The path to the mountain was carved by centuries of footsteps, yet it felt like no mortal road. Stones had been polished not by water or wind, but by blood spilled in countless initiations. Kael Ardyn moved with deliberate caution, each step echoing the crunch of gravel and the silence of fear. The world here was heavy. Even the air seemed thickened, like breathing through layers of ash.
He had been told the Sect of Shattered Veins was ruthless, that their methods of binding divine power were unlike any other. Where other sects whispered of balance, the Shattered Veins preached endurance break the body until it became a vessel strong enough to endure divinity's poison. Most who tried did not return from the mountain. Those who did came back altered, their eyes hollow yet burning, their movements filled with unnatural precision.
Kael had no illusions of glory. He wasn't here to swear allegiance or bask in strength. He had come because of the crater near his village because the fragment pulsing within it was awakening. He needed knowledge, a system, a method to survive. And the Shattered Veins were infamous for knowing how to tame what should not be tamed.
The sect's gates were not gates at all. Instead, they were jagged monoliths of black stone, inscribed with veins of silver that pulsed faintly in the dark. As Kael approached, the ground quivered. He froze, sensing the pull divine residue laced into the stone. His skin prickled, a faint burn traveling along the scar on his forearm, the mark he had carried since childhood.
"Another stray," a voice murmured from above.
Kael looked up. A figure perched on the monolith, clad in gray robes that barely concealed the network of scars etched across his arms. His eyes glowed faintly, unnatural.
"You've come for strength." It wasn't a question.
"I've come for survival," Kael replied.
The figure leapt down, landing without sound. His presence pressed against Kael like a crushing weight, though Kael forced himself to hold steady. The man studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"Then step through. If you are unworthy, the stone will consume you before you take ten steps."
Kael inhaled once, deeply, then moved forward.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the world shifted. His veins throbbed violently, as though something had reached inside him and tried to pull his blood upward. He clenched his jaw, forcing his steps steady. Pain raced through his limbs, but it was not unfamiliar. He had felt this before when he had strayed too close to the crater as a child. The same oppressive resonance, the same pressure that tried to tear his essence apart.
Seven steps. Eight. His vision blurred, but he kept moving.
On the tenth, the sensation eased. Kael exhaled and realized his shirt was soaked with sweat. The gatekeeper gave the faintest nod.
"You endure. For now."
Inside the mountain pass, the sect revealed itself. Structures carved into stone, halls filled with shadows, and training grounds where men and women pushed their bodies against impossible strain. Kael saw disciples smashing their fists into pillars infused with faint divine glow, their skin splitting and healing in grotesque cycles. Others sat cross-legged with seals painted across their bodies, trembling as streams of faint light etched themselves into their veins.
Everywhere, there was suffering. Not the mindless chaos of corrupted wanderers, but a deliberate, structured agony.
The gatekeeper led him into a chamber where the walls pulsed with a faint red glow. At the center lay a basin filled with liquid like molten metal.
"This is the first trial," the man said. "Vein Engraving. Without it, you cannot carry the residue. You will etch conduits into your body, carving paths where divine energy can flow. Fail, and the residue will overflow, burning you alive from within."
Kael studied the basin. Heat radiated from it, but beneath the heat was something else a hum that resonated with the scar on his arm. His instinct screamed to step back.
"What if I refuse?" Kael asked.
"Then you leave, powerless. And when the fragments consume your lands, you will be devoured alongside them."
Silence stretched. Kael clenched his fists. He remembered the village burning, his mother's voice swallowed by the roar of a divine fragment's awakening. He remembered standing too close, the way the scar had seared itself into his flesh. If he turned away now, he would eventually face that power unprepared.
"I'll do it."
The gatekeeper gestured to the basin. "Then bleed."
Kael rolled up his sleeve and drew a knife across his forearm, letting blood drip into the basin. The liquid shivered, glowing brighter.
"Now submerge your arms," the gatekeeper commanded.
The instant Kael's skin touched the liquid, fire erupted inside him. He bit down a cry, muscles locking as molten light surged through his veins. The liquid clawed into him, searing invisible pathways beneath his skin. He felt it racing into his chest, spreading through his shoulders, burning trails into his marrow.
His vision split half reality, half something else. He saw flashes of towering figures, gods whose faces were cracked and weeping light. He heard voices whispering promises, curses, laughter. His body convulsed, blood bubbling at his lips.
"Hold!" the gatekeeper barked. "Endure, or be ash!"
Kael forced himself still. His breath was ragged, but he refused to let go. Every instinct begged him to withdraw, to rip his arms free. But he thought of the crater, of the pulse growing stronger each day. If he fled, he would never be ready.
The burning surged one final time and then, suddenly, it sank deep. The glow dimmed. The basin quieted.
Kael gasped, stumbling back. His arms blazed with faint patterns, silver veins etched beneath his skin. They pulsed like living scars.
The gatekeeper regarded him in silence, then gave the faintest hint of approval. "You live. Few do."
Kael collapsed to one knee, his body trembling. Yet amidst the exhaustion, he felt something new a thrum deep within his blood. Power, faint but undeniable, flowing through the conduits newly carved into him.
But along with it came a whisper. Not from the gatekeeper, not from the chamber. A whisper inside his skull, faint and venomous.
You are marked.
That night, Kael lay in the sect's barracks, his arms still glowing faintly beneath the bandages. Around him, other initiates groaned in their sleep, bodies broken from trials. He stared at the ceiling, the whisper echoing in his mind.
He had survived the first step. But survival was not victory. Each stage, each seal, would bring him closer to strength or closer to ruin.
Kael knew one thing with certainty: the gods had fallen, but their poison lived on. And now, it lived inside him.