The Ascension Hall of the Vireon Clan was a place where the past never slept.
The ceiling rose so high it disappeared into darkness, supported by towering obsidian pillars carved with the names of ancestors who had awakened their bloodlines and carved their legends into history. Each name glimmered faintly, infused with residual will that pressed down upon every living descendant who dared stand beneath them. To enter the hall was to be reminded of expectation—of what one should become.
Tonight, the pressure was suffocating.
Crimson crystals embedded deep within the walls cast a dim red glow across the marble floor. Thousands of ancient runes formed a vast circular formation at the hall's center, pulsing slowly like a massive heart. Each pulse sent invisible waves through the air, testing blood, spirit, and fate alike.
The hall was crowded.
Clan elders sat upon elevated stone thrones, their faces stern and unreadable. Noble guests from allied houses whispered behind silk sleeves, eyes sharp with curiosity and barely concealed judgment. Servants lined the walls with bowed heads and rigid postures, keenly aware that even breathing too loudly could invite punishment.
At the very center of the formation stood Kael Vireon.
Barefoot.
Alone.
The marble beneath his feet was ice-cold, yet sweat trickled down his back as if he stood beneath an unforgiving sun. His heart pounded violently in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. Every gaze in the hall pressed against him—measuring, weighing, waiting for him to fail.
This was the final Blood Ascension Ceremony.
The last chance granted to him by blood, law, and patience that had long since run dry.
Kael inhaled slowly, forcing his breathing to steady. His hands trembled despite his effort to control them, fingers curling into fists at his sides.
This will work, he told himself.
It has to.
Ever since childhood, Kael had lived beneath a shadow that was not his own. Other children of the Vireon Clan awakened traces of their bloodline early—heightened strength, sharpened senses, elemental affinities that manifested during training or even play. Their awakenings were celebrated with feasts, rewards, and praise from elders eager to invest in future power.
Kael awakened nothing.
At first, it was dismissed as delay. Some bloodlines bloomed late. Physicians examined him repeatedly, their expressions growing more cautious with every visit. Elders spoke in hushed tones behind closed doors.
"Be patient," they said.
"His time will come."
Years passed.
Patience thinned.
Hope faded.
What replaced it was disappointment.
Tonight was no longer about waiting.
It was judgment.
"Step forward."
The command echoed unnaturally through the hall, amplified by the formation itself.
The High Priest stood at the edge of the circle, draped in ceremonial robes woven with glowing sigils that crawled slowly across the fabric like living script. His face was calm and detached, as if Kael were not a person but an object awaiting inspection.
Kael stepped forward.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Whispers followed him like invisible chains.
"Still nothing, even now?"
"They say his blood is sealed."
"Lord Vireon's only son… what a disgrace."
Kael clenched his jaw and did not slow.
He stopped beneath the Blood Crystal—a massive prism forged from the crystallized essence of ancient ancestors. It hovered above him, radiating intense heat and pressure, humming softly as if alive. The air around it shimmered, distorted by condensed spiritual energy.
At the highest throne sat Lord Aeron Vireon.
His father.
Clan Master. Imperial noble. A man whose name commanded respect throughout the empire of Aureth.
Kael lifted his gaze, searching his father's face.
For reassurance.
For belief.
For even the smallest sign of trust.
Their eyes met for the briefest moment.
Lord Aeron looked away.
The rejection was quiet.
It was also absolute.
Something cold settled deep in Kael's chest, sinking into place as if it had always been waiting there.
The High Priest raised his staff.
"By the authority of the Empire," he intoned, voice echoing through the hall, "and by the will of the ancestors, we commence the Blood Ascension."
The staff struck the marble floor.
The runes ignited.
Crimson light surged upward, forming a blazing circle around Kael's body. Pressure slammed into him instantly, pressing against skin, bone, and soul alike. The Blood Crystal descended slowly until it hovered inches above his forehead, its glow intensifying with every breath.
Pain followed immediately.
It was not sharp at first, but invasive—like invisible hands reaching into his veins, probing, peeling, searching for something that refused to surface. Kael sucked in a breath, teeth grinding as sweat poured down his face. His vision blurred, but he refused to look away.
The pressure grew heavier.
Something stirred deep within his chest.
A presence long dormant.
Locked behind unseen chains.
Awaken, he begged silently.
Please… awaken.
The crystal vibrated violently.
The runes flared brighter, burning into his vision. His heart hammered against his ribs, blood roaring in his ears.
For a single heartbeat, hope surged.
Then—
CRACK.
The sound tore through the Ascension Hall like thunder.
The Blood Crystal split down the middle.
Light exploded outward as the formation shattered violently. Runes flickered wildly, destabilizing before extinguishing one by one. Shards of the crystal dissolved into fine ash before touching the floor, scattering like the remnants of a broken promise.
Silence fell.
Not calm.
Not peaceful.
A suffocating silence that crushed the lungs.
Then laughter erupted.
Disbelieving chuckles. Mocking gasps. Whispers that sharpened quickly into cruelty.
"A sealed bloodline!"
"No—look closer. That's a curse!"
"How pitiful…"
Kael's knees trembled.
"No…" he whispered.
The word felt hollow.
Useless.
He turned toward the highest throne.
"Father…?"
Lord Aeron Vireon did not look at him.
That quiet rejection hurt more than any blade ever could.
Chains of white-gold light erupted from the ruined formation, snapping around Kael's wrists, ankles, and torso. Strength drained from him instantly, ripped away as if his life itself were being extracted.
Kael gasped and collapsed to one knee, palms slamming against the marble floor.
"The blood crystal has judged," the High Priest declared coldly. "This heir bears a sealed and corrupted bloodline."
Murmurs surged through the hall—fear, disgust, relief.
"By imperial law," the priest continued, raising his staff, "cursed blood is a threat to the realm."
"I can still train!" Kael shouted hoarsely. "I can serve the clan! I can prove myself!"
"Silence."
The staff struck the floor again.
The runes twisted violently, rearranging into a forbidden pattern etched only in ancient punishment records.
Erasure.
Lord Aeron stood.
For a fleeting moment, Kael felt a surge of desperate hope.
But his father's voice was calm.
Controlled.
"Proceed."
The marble floor split open.
A vast, lightless abyss yawned beneath Kael's feet, swallowing warmth, sound, and light alike. The chains yanked downward, dragging him toward the void.
As Kael fell, the Ascension Hall shrank above him—faces blurring, whispers fading into nothing.
The descent did not feel like falling.
There was no rush of wind, no scream torn from his throat by speed. Instead, it felt as if the world itself were withdrawing, layer by layer, peeling away sound, light, and meaning. The red glow of the Ascension Hall vanished first, swallowed by darkness so absolute it seemed to erase memory itself.
Kael's body twisted in the void, chains of white-gold light still biting into his limbs. Each movement sent fresh pain through his joints, yet the pain was distant, dulled by the overwhelming weight pressing down on his mind.
So this is how I'm erased, he thought.
Not with a blade.
Not with a grave.
But by being forgotten.
Images flickered unbidden—his childhood training yard, the cold discipline in his father's eyes, the silent hope he had clung to for years. Each memory felt thinner than the last, as if the abyss were stripping them away, deciding which parts of him were worth keeping.
The chains suddenly shattered.
Fragments of light dissolved into nothingness, leaving Kael suspended in darkness. For a brief, terrifying moment, he felt truly alone—cut off from the world above, from the clan, from everything he had ever known.
Then the darkness shifted.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Kael felt it instinctively. The abyss was not empty. It was vast, ancient, and aware. Something unseen brushed against his senses, cold and curious, as though examining a broken tool discarded by careless hands.
Kael's heart pounded.
He did not scream.
He did not beg.
If this place intended to devour him, then it would do so on its own terms—not his.
And somewhere in that endless dark, something paused… and listened.
Hatred burned hotter than fear.
If I survive…
If I crawl back from this hell…