Chapter 12 – The Pact of Fire and Silence
The spirit realm had begun to split.
What was once a faint crack at the edge of dimensions had now bloomed into a gaping wound—severing loyalties and igniting embers that had never truly died.
In one of the hidden corners of this broken plane, an old man stood—the uncle of Lumina, long thought to have perished in the final purification.
But he lived.
Not as a whole human, but as a blood contractor—
a creature who had sold his soul to something older than fire.
He unrolled an ancient scroll bearing the sigil of The First Hellseer.
The script pulsed faintly, like a vein still beating. But the cracks were undeniable.
Each fracture on the seal meant that one law of the spiritual world had been broken.
> "For too long, this world bowed to purification and forgiveness.
Now it's our turn to forge the new laws," he whispered.
He let his blood fall—blood that still carried the remnants of their family's legacy—onto the seal.
And from that blood, a hunting spirit was born.
A dark, towering, faceless being named Verruksha.
It did not speak.
It only followed the scent of sin… and the pull of a contract.
---
Meanwhile, Enver stood within the astral corridor.
The light around him trembled, unable to withstand the pressure of the dimension.
In his hand, he held a relic gifted by the dragon Huria—
a gleaming black scale, cold as obsidian, yet carrying the warmth of a wound that refused to fade.
> "You're starting to doubt," came a voice from the scale.
The relic held a fragment of Huria's consciousness.
> "You know this world cannot be cleansed with a half-hearted hand."
> "I'm not doubting," Enver whispered.
"I just haven't decided… who should be saved first."
Before his thoughts could settle, the corridor shifted.
The air tightened.
And his body was pulled into a grey space, filled with the hissing of unsanctified spirits.
That's where Verruksha appeared.
It did not strike with claws or blades.
It showed memories.
Memories of Lumina.
Of a childhood marred by betrayal.
Of a father who vanished in a purification ritual.
Of a mother who sacrificed her body for a peace that never arrived.
And finally, a falsified memory—
one that made it seem as though Lumina had once tried to end Enver.
He watched it all.
Not shaken. But not indifferent either.
> "Memories can be forged.
But truth… truth can never be hidden from time," he said.
Verruksha split in two.
One continued its mental assault.
The other fled—carrying the memories it had shown, racing toward Lumina's spirit.
That second entity was a courier.
One meant to whisper lies into a heart still cracked.
Enver closed his eyes.
He knew—if he chased after that spirit, he would stray from the path of purification he had chosen.
But if he let it go, Lumina would burn in the fire of false history.
His grip tightened.
He conjured a small circle in the air—
not large, but enough to trap the remaining Verruksha.
With a single touch, the spirit exploded into a haze of spiritual ash.
But the wound remained.
Not on his body.
On his soul.
Enver stood in silence.
> "Lumina will choose for herself.
I won't interfere… not anymore," he told himself.
He stepped out of the corridor.
The astral world was far from calm.
But for a fleeting moment, he understood who had truly started this war.
And he knew—
within that long silence,
the fire was preparing to rise.