Veyron's fingers wrapped around the cold, glass vial, its contents swirling with an unsettling, oily sheen. The liquid inside seemed to pulse in rhythm with his own heartbeat, as though it were alive, waiting for him to take the first step toward claiming its power.
He stood there, staring at the vial, feeling the weight of Morrigan's words pressing against his chest. What you take from the heart, you must also give.
What would it cost him? Could anything be worse than what he had already lost? His family, his name, his past—everything had been consumed in the wake of his ambition. This... this power was all that was left.
Morrigan stood beside him, her expression unreadable as she watched him. Calix, still as a statue, lingered in the shadows, his gaze fixed on Veyron, awaiting the decision. The silence in the room thickened, stretching into eternity, as though the very air were holding its breath.
Veyron exhaled slowly, the weight of his choice crushing him under its pressure. His hand shook as he lifted the vial to his lips, the liquid cold against his mouth.
No turning back now, he thought, the taste of bitter iron filling his senses as he took the first drink. The liquid burned its way down his throat, a searing heat that spread like wildfire through his veins, until it felt as though his very blood had caught fire.
For a moment, everything was still. His vision swam, his body numb to the pain. Then the world exploded into a rush of sensations—colors, shapes, and voices that weren't his own—flooded his mind. He staggered back, feeling as though the ground had dropped out from beneath him.
His head swam with memories that were not his own—visions of forgotten kings, lost empires, and ancient rituals. He felt the weight of centuries pressing against his mind, felt the rise and fall of dynasties, the crushing weight of power gained and lost. He saw the ghosts of those who had sought to control this force before him, and he saw their fates—destruction, madness, and an eternity of suffering.
He could feel his body convulsing, his soul stretching, reaching, pulling toward something far beyond himself. The room began to warp and twist as though the very fabric of reality was unraveling around him. Morrigan's voice, distant and echoing, broke through the madness.
"Focus, Veyron! Focus on your purpose!"
But it was too late. The power—the raw, untamed energy—had already claimed him. It surged through him, a force too great to comprehend, tearing away the last remnants of his humanity. His thoughts scattered like ash in the wind, his body locked in a rictus of pain as the dark power flowed through him, reshaping him.
His skin began to burn, the flesh on his hands and arms shifting beneath the weight of the transformation. The iron coursing through his veins seemed to solidify, harden, as though he were being forged anew—remade into something different, something dangerous. His senses became sharper, clearer, as though his very essence were being enhanced, amplified.
And then, just as suddenly, the flood of sensations ceased. He was left standing in the center of the room, breathless and disoriented, the vial now empty in his hand. His body felt strange—familiar, yet alien, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.
The silence returned, thick and oppressive, broken only by the sound of his ragged breathing.
"You have claimed it," Morrigan said, her voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of something else—something like... regret. She stepped closer, her gaze searching his face for some sign of recognition. "But remember, Veyron... this power does not belong to you. Not entirely. It is a part of you now, but it will always demand something in return."
Veyron's head throbbed as the last remnants of the visions faded, leaving him with a sense of emptiness, like a hole in the center of his chest. He didn't know what to say. The weight of what he had just done pressed against him, suffocating him. But beneath it all, something else stirred—a dark, insistent hunger.
"I feel... different," he said, his voice rough. His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, as though he were struggling to catch his breath. "I feel... more."
"You are," Morrigan replied, her tone distant. "More than you were. But also less. Power has a way of hollowing out those who seek it. You may have gained strength, but you've also lost something in the process."
Veyron looked down at his hands, still trembling. They were not his hands. Or perhaps they were, but the man who had once owned them—the man who had once been a mere shadow of what he now was—was gone.
He didn't know how to answer. Part of him wanted to deny it, to insist that this was the right choice, that this power would make him whole again. But another part of him—the part that still clung to the remnants of his old self—knew the truth.
He was no longer Veyron Ashwood. Not in the way he had once been.
"You must now face the truth of what you've become," Morrigan said quietly. "The power you've claimed is not a gift, Veyron. It is a chain. It binds you to this place, to the Guild, and to the forces that lie beyond it."
Veyron's head snapped up, his mind whirling. "What do you mean? What forces?"
Morrigan's lips twisted into something like a smile, but it was cold, empty. "The Guild is not the only entity that seeks to control these forces. There are others... far older, far more dangerous. And they are watching you."
Calix stepped forward, his brass mask glinting in the dim light. "The heart is not a simple tool, Ashwood. It is a key. A key to things you cannot possibly understand yet."
Veyron swallowed hard, his heart pounding. Things I can't understand?
He had sought power. But now he understood, deep within his bones, that the price was far greater than he could have ever imagined.
Before he could speak, Morrigan turned and moved toward the door, her dark cloak sweeping behind her like a shadow. "Come," she said, "it is time for you to begin your next lesson."
Veyron hesitated for a moment, his mind still reeling. But he had already crossed the line. There was no going back. He followed her into the darkness, knowing that the road ahead would lead him to places he could never have anticipated.
The Guild had claimed him. And now, he was theirs.