Each step into the depths of the Crimson Vault seemed to steal warmth from Adrian's skin. The stone walls were slick with centuries of dampness, lit only by torches that ignited on their own as he passed. The silence was heavy—not dead, but waiting.
Lord Vaelen walked ahead, his movements silent, like a shadow that never truly touched the earth.
"You feel it, don't you?" Vaelen said, without turning. "The pull of your inheritance."
Adrian swallowed hard. "I feel… something. Like my heart knows this place. Even though I've never been here."
"You are awakening," Vaelen said. "Blood remembers what memory forgets."
They reached the bottom of the stairwell. Before them stood a massive iron door, carved with symbols Adrian couldn't read but somehow understood—sigils of dominion, sacrifice, eternity.
Vaelen pressed his palm to the center. The door groaned open.
Inside lay a vast circular chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness. Red crystals embedded in the walls pulsed with a faint light, illuminating stone coffins, ancient weapons, and relics from forgotten ages. At the heart of the chamber stood a black obsidian throne.
Adrian stepped forward, drawn to it. As he did, his vision blurred. The air shimmered, and suddenly—
—he saw fire. Cities in ruin. A kingdom hidden beneath the world. A war of blood and betrayal. And a figure—himself—seated on the throne, his eyes glowing with power and pain.
He staggered back.
Vaelen caught him by the shoulder. "Visions of what may come. Of what must."
"I don't understand," Adrian said, breathless. "Why give all this to me?"
"Because I am dying, Adrian," Vaelen said quietly. "The sun claims even the greatest of us in time. I have ruled for eight hundred years, but the Crimson Empire must have a new sovereign before I fade."
"Why not one of your kind?"
Vaelen's expression darkened. "They are corrupted by power. You—your heart is untainted. Mortal still. That makes you dangerous… and necessary."
From beneath his cloak, Vaelen withdrew a blade—slim, silver-edged, and carved with runes.
"With this," he said, "I can awaken your true nature. Not a full turning—yet. But enough to bond you to the Crimson Line. You will not be human after tonight."
Adrian stared at the blade. At the throne. At the shadows watching from the edges of the chamber.
This was no longer a dream. No longer a story in a book.
It was a choice.
"Do it," Adrian whispered.
Vaelen smiled—gently, for the first time. "So be it."
And with a swift, precise motion, he cut Adrian's palm—and the Crimson Legacy began.