The sealed door within the Hollow Spire pulsed like a heartbeat, casting rhythmic shadows along the stone walls. Kael stood before it, Ashrend still humming in his grip, its blade slick with fading embers. The battle had ended, but the fight had only deepened his hunger—for truth, for strength… and for vengeance.
"Behind this lies the Sovereign texts?" Darric asked, wiping soot from his brow.
Kaelen stepped forward, eyes locked on the ancient sigils etched into the door's surface. "More than texts. These walls guard the thoughts of the first Mark-Bearer—the one who defied both Veil and throne. What sleeps within is not just knowledge… but will."
Kael's crimson aura flared as he raised his palm to the door. The Mark on his chest pulsed in unison. As his fingers met the stone, a low groan echoed from within. Gears unseen twisted. Dust fell like dead snow.
Then, the door opened.
Beyond it was a circular chamber, vast and silent. In its center stood a lone pedestal, atop which rested a tome bound in dark iron and seared leather—its cover scorched with the same symbol that branded Kael's chest.
Kael stepped forward slowly. Lyra and Darric followed, blades drawn. Kaelen remained at the threshold, watching with unreadable eyes.
Kael reached the tome and opened it.
The pages were not parchment—they were flesh, alchemically preserved, etched with runes carved in what might have been blood. As his eyes scanned the first page, pain shot through his head.
Visions surged:
A boy kneeling before the First Sovereign.
A brand being burned into his skin.
A kingdom devoured by its own king.
And one word repeated through it all—
Crimson. Crimson. Crimson.
Kael gasped, staggering back.
Lyra caught him. "What did you see?"
"They… created the Mark. It wasn't a gift—it was a curse. A way to bind those they feared."
Kaelen approached now, stepping into the chamber with a slow, heavy gait. "And yet you wear it freely."
Kael looked up at him, breath ragged. "I didn't choose it. But I'll use it."
He closed the tome. Instantly, the room began to quake.
A hidden mechanism unlocked deep below the spire. The walls split open to reveal an underground stairwell spiraling into darkness. From its depths came the scent of charred stone and something older—power that had not seen daylight since before the first kings.
Darric drew his blade. "You're not going down there alone, Kael."
"I wasn't planning to," Kael said, his voice quiet but steady.
Together, they descended.
The stairwell ended in a buried sanctum—a long hall of shattered statues and collapsed murals. But at the far end, an altar still stood. Upon it lay an armor set blackened by age, trimmed with red alloy. Around it, dozens of swords—each cracked or bent—were embedded in the ground like a graveyard of failed champions.
Kael approached the armor. As he neared, his Mark flared—and one of the blades rose into the air on its own. Unlike the others, it was untouched by decay. Its edge shimmered crimson. Its name burned across the air:
Vermis, the Sovereign Severance.
A sword forged from Sovereign bone, once used to execute the betrayers of the Veil.
Kael reached for it—and it did not resist. It came to his hand like a long-lost brother. Instantly, his aura responded. His veins glowed. His heartbeat quickened. And the Mark on his chest sang.
Kaelen bowed his head slightly. "So it has chosen you."
Kael gripped the hilt tightly, his voice steady and deep. "Then it will cut through everything in my path."
Darric chuckled, despite himself. "You just got another sword? What happened to Ashrend?"
Kael turned, now wielding both—Ashrend in his left, Vermis in his right. "I'm not choosing. I'm becoming more."
Lyra raised a brow. "Dual-wielding, crimson aura, and two legendary blades? You're becoming a myth, Kael."
"No," Kael said. "I'm becoming the truth that ends myths."
A deep boom echoed from above. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Then came the second sound—a distant roar. Unnatural. Hungry.
Kaelen's face grew grave. "Something has been awoken by this rite. Something not bound to flesh."
A crimson flare lit the chamber as Kael's aura erupted. "Let it come."
They climbed back to the surface. Smoke now choked the horizon, and the winds carried the scent of war.
From the east, a black storm approached—Malrik's host. Veilspawn and corrupted soldiers under a banner of shadowed thorns.
Kael stood at the edge of the crumbling spire, staring out into the dying light.
And for the first time, the Crimson Spark danced across his body like wildfire. His voice was a whisper the wind carried to all who watched him:
"I will break the Veil… with flame and blade."