The children awoke, sore and trembling. Their bodies remembered the endless cycle of pain, the training that seemed to stretch into eternity, even though only hours had passed outside. When they tried to descend the stairwell, they found the invisible wall of Korrak's subspace still pressing against them.
Four hours dragged on in oppressive silence before a voice like iron scraping across stone reverberated in their skulls:
"This concludes the first lesson. Now go change and prepare for departure."
The barrier dissolved, and the air shifted. Their mother walked past them on her way to the lower hall. The children froze as one. She no longer looked like the woman who bore them—her aura was sharp and disciplined, her stride carrying the weight of newfound strength. Her presence alone suffocated them.
"Even my guard dogs need skills," came Korrak's voice, amused, from the chamber below.
They entered, bowed, and said the only word permitted to them when addressing him:
"Master."
Korrak raised a hand. With a single snap of his fingers, robes shimmered into existence and fell neatly folded at their feet. Black silk, cold to the touch, with a crimson eye embroidered onto the left shoulder.
"These robes mark your chains, your ranks, and your belonging," Korrak intoned, his gaze hard as obsidian. "You are no longer mere slaves. From this day forward, you are the first disciples of the Crimson Eye Sect."
The children shuddered as the name embedded itself in their minds. Even the air seemed to weigh heavier, as though the city itself now bore witness to this founding.
The Sect Grounds
Korrak led them through Dawnfire's twisting streets until they reached their new home. The property the mother had purchased was a crumbling ruin, once belonging to a fallen sect long forgotten. Its stone arches sagged, moss and rot claiming the walls.
Korrak merely lifted his hand. Abyssal energy poured from him like ink staining the world, reshaping the ruin. Towers rose where rubble lay. Obsidian spires clawed toward the sky, crimson banners unfurled, and gates of black iron slammed into place. The hall became a fortress disguised as a sect ground.
"Here," Korrak said softly, "we will build our dominion. Here, we will weave our shadow through Dawnfire until no one dares to speak against us."
The Hierarchy of the Crimson Eye
Korrak stood upon a dais within the newly formed grand hall, his disciples kneeling before him. He spoke slowly, deliberately, so every word scarred itself into their minds.
"A sect without structure is a beast with no bones. Power demands order. And so, you will learn the order of the Crimson Eye."
He raised a finger, pointing upward.
The Crimson Throne – Korrak himself. The sole sovereign. His word absolute, his authority final. No disciple, elder, or noble could defy him without death.
The Black Circle – a ring of chosen figures who would act as generals, teachers, and envoys. For now, this position was filled by the lesser nobles Korrak had summoned into human guise. Each was tasked with shaping disciples into warriors through cruelty and wisdom.
The Bloodbound – disciples who proved their worth through devotion and survival. They would act as the first enforcers, carrying out missions and upholding sect law. Within the sect, they held the right to command initiates and claim greater privileges.
The Crimson Talons – initiates who survived the first stage of training. They wore the robe of the crimson eye but carried no privileges beyond survival. To rise, they had to bleed, endure, and prove their strength.
The Ashes – the lowest, new initiates with no rights, treated as fodder for higher ranks to use as training.
Korrak then smiled—cold, deliberate, almost mocking.
"Each rank comes with its privileges. Understand them well, for they are both gift and chain."
Privileges Within the Sect
The Crimson Throne: Korrak himself. Untouchable. He controlled resources, secrets, and lives. His privilege was everything.
The Black Circle: Allowed to carry the sect's seal, to summon disciples at will, and to claim personal chambers within the sect fortress. They alone could train disciples directly.
The Bloodbound: Granted private quarters, personal servants from the Ashes, and access to the sect's cultivation grounds—training halls, sparring pits, and libraries.
The Crimson Talons: Permitted to wear the crimson robe and walk the sect grounds freely. They may spar under supervision and compete for advancement.
The Ashes: Possess nothing. They sleep in the barracks, eat what is left, and exist only to be broken or reforged.
"You will climb," Korrak said, his eyes sweeping over his slaves. "But only by tearing your way over those below you. Privilege is not granted by mercy. It is taken by blood."
The children pressed their heads to the floor, their breaths sharp and shallow. They understood. Their master had not given them honor. He had given them a battlefield with no end.
The Sect's Place in Dawnfire
Korrak explained more, his voice lowering as he sat upon the newly raised obsidian throne.
"Dawnfire's sects are bound by law. To claim major status, a sect must hold wealth, territory, strength, and recognition by the Council of Sects. These are the city's rules. And rules… can be bent."
He leaned forward, smirking.
"The Crimson Eye will begin with whispers, not roars. We will root ourselves into the city's veins—its markets, its debts, its shadows. And when the banquet of sects is called, we will appear not as beggars, but as wolves cloaked in silk."
His disciples trembled as they listened. Even the mother, stronger now than ever, bowed lower.
"Prepare yourselves," Korrak finished. "For you are no longer worms. You are the Crimson Eye. And this city will kneel."
Meanwhile: The Angels' Envoy
Far from Dawnfire, the angels' envoy arrived in the empire. Cloaked in human forms, they appeared as scholars and priests rather than divine beings. Their target was the forgotten monastery at the edge of the capital's lands.
The monastery was a ruin of its own. Moss spread across its stone, and its lone priestess—Alenya—wandered its halls with empty prayers. Her faith was hollow, her voice weak, and no followers remained. She prayed more from habit than devotion.
The envoy approached her at dusk. Their leader, a silver-haired man with eyes like pale stars—Eryndor—spoke with warmth that carried hidden command.
"You are devoted, but weary. Your god has not answered you. What if I told you… that you were meant for something greater?"
Alenya's lips trembled as she confessed her doubts. She feared her prayers were unheard, her life wasted.
The angels pressed into her wounds with honeyed words. They promised purpose, recognition, strength. With subtle miracles disguised as "restorations," they repaired the monastery. The roof mended, the bells rang again, and candles burned with unnatural brightness.
"This place," Eryndor said softly, "will become a temple. In time, a church. And you, priestess, will be its heart."
Tears welled in Alenya's eyes. She bowed, unaware that the hands lifting her up were forging chains she would never see.
Back in Dawnfire, the Crimson Eye Sect prepared for its unveiling. The city's banquet of sects loomed. The angels spread their light in the empire's heart.
And Korrak sat upon his throne, robes of black and crimson around him, whispering to himself with a smile that could curdle blood:
"Let the angels preach. Let the elves pray. Let the mortals pretend. The Crimson Eye sees all… and soon, Dawnfire will bleed."