Ren had been walking for what felt like days — through glowing groves, talking waterfalls, and one weird city where a flower tried to sell him soap.
Every place in Cael'Nareth was alive. Not in the poetic, magical sense. Literally alive. Bridges pulsed when you walked on them. Trees whispered your name. One vine tried to braid his hair. He'd screamed. Loudly.
Still, no luck.
City after city, grove after grove — same answers.
No one knew what Crestflare meant.
No one had heard of Ashrunner.
And if they had, they acted like Ren had farted during an elven funeral and stared at him like he was cursed.
He was about to punch a talking fern out of pure frustration when he saw him again — standing in the middle of a highroot walkway like he owned the damn sunlight.
Veyrix Kuron. Vampire King. Ruler of the Crimson Veins. Always dressed like war was a fashion show.
And Ren had definitely seen him way too many times by now. Mirevale. Emberflame. Now here?
Ren squinted, slowed his walk, and casually wandered over, hands in his coat pockets.
"Hey," Ren said, like they were just two dudes bumping into each other at a soup stand.
Veyrix didn't even look at him at first. Then, slowly, with the elegance of someone very used to executing people, he turned.
There was a long pause. A very long pause.
Then Veyrix grabbed Ren by the collar, slammed him into a vine-covered wall, and bared his fangs just enough to make it terrifying.
Veyrix:
"What. Do. You. Want."
Beat.
"Why are you always in my path, Riftborn?"
Ren blinked.
"...wait, are you following me? 'Cause if you are, we should probably define the relationship before I catch feelings."
Veyrix's eye twitched.
Ren raised one hand lazily like a student who didn't study.
"Okay, okay, calm your centuries-old tits, I'm just gonna ask a thing."
Veyrix:
"If you say 'Crestflare' again I will rip your tongue out and feed it to a tree."
Ren grinned. "Cool, cool, so you do know what that is."
Veyrix looked like he aged a thousand years in two seconds. His grip tightened.
Veyrix:
"Gods-dammit. What do you know? Why are you chasing that name?"
Ren:
"I'm not chasing it. I'm just... sort of wandering into places until someone gets mad enough to say something useful. It's a strategy. A dumb one. But hey—"
Veyrix let go and stepped back, brushing Ren off like he'd caught peasant on his sleeve.
Veyrix:
"I heard it in the Weaver's shop. The same as you. The Ashrunner is killing Crestflare holders. Three are already gone. That makes twelve left."
Ren raised an eyebrow.
"Wait. You have one too?"
Veyrix gave him a look. The kind that said, "I will incinerate you with my eyes but I'm too elegant to sweat."
Veyrix:
"Yes. I carry one. I do not advertise it. Unlike some idiots who scream the name in sacred cities like drunk children in a church."
Ren snorted.
"Ohhh. So you are scared."
Veyrix:
"I am cautious. There's a difference. And if Ashrunner truly seeks to gather all fifteen... then we are already at war. We just don't see the battlefield yet."
Ren rubbed the back of his neck. "So... no pressure."
Veyrix turned to leave.
Ren:
"Hey, wait. Are we... allies now? Kinda?"
Veyrix (without turning):
"I would rather kiss a flame hag."
Ren:
"I've done that. Wasn't bad. Bit crispy."
Veyrix vanished into the trees without another word.
Ren sighed.
"Still no map. Still no leads. But hey. At least I pissed off royalty again."