What happens if I fail?" he asked.
Ashara didn't answer right away.
Finally, she said, "Then the Accord burns you clean. No hatred. No vengeance. Just purpose."
Behind him, Nelda took a sharp step forward. "Ethan—"
He raised a hand to silence her.
"No one else interferes," he said quietly. "If this is my test… I face it alone."
Then he reached forward… and touched the flame.
A brilliant red light erupted from the ember—blinding in its intensity. Wind howled through the Sanctum. The very ground seemed to shift beneath their feet. Ethan clenched his teeth, feeling the flame enter him—not like fire, but like a weight settling into his soul.
It didn't hurt.
It recognized him.
Then the world stilled.
Ashara lowered her hand. "The Trial begins in three days," she said. "At moonrise, the Accord will open a gate below the Sanctum. Your trial lies in the old halls. Alone."
She turned away without another word.
The skyship descended again in silence, its engines whirring faintly as she rose to meet it, her red cloak fluttering once more.
Then it vanished into the clouds.
The moon hung low that evening, smudged by drifting clouds, as if the heavens themselves were reluctant to shine light on what was to come.
Inside the Sanctum's highest tower—once the meditation chamber of the Dragonkin elders, now repurposed into a war council chamber—Ethan stood by the open balcony, letting the cold mountain breeze wash over his face.
Below, the Sanctum had begun to change.
Once a den of authority and brutality, the atmosphere now shimmered with uncertainty. The dragonkin walked with lowered heads, silent in Kaeryx's presence, reverent and wary. Many of them had refused to meet Ethan's eyes, not out of defiance, but awe. He wasn't just a foreign invader anymore.
He was the chosen of the Dragon God.
At least, that's what they whispered.
Behind him, soft footsteps padded against the stone floor.
"You've barely slept," Nelda said, stopping a few feet away. "You're going to face something even the Accord respects. Don't you want to be at your best?"
Ethan didn't answer at first. His eyes were fixed on the eastern cliff, where the dragonkin had begun carving a statue of Kaeryx into the stone wall—an instinctive display of reverence. They had already begun to worship him. Which meant, indirectly, they worshipped him, too.
"I've never felt more awake," he said finally.
Nelda crossed her arms. "You're too calm."
"I don't have the luxury of fear."
She stared at him for a long moment, then asked quietly, "Do you trust them? The Accord?"
"I don't have to. The trial isn't about them. It's about me. The moment I touched that flame, I knew it. It didn't feel hostile. Just… absolute."
Silence lingered between them.
From the shadows, Kaeryx stirred. Its massive eye opened slowly, the vertical slit of its pupil narrowing in the moonlight.
I saw what she did to you.
Kaeryx's voice echoed directly into Ethan's mind, filled with a strange mixture of curiosity and warning. That mark—the Accord's Flame—it doesn't burn like the soulfire. It bends the soul.
"I felt it," Ethan replied aloud, not bothering to hide the exchange from Nelda. "But it didn't try to control me."
Not yet.
"Then I'll control it first."
Kaeryx snorted faintly—a sound like an old forge flaring to life—and shut its eye once more.
—
The Next Day
Preparations swept through the Sanctum like wildfire.
Though Kaeryx had declared the Dragonkin subdued, Ethan had ordered no bloodshed. Instead, he had begun organizing a restructuring—turning what had once been a militant base into something closer to a research outpost.
Several among the enslaved had come forward—humans, dwarves, even one elf—offering their knowledge about deeper layers of the Great Labyrinth in exchange for protection and freedom.
Ethan agreed.
Word was spreading fast—beyond the Sanctum, beyond the mountains. Someone had claimed a Sanctum and was preparing for a deeper descent. Rumors of Kaeryx alone would be enough to draw the attention of foreign powers.
But none of that mattered yet.
Because in three nights, the Accord would open a gate that hadn't been walked in centuries.
—
The Night Before the Trial
Ethan gathered the group in the inner courtyard, lit by braziers of golden flame.
David stood with his arms folded, the heavy steel ringblade he'd forged himself resting at his back. Nelda sat cross-legged on a broken pillar, sharpening her dual sabers. Even Rolo, the quiet slime, shimmered faintly atop a marble slab, absorbing stray motes of light.
It wasn't a feast. It wasn't even a celebration.
It was a moment to breathe.
And they all knew it might be their last together.
"So," David said after a long pause. "Are we going to pretend this isn't insane?"
Ethan glanced at him. "I'm not pretending."
"You're walking into a trial designed by a faction older than most nations," David muttered. "That's not bravery. That's…" He trailed off. "No. Actually, that is bravery. It's just insane."
Nelda didn't look up from her blade. "He has to go. We all felt the pull. The moment he touched that flame, the air changed."
"I know," David said. "Doesn't mean I like it."
Ethan smiled faintly. "I'll come back. Kaeryx believes I can."
Kaeryx, perched at the far edge of the courtyard like a watchful mountain, rumbled in agreement.
The Accord does not test to destroy. It tests to awaken.
"But awaken what?" David asked.
Kaeryx didn't answer.
—
At Midnight
A vibration passed through the ground.
It was subtle at first. Then stronger. The torches lining the Sanctum walls flickered wildly. A low hum echoed from below, like a thousand voices chanting beneath the stone.
Ethan stood and turned to face the sanctum's central altar.
Crimson light began to pour from the dragon-carved fissure at its base. The Rune Stone—his Rune Stone—began to resonate.
Kaeryx's wings flared once, briefly, before folding behind its back.
The gate opens. You must walk alone.
Ethan nodded, walking forward as the fissure split wider. A spiral staircase of red-black stone unfolded downward, leading into the earth.
He paused at the top, looking back at the others.
"I'll be back," he said.
Then, with only the sound of his breath and the soft thrum of the flame inside him, Ethan descended into the depths.
The descent was long.
Ethan lost count of the steps after the hundredth turn. The deeper he went, the more time and space seemed to blur. The stairway shifted colors, from crimson to deep violet, from pitch black to glimmering silver, and back again.
Finally, it opened into a vast chamber—circular, lined with runes that pulsed with rhythm like a heartbeat.
At the center stood a throne of bone and obsidian.