The Guild's halls stretched before Veyron like a labyrinth of shadows and cold stone. The air inside was thick with the scent of iron, oil, and something darker, something older—a scent that clung to the walls like the ghosts of forgotten lives. The flickering lanterns cast long, trembling shadows, their light barely enough to guide the way. Every corner held secrets, every creaking floorboard whispered warnings.
Veyron walked in silence, his footsteps muffled by the heavy carpet of dust that covered the ground. His fingers still tingled from the transformation, the remnants of the power he had taken now coursing through him like a persistent ache. The world felt different now, as though he were standing on the precipice of something vast and unknowable. The shadows here seemed to move with a life of their own, watching, waiting.
Morrigan led the way, her dark cloak flowing behind her like a veil of night. Calix followed closely, his brass mask gleaming in the dim light, his silence as unsettling as the air around them. Veyron didn't know where they were going, but he felt the weight of their presence behind him, urging him forward.
"You must understand," Morrigan's voice broke through the silence, low and steady, "The Guild does not offer its gifts freely. You may have claimed power, but power, Veyron, is never truly free. It demands your soul. It demands your obedience."
He felt the words like a weight on his chest. He had already known this, hadn't he? Power had already taken so much from him, but now, standing in this place, he felt the sharp edge of that truth cut deeper. What had he truly sacrificed to gain the strength he had? And what more would it demand of him in the days to come?
Veyron's jaw clenched. "I know what I've lost. But I also know what I've gained."
"Perhaps," Morrigan replied with a faint, enigmatic smile, "but you have only just begun to understand the true cost of your ambition."
They reached a set of heavy iron doors, ornate with strange symbols—gears, roses, and serpents intertwined in a design that seemed both mechanical and organic, as if it were a living thing. Morrigan placed her hand on the door, and it groaned open with a sound like a dying animal's cry. The room beyond was shrouded in darkness, the air even colder than the rest of the Guild.
"You will need to embrace what you are becoming, Ashwood," Morrigan said, stepping inside. "Only then will you be ready for what lies beyond these doors."
Veyron hesitated for only a moment before following her. The doors closed behind him with a finality that made his heart race. Inside, the chamber was vast, filled with shadows that seemed to stretch infinitely. A single pedestal stood in the center of the room, upon which rested a thick tome, its pages yellowed and fragile, bound in what seemed to be a dark leather. The cover was etched with the same symbols that adorned the doors.
Morrigan approached the pedestal and lifted the tome with a reverence that suggested it was far more than just a book. "This," she said, her voice reverberating off the cold stone, "is the heart of the Guild. The key to all that we know and all that we can teach. It is a record of everything that has come before us and everything that is yet to come. It is here that you will learn your place."
Veyron stepped forward, drawn to the book as though by an invisible force. He could feel the pull of its pages, the weight of centuries pressing against him. His fingers hovered above the cover, trembling with an anticipation he couldn't shake. The Guild's history, its secrets—everything he had come for was contained within this ancient tome.
"What is it that I must do?" he asked, voice hushed as he reached for the book.
Morrigan turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "You will read. And in reading, you will find your true purpose. But be warned, Veyron. The knowledge contained within these pages is not for the faint of heart. It will challenge you. It will change you."
Before he could respond, Calix stepped forward, his cold gaze fixed on Veyron. "You must remember, Ashwood," he said, his voice like the scrape of metal, "The Guild does not care about your desires. It cares only about what you can give. What you are willing to sacrifice. If you are truly ready for what lies ahead, then you will embrace this fully. You will submit to it."
Veyron stared at the book for a long moment, his fingers still hovering above it. A part of him wanted to pull away, to reject the inevitable change that this knowledge would bring. But another part of him—something darker, more primal—pushed him forward, urging him to claim what was rightfully his.
With a deep breath, Veyron pressed his palm against the cover, and the book seemed to hum beneath his touch. The pages began to turn on their own, each one a blur of symbols and incantations. He could feel the power within them, pulsing, thrumming with an intensity that made his heart race.
The words began to make sense—too quickly, too perfectly. He could understand them, even though they were written in a language he had never learned. Each word seemed to carve itself into his soul, embedding itself deep within him. Knowledge flooded his mind, visions of forgotten rituals, ancient bloodlines, and untold powers that could shape the very fabric of reality.
And then, like a sudden rush of cold air, the book stopped.
Veyron staggered back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His vision swam, and for a moment, he could hear the whispers of voices long silenced—echoes of the Guild's past, their triumphs, their failures. He saw them all, the ones who had come before him, the ones who had sought the same power he had.
Some of them had succeeded. Some had failed. All of them had paid the price.
"You have read," Morrigan said, her voice like a distant murmur. "Now you must decide. What will you become, Ashwood?"
Veyron's chest tightened. The weight of the knowledge pressed down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its burden. He could feel the power within him, swirling like a storm, but he also felt the emptiness—an absence that gnawed at him, a reminder of what he had given up to claim this strength.
"I will become more than what they were," he said, his voice low but firm. "I will not be a shadow of the past. I will carve my own future."
Morrigan's eyes glinted with something like approval, but there was a darkness there as well—a warning, perhaps.
"Then embrace it, Veyron. But remember, nothing comes without a cost. And there are those who will stand in your way."
Veyron nodded, feeling the pulse of power grow stronger within him. The Guild had claimed him, but now, he would make his own mark on the world. And nothing would stand in his way.