The ring gleamed in the masked figure's palm, its Crimson Sigil glowing faintly as if responding to Kael's Mark. For a heartbeat, the chamber stood utterly still—no wind, no sound, only the weight of something ancient and watching.
Kael stared at the ring, then at the masked one. "Who are you?"
The voice that answered was ageless. Male, but more than that—resonant. "I am the last of the Echo-Wardens. We are all that remain of the old pact… the ones who remember."
"Remember what?" Lyra asked, stepping beside Kael, her arrow nocked, eyes narrowed.
The figure turned toward her, then to Darric. "The true purpose of the Crimson Brand. And what lies beyond the Veil."
Kael clenched his fist. "Then speak."
The Echo-Warden nodded once, then raised the ring higher.
"The Brand on your chest is not a curse… not truly. It is a binding—a shackle placed upon a child who should never have lived."
Darric's eyes widened. "What do you mean 'should never have lived'?"
The Warden moved to the altar and laid the ring upon its cracked surface. The runes around the room pulsed dimly, forming sigils in the air—memories sealed in stone.
"In the age before the Veil, there were nine Sovereigns. Beings of immense power, meant to guide the world. But one sought to remake life itself—the First Sovereign. He crafted a weapon in human flesh… a child marked by the crimson spark, capable of consuming all other Sovereign energies."
Kael said nothing. He felt it now—not just a memory, but something buried in his bones.
"You were not born," the Warden continued, "You were forged. Hidden. But the power could not remain dormant forever. The Brand awakened."
Kael's voice was cold. "Then why am I still alive?"
"Because the world has begun to remember you."
Kael stepped toward the altar. The ring shimmered as he neared.
"Tell me what I am," he said. "No more riddles."
The Warden sighed, then reached into his cloak and drew a blade—a thin ceremonial dagger etched with the same sigil Kael bore.
"You are what the First Sovereign feared. The Crimson End—the one who can burn through divinity and reshape what lies beyond the Veil."
Kael took a step back, unease shadowing his thoughts. Was this what the visions had warned him of? The reason he kept seeing the future twisted into fire and ash?
Lyra touched his shoulder. "You're not what they made you, Kael. You're what you choose to be."
He met her gaze—and the fire in his heart steadied.
Then the Warden spoke again, voice sharper. "But the Veil is moving now. You have little time. Malrik is only the gatekeeper. Something worse waits beyond him."
He placed the dagger on the altar beside the ring.
"When the time comes, you must choose. Power… or self. Flame… or silence."
Kael nodded once, then turned away.
"I won't become what they made me."
Later That Night — Outside the Hollow Spire
The wind had grown colder.
They made camp in the broken stone fields near the Hollow Spire. Lyra took first watch, Darric sharpened his blade in silence, and Kael stared into the fire.
His hand trembled—only slightly—as he turned the Crimson Sigil ring over in his fingers. The firelight reflected something deeper inside it: a memory, or maybe a warning.
He remembered the fight with the Champion. The way his aura had burned brighter. Sharper. The voice in the back of his mind whispering more.
He looked down at Ashrend, now at rest beside him.
Soon, he would have to call upon it again. And next time… it would be more than fire.
Meanwhile — In the Depths of the Veil
Malrik knelt before a shifting altar of bone and ash. His armor cracked with seething energy.
He could feel the Hollow Spire's tremor. The Mark had awakened.
"He returns…" a voice coiled in the dark, cold as the dead stars.
Malrik grinned.
"Then let him come."