The dream came again.
Fire.
Ash.
A crown, split in two.
And a voice that echoed not in his ears, but somewhere deeper—buried in marrow and blood.
"Awaken, bearer of the Crimson Oath."
Alex woke with a sharp gasp.
His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts as the chill of early morning crept through the cracked shutters. Outside, Bramblehold still slept under its blanket of frost and shadow. The hearth fire had long since died, but sweat slicked his skin as if he'd stepped out of a furnace.
He sat upright on his straw mattress, heart hammering.
The dream—no, the vision—had changed. For weeks, it had been flickers: ruins drowned in flame, whispers from forgotten tombs. But tonight... the voice had spoken directly. The words carried weight. A command. A claim.
The mark on his shoulder burned. Alex hissed and yanked his shirt collar aside.
The coiled serpent etched into his skin shimmered faintly. Normally faded like an old scar, it now pulsed with a dim crimson glow—each beat in sync with his racing heart.
"Not again," he muttered, voice hoarse.
He reached for the leather cord beside his bed, the one his father had given him. Fingers trembled as he tied back his overgrown hair. His father had warned him to stay quiet if the mark ever stirred. Hide it. Deny it. Pray it slept forever.
But it wasn't sleeping now.
Bramblehold clung to the edge of the Witherwood Veil, a forgotten village that time politely ignored. With its thatched roofs, crooked paths, and watchful trees, it might as well have been part of the forest itself. People here didn't ask questions. They lived, they endured, and they left old things buried.
At the well, Alex found Nikki crouched beside the pump, fitting a new string to her bow. She glanced up as he approached.
"You look like you lost a fight to a wraith."
He cracked a tired smile. "Feels like it."
"The dream again?"
He nodded.
She straightened, pulling her cloak tighter against the wind. Nikki had been his shadow since they were ten. Quick with a bow, quicker with her tongue. If he had a sister, it might have been her.
"What changed?"
"It spoke. The voice. It called me... bearer of the Crimson Oath."
She stilled. Even the wind seemed to pause.
"That's from the old songs," she whispered. "My gran used to hum them when she thought no one listened. About the blood-marked kings who vanished into fire."
Alex looked at the horizon. The sky was bruised, tinged with a strange reddish hue.
"It gets worse every night," he said. "And now the mark... it's glowing again."
"Then we need to speak to Elder Caen. He'll know what to do."
The elder's door hung ajar, creaking softly in the wind. His cottage smelled of old parchment, dried herbs, and something metallic.
Alex stepped inside first.
"Elder Caen?"
Silence. A chill ran down his spine.
The hearth was cold. The room was empty. But on the elder's writing table lay a single object:
A silver disc etched with runes. One of them—a serpent wrapped around a crown—was identical to Alex's mark.
Nikki touched his arm. "Alex... this is bad."
Before he could respond, the bell rang.
Not the village bell.
This one was deeper.
Perfect.
Otherworldly.
It echoed across Bramblehold like a ripple of thunder.
They ran.
The road outside the village split open like a wound. From it came a black carriage, gliding silently over frozen ground. Its wheels left no tracks. It was drawn by two beasts masked in bone, their violet eyes gleaming.
The carriage stopped at the village square. Doors opened.
A figure emerged—cloaked in crimson and gold, face hidden beneath a deep hood. Magic coiled around him like mist, distorting the air.
He raised a hand, voice calm and terrible.
"By command of the Arcanum Sanctum, under seal of the Serpent Star, the heir of Eidric Binding is summoned."
Gasps. Whispers. All eyes turned to Alex.
The figure turned a silver disc in his hand. The same disc that now lay in the elder's home. The moment its face caught the light—
Alex screamed.
The mark on his shoulder exploded with crimson flame, pain searing through his nerves. He dropped to his knees.
They carried him to his uncle's hut. Nikki never left his side.
When he awoke, he found his uncle pacing. The old man stopped when he saw Alex was conscious.
"Your mother bore that mark," he said, voice shaking. "She made me swear never to speak of it. Not unless the flame returned."
Alex stared. "She had it?"
"She was from Eldoria. The real Eldoria. Before it burned. Before it vanished."
The room spun.
Outside, the bell rang again.
One hour, the figure had said. One companion.
"I'm going," Nikki said. "Don't even try arguing."
He didn't. He was too numb.
At the carriage, the villagers watched in silence. Fear. Pity. Reverence.
The robed figure opened the door. "Time is short."
Alex looked back once. His uncle stood in the doorway, eyes gleaming.
Then he stepped inside.
The interior was impossibly vast—larger than any carriage should be. Windows showed not fields or trees, but shifting stars and storm-wreathed mountains.
Alex clutched his shoulder. The mark pulsed like a second heart.
In his mind, something stirred.
A whisper.
A presence.
A voice like dying fire:
"The Oath lives in you now. When death comes, I will rise again."
He saw a figure in the mirror.
Not his reflection.
A warrior in cracked silver armor. Cloaked in flame.
Face hidden. Eyes burning.
And behind him, the ruins of a kingdom swallowed by fire.