The wind at the edge of the Blackstone Chasm howled like a wounded god, carrying whispers from a darkness older than time.
Rael stood at the precipice, his silver-and-gold eyes reflecting the abyss yawning before him. A storm brewed below—not of clouds, but of living shadows swirling in endless hunger. The Binding Forge lay deep in that rift, pulsing like the heart of a buried titan.
Behind him, the Hollow Flame's crimson-clad warriors knelt in a perfect circle, their chants rising in harsh, guttural tones that scorched the air. The sigils carved into their flesh glowed, burning lines of devotion.
And at the center of it all, Malrik moved like a phantom cloaked in fire and bone. His scarred face twisted into a cruel smile as he approached Rael, holding a blade forged from obsidian and bloodsteel—the Blade of Oaths. Its surface shimmered with chains that writhed like living things.
"It's time," Malrik said, his voice low and serpentine.
Rael didn't flinch, though his pulse thundered. He'd been taught never to fear, never to falter. And yet, deep inside, something ached. A name. A face. A voice from his dreams that whispered mother.
"What happens when the binding is complete?" Rael asked, his tone neutral.
Malrik's grin widened. "You'll stop being the boy she left behind. You'll become what you were born to be—the weapon of prophecy. The fire that breaks kingdoms. The shadow that crowns empires."
"And if I refuse?" Rael said quietly, though he already knew the answer.
Malrik's eyes glowed like coals. "You won't. Because deep down, you've always wanted to matter. And this—" he lifted the Blade of Oaths—"is how you become more than a forgotten child. This is how you become a god."
The chants grew louder, vibrating through the stone. Crimson light erupted from the chasm, tendrils of magic coiling up like serpents, tasting the air. The Binding Forge was awake, and it hungered.
Malrik placed a hand on Rael's shoulder. "Kneel, my son."
Rael hesitated. For a heartbeat, the image of a woman with silver eyes flared in his mind. A warmth he couldn't name. A truth buried under years of poison.
Then he knelt.
The blade touched his forehead. Fire exploded through his veins, scorching his bones, rewriting his blood. He bit back a cry as chains of light lashed around his soul, burning his name into the fabric of the Hollow Flame's oath.
Malrik's voice thundered like judgment:
> "By blood of flame and shadow, by oath unbroken, rise as scourge, rise as king—Rael of the Hollow Crown!"
The ground split with a deafening roar. From the chasm, black fire erupted, swallowing the circle in waves of molten shadow. Rael's scream tore through the storm—part agony, part power, part rebirth. His eyes blazed now, no longer mismatched but twin infernos of gold rimmed in black.
When the fire cleared, he stood transformed. Taller. Stronger. Wings of shadow and ember unfurled from his back, each feather burning with otherworldly flame. His heartbeat was a drum of war. His soul sang with ruin.
The boy was gone.
In his place stood a god of vengeance.
Malrik looked upon his creation with pride. "What will you do first?"
Rael's new voice was deep, fractured with darkness and steel. He turned his gaze to the east—where Vaeloras lay beyond the mountains.
"Burn," he said simply. "I will burn everything she loves."
And deep in his chest, buried under the chains of oath, a single tear fell—a tear for a name he no longer dared speak.
Mother.