The fire crackled beside us, casting flickering shadows against the jagged walls of the cave. Elarion sat cross-legged across from me, his expression carved in solemn stillness. His silver eyes shimmered with the flames, twin mirrors reflecting something ancient… something haunted.
"The Crimsons," he began, voice low, "are not just powerful beings. They are the first powers—primordial, ancient entities that no being in history has ever defeated."
He let that hang in the air like a death sentence.
"Not mortals. Not kings. Not even us."
I swallowed. "Then… no one can stop them?"
Elarion's jaw tightened. "No one—except the Emperors… and the Varkai."
That last word struck something deep within me. Like a name half-remembered from a dream.
"Varkai…?" I echoed, the word bitter on my tongue. "What are they?"
He didn't look at me. His gaze stayed on the fire, but his voice dropped a degree colder.
"The Crimsons are not of this world. They were the first to walk it—but not born from it. They came from a plane beyond our comprehension. They are older than time, older than gods. Their power doesn't obey the laws of mana or soul. They shape reality as easily as clay."
I felt a cold weight settle in my chest. A phantom pressure, like a memory just out of reach.
And then it came—unbidden.
That man's voice.
The one I'd once called Father.
"I'll raise a son who will surpass those Emperor bastards…"
I clenched my fists. I remembered his eyes—filled with hatred, with purpose. And yet… he had never once spoken of the Varkai.
"Why do the Crimsons want to remove the Emperors and the Varkai?" I asked, the question tumbling out of me. "What are they really after?"
Elarion's shoulders stiffened. He looked away, into the flames, as if searching for an answer in their dance.
"They want to rewrite fate," he finally said. "To control it. Rule it. Shape it to match the world they once lost."
From his cloak, he pulled a jagged crystal—translucent, shimmering with a thousand colors like sunlight through oil.
"This," he said, "is a Future Crystal. A relic used by the Crimsons to peer into potential timelines. It doesn't show what will happen—only what could. And what they see… terrifies them."
I stared at the crystal. Its colors pulsed, hypnotic. Beautiful. Terrible.
"They want to create something," Elarion continued, "a being not bound by divinity or mortality. A god in flesh. Born of prophecy, raised in shadows, wielding power even the Crimsons cannot contain."
He looked at me now.
Dead on.
And I knew what he wasn't saying.
I whispered it under my breath, a name I didn't understand but somehow felt carved into my soul:
Mydeimos…
I said it again. And again. Like a chant. A warning. A prophecy in motion.
"Do we know who this being is?" I asked.
Elarion didn't answer immediately. His silence was the answer.
"No."
The word cut like a blade.
I felt the weight of everything pressing down—my past, the mystery of my birth, the Crimson aura that burned beneath my skin. I thought of my sensei. The training. The path I was supposed to follow.
I wasn't ready for it.
Not like this.
"…Elarion," I said, barely louder than the wind. "Can we delay my return to my sensei?"
He blinked, surprised. "Delay it? Why?"
I looked down, knuckles pale. "Because I need to control this. If I go back now, I'll be more danger than help. This Crimson thing… it's not just inside me. It is me. And it's only getting stronger."
He studied me silently, then nodded for me to continue.
"I'm asking you," I said, voice steadier now. "Train me. Teach me how to control it. Before it controls me."
The wind outside howled, distant wolves answering its cry.
Finally, Elarion exhaled. "You don't know what you're asking."
"I do," I said.
"No," he repeated, more sternly. "You think you do."
He rose to his feet, shadows casting long over the walls. "Crimson power isn't like mana. It's not meant to be tamed. It feeds on you. Every time you call on it, you lose something. Control. Clarity. Humanity."
I stood too, meeting his gaze head-on. "Then I'll lose whatever I must. I'm done being afraid."
Elarion narrowed his eyes, then finally—slowly—nodded.
"Very well. Training begins at dawn."
Just then, Elivyne entered the cave, her expression unreadable.
"I need to speak with Elarion," she said.
I stepped outside, the cold biting into my bones. I stood still beneath the dark sky, listening through the stone walls.
"…You're really going to train a Crimson half-breed?" Elivyne's voice was low, skeptical.
Elarion responded with a tired sigh. "I don't know what he is. But I believe… he can change the future."
There was a pause.
"…Then I'll trust your judgment," she whispered.
That night, I barely slept.
My dreams were full of crimson rivers, collapsing worlds, and a coiled serpent watching me from the void. Its eyes glowed like dying stars. Its voice slithered through my mind in words I couldn't understand.
[Three Weeks Later]
The cave had become a crucible. A prison. A forge for my soul.
Elarion's training broke me down to the bone—and then forced me to rebuild. He showed me how to suppress the Crimson surges, how to breathe through the madness, how to meditate while the hunger whispered in my veins.
Some days, I won.
Other days, I woke covered in claw marks. With voices still echoing in my skull.
"You're progressing faster than I expected," Elarion told me one morning. "But something inside you… it's waking up."
And then it happened.
We were sparring—again. I was faster than ever, striking with precision, flowing around his attacks like water.
Then he landed one clean hit to my chest.
That was all it took.
The world exploded.
A shockwave burst from me so violently it shattered the back wall of the cave.
And I didn't move an inch.
I just stood there—trembling. Burning.
Crimson aura erupted from every pore. My veins glowed like molten lava. My thoughts weren't mine anymore.
And then, a voice—dark, alien—slid out of my mouth:
"All things fall to blood."
Elarion didn't hesitate. A glowing sigil slammed into my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs.
Everything went black.
When I came to, he was standing over me, panting.
"You're close," he said. "Too close."
And for the first time—I saw it in his eyes.
Fear.
[Elsewhere… Far away]
A dark chamber. Columns of obsidian rising into endless blackness. The walls pulsed with veins of blood.
At the center sat a massive throne of jagged stone.
Upon it—a cloaked figure. Shadow wrapped him like a second skin. His face was hidden, but his presence was overwhelming. Ancient. Predatory.
He had been watching.
Sensing.
The prophecy stirred. The serpent writhed.
He raised one hand. Mist coiled like smoke from his fingers.
And he spoke—in a voice like bone grinding against stone.
"Ahshbehbsh…"
The word echoed across the chamber.
And the wind whispered its translation across the world:
"There's a tasty, powerful snake out there…"