The world returned in fragments.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Each drop echoed through the hollow silence, falling into what sounded like a pool of blood. When Arin's eyes opened, the light was dim and gold-tinted — the kind that comes from torches burning low. The ceiling above him was carved from black stone, veins of crimson light pulsing faintly through its cracks, like the entire place was alive.
He tried to move.
Pain answered first.
> "Warning: cellular regeneration incomplete."
The voice was faint now, weaker. He felt the ring cold on his hand, its glow extinguished — as if it had gone dormant after the battle.
Arin exhaled shakily. "Where… am I?"
"Beneath what's left of the world," a voice said.
He turned his head. Lya Serin leaned against the wall nearby, her armor replaced by a sleeveless black vest bearing the Fang insignia of the Blood Wardens. A crimson scarf hung loosely around her neck, half torn, half scorched. There were burns across her shoulder, and her left arm was in a brace, but she still looked composed — like a general who refused to die.
"You've been out for three days," she continued. "Your corruption stabilized at seventy percent before the ring sealed itself. You're lucky to still have a heartbeat."
Arin sat up slowly, his muscles protesting. "Lucky isn't the word I'd use."
"No," Lya said softly, "I imagine not."
She walked to the center of the chamber, where an iron seal marked the floor. Strange runes surrounded it, arranged in circular formation — containment symbols. "We call this place the Sanctum of Ash. It's where the Wardens keep what can't be destroyed."
"Like me?"
Her gaze flicked to him. "Exactly like you."
---
The heavy doors creaked open. Two figures entered, draped in ceremonial armor made of obsidian and gold. Between them walked an older man with snow-white hair and a long coat of scarlet. His eyes glowed faintly red, the mark of someone who had survived the blood pact longer than any mortal should.
"Commander Serin," he said. "Report."
Lya straightened. "Subject Arin Vale survived full-scale corruption surge and neutralized a Class-III Blood Spawn without external aid. His ring is dormant, but stable."
The man's gaze turned to Arin. "So, you're the ghost they buried under the Council's lies."
Arin frowned. "And you are?"
"I am High Warden Erias Voss, last of the original Circle. I trained the ones who once hunted you." His tone was neither threat nor welcome — more like someone studying a dangerous relic. "Tell me, boy, do you still hear them?"
Arin hesitated. "The voices?"
Erias smiled thinly. "No. The gods that bled."
The silence stretched.
Lya shot the High Warden a warning look, but he ignored it.
Arin looked down at his hand, remembering the whispers that filled his skull each time he called on the pact. "They're quieter now," he said finally. "But they're not gone."
"Good," Erias murmured. "Then maybe the old prophecy wasn't just superstition."
Lya stiffened. "With respect, Commander — invoking prophecy in front of a corrupted vessel is reckless."
Erias waved her off. "You think small, Serin. The Council feared the Bloodbound because they couldn't control them. I see opportunity."
Arin's jaw tightened. "You talk like I'm a weapon."
"You are one," Erias replied simply. "But unlike the rest, you still choose when to fire."
He stepped closer, the crimson glow of his eyes reflecting in Arin's. "Tell me — what did you see down there? Before the collapse."
Arin's pulse quickened. Images flashed in his mind: the Spawn's writhing form, the flood of black blood, the voices merging into one.
And behind it all, a shape — winged, radiant, buried in the dark.
He shook his head. "Something… old. Something watching."
Erias smiled again, faint and sharp. "Then it's true."
---
Later, when the chamber emptied, Lya found Arin standing near the edge of the containment seal. The torchlight flickered across his face, drawing out the exhaustion in his eyes.
"You shouldn't have told him," she said quietly.
"I didn't tell him everything."
"Doesn't matter. The moment he senses potential, he'll turn you into a tool."
Arin looked at her. "And you won't?"
"I don't use tools," she replied. "I train soldiers. But you're neither."
He smirked weakly. "You really know how to make a guy feel welcome."
She turned to leave, then paused. "The prophecy he mentioned — it's real. The Council used to call it the Crimson Rebirth. It spoke of one Bloodbound whose corruption wouldn't consume them… but purify the world through blood and flame."
"Sounds like a fairytale."
"Fairytales don't collapse half a city." She looked at him over her shoulder. "You did."
---
That night, Arin dreamed again.
The sky was torn open — a wound bleeding gold. From it descended thousands of wings, burning like suns. The earth was ash, rivers red, and at the center of it all stood the same shape from before — the 14th-winged angel, chained to the spire of the world.
It whispered without sound.
> "Your blood remembers me."
The angel's gaze turned to him. The chains shattered.
Arin woke with a gasp. His hand was glowing again — the ring pulsing faintly. The system's voice whispered through static.
> "Pact resonance re-established. Unknown connection detected."
He looked around. The torches had all gone out except one, and its flame burned black.
Someone was standing in the shadows — cloaked, silent.
Arin reached for the dagger at his side. "Who's there?"
The figure stepped closer.
It wasn't a Warden. The cloak bore the insignia of a broken crown — the mark of the Crimson Apostles, the cult that had once served the Blood Gods before the Council burned them from history.
"Easy, Arin Vale," the stranger said. His voice was calm, almost soothing. "If we wanted you dead, we wouldn't have saved you."
"Saved me?" Arin spat. "From what?"
"From them," the stranger said, nodding toward the sealed doors. "The Wardens aren't your allies. They're the ones who betrayed the first Bloodbound… and they'll do it again."
The stranger reached into his cloak and tossed something at Arin's feet — a fragment of an old sigil, scorched and etched with the same rune that burned beneath Arin's skin.
Arin stared at it. "What is this?"
"Proof," the stranger said. "That your bloodline didn't begin with a pact. It began with a sacrifice."
The ring pulsed once, violently.
The stranger smiled faintly.
"When you're ready to learn the truth," he said, "follow the blood that doesn't dry."
Then he vanished, the shadows swallowing him whole.
---
By morning, the Wardens found Arin gone.
Lya stood in his empty chamber, her expression unreadable. The iron seal had been shattered, the runes split open like veins. In the center of the floor, drawn in his own blood, Arin had written three words:
> "I remember now."
Lya clenched her jaw. "Damn it, Arin…"
Behind her, High Warden Erias watched in silence. A faint smile crept across his face.
"So," he murmured. "The Rebirth begins."