Darkness.

  Lucian drifted between the waking world and unconsciousness, his body heavy as if he were sinking into an abyss. The battle with Varr’gorath played over in his mind—a blur of blood, shattered bone, and raw, unrelenting Ascen. He had triumphed, but at what cost? His entire being ached, his strength completely drained.

  Then, light.

  Lucian's eyes flickered open to the dim glow of a lantern hanging above him. The familiar scent of burning wood and damp earth filled his senses. He was inside the church, the faint crackling of a fire the only sound breaking the silence.

  A voice cut through the haze of exhaustion.

  "You're awake. Took you long enough."

  He groaned, trying to push himself up, only to feel a firm hand press against his shoulder.

  "Rest," Aldric's voice was calm, but the weight behind it was undeniable. "You've been unconscious for nearly two days."

  Lucian's vision adjusted, finally focusing on the old man sitting beside him. He looked the same—calm, unreadable—but there was something else in his expression. Something close to pride.

  "You did well," Aldric continued, his usual teasing tone absent. "I did not expect you to actually pull it off."

  Lucian exhaled slowly. The memories of the fight surged back—the intensity, the sheer brutality, the moment his sword shattered, forcing him to rely solely on his Ascen. He had felt something awaken within him then, something raw and untamed.

  Aldric watched him carefully. "Tell me, Lucian… do you remember the word Relicarn?"

  Lucian furrowed his brows. The word was familiar. "Yes… you mentioned it once before. But you never explained it to me. You said it was too early for me to understand."

  Aldric nodded. "And it was. But now… now you are ready."

  Lucian sat up slightly, his curiosity outweighing his exhaustion. "What is it?"

  Aldric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "A Relicarn is not just a weapon. It is the embodiment of your very soul, a weapon forged within your Ascen. Unlike any sword or spear crafted by mortal hands, a Relicarn has its own will, its own name, and its own nature. It is unique to you alone, a reflection of your very essence."

  Lucian absorbed the words, his mind racing. "A weapon inside the Ascen…?"

  Aldric nodded. "Yes. But it is not something you can force into existence. The Relicarn manifests only when your Ascen has matured enough to give birth to it. And even then, it is not something you choose." He fixed Lucian with a serious gaze. "You could spend your entire life training with a sword, but if your Relicarn manifests as an axe or a spear, that weapon will always feel more natural to you than the sword ever did."

  Lucian frowned. "How is that possible?"

  "Because it is engraved into you," Aldric said. "It is not just a tool; it is an extension of yourself, more a part of you than your own hands. When the time comes, you will not summon it through effort or training, but by calling its name. And when you do, you will feel it as though it has always been with you."

  Lucian was silent for a long moment, processing everything. "Then… what happens if someone's Ascen isn’t stable?"

  Aldric’s expression darkened slightly. "Then the Relicarn might rebel. If one's Ascen is unstable, the weapon can turn against its wielder, consuming them and taking control of their body. A warrior must be strong, not just in body, but in mind and spirit. Otherwise, they risk becoming something far worse than the monsters they fight."

  Lucian clenched his fists, feeling the faint pulse of his Ascen within him. He had felt it during the battle—the raw power, the hunger, the pull of something deeper. Was it his Relicarn trying to awaken? Or was it something else?

  Aldric stood, placing a hand on Lucian’s back. Lucian felt a surge of energy pass through him, as if Aldric was reading the very core of his being. The old man’s eyes widened slightly before a knowing grin crossed his lips.

  "It’s growing," Aldric murmured, more to himself than to Lucian. "Much faster than I expected." He pulled his hand back, standing tall. "Perhaps… sooner than later, you will be able to wield the weapon inside of you. Your Relicarn."

  Lucian met his mentor’s gaze, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. His journey was far from over. In fact, it had only just begun.

  ------------------------------------

  Thunder roared across the sky, illuminating the jagged spires of the Ebon Keep, a fortress swallowed by eternal night. The air was thick with an unnatural presence, as if the darkness itself had weight, pressing down on everything that dared to enter.

  At the heart of the keep sat a lone figure upon a throne of obsidian, its surface carved from the remnants of fallen warriors, their lifeless expressions forever frozen in black stone. No features could be discerned upon the figure—he was a void, a black silhouette against an even darker world. His presence alone was suffocating, bending the very air around him. He was The Hollow Lord.

  A cloaked figure approached the throne, moving carefully, as though afraid that a single misstep would end him. He knelt, his head bowed low.

  "My lord... it seems the beast in Veilwood Hollow has been slain."

  For a moment, there was nothing. Only silence. Then, the Hollow Lord exhaled—a sound like the death rattle of something ancient and forgotten. His fingers tapped slowly against the armrest of his throne, the motion eerily deliberate.

  "Who?" His voice was neither loud nor angry, yet it rumbled through the chamber like a distant storm, carrying with it an undeniable weight.

  The kneeling figure hesitated. "We do not know yet. But we felt it—his Ascen, raw and overwhelming, bleeding into the forest. The surge of power was unmistakable. It will not take long before we find him."

  The Hollow Lord leaned forward slightly. Interest flickered beneath his otherwise impassive demeanor.

  "Then we must act swiftly."

  His gaze shifted, looking beyond the throne room—into the abyss that lurked within the keep’s walls. "Summon the 12th Scion."

  A ripple of unnatural energy coursed through the chamber. The shadows writhed as if alive, and then, from the depths of darkness itself, a figure emerged.

  He stood at the foot of the throne, draped in a long, tattered coat, its fabric frayed and stained from battles long past. His presence was like a wound in reality—something wrong, something predatory. His sharp, angular features bore deep scars, yet it was his eyes that stood out: hollow pools of void, reflecting nothing but hunger.

  "At last... a worthy hunt," the 12th Scion murmured, bowing with exaggerated flair, his voice laced with amusement.

  The Hollow Lord remained motionless. "Find the one who killed my beast. Bring him to me. Alive."

  The 12th Scion tilted his head, considering the command. Then, he grinned—a cruel, unsettling expression.

  And he laughed.

  It started as a whisper, then grew—a sound warped and twisted, neither entirely human nor sane. It echoed through the chamber, slithering into every corner of the fortress like a promise of suffering.

  "Oh, this will be fun."

  Without another word, he turned, his form dissolving into the shadows, vanishing into the night.

  Lightning struck outside, casting long shadows across the throne room. The Hollow Lord sat back, steepling his fingers in thought. Whoever had slain Varr’gorath... had just earned his attention.

  And in his world, that was never a good thing.

  -------------------------------------

  Lucian’s grip tightened on the blanket draped over him as he replayed Aldric’s words in his mind. His thoughts were still sluggish from exhaustion, but something about what the old man had said unsettled him.

  Aldric studied him carefully before breaking the silence. “Tell me, Lucian,” he began, his tone unreadable. “What did you feel when your weapon broke?”

  Lucian’s eyes widened slightly at the question. He hadn’t told Aldric about that. “How…?” He hesitated, searching the old man’s expression for an answer. “How did you know?”

  Aldric chuckled, leaning back against the chair. “Because I gave you a weapon that was already on the brink of its destruction.”

  Lucian’s breath hitched. His mind reeled back to the moment his sword shattered against Varr’gorath’s hide. The way the blade gave way beneath the force of his strike—the way he had been left defenseless, forced to rely on something else. Something deeper.

  “You did that on purpose?” Lucian muttered, disbelief laced in his voice.

  Aldric nodded. “Of course. If you had depended on the blade alone, you would have died. I needed you to understand that a warrior does not fight with a weapon. He fights with his Ascen.”

  Lucian exhaled sharply, leaning his head back against the pillow. “You could have told me that before throwing me at a monster.”

  Aldric smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?” He paused before his expression turned more serious. “Now answer my question—what did you feel?”

  Lucian frowned, trying to recall the battle in detail. “Everything was happening too fast. I wasn’t thinking. It felt like…” He trailed off, struggling to put the sensation into words. “Like something was helping me fight. My body was moving on its own, and I didn’t feel the weight of exhaustion. I felt… strong.”

  Aldric hummed in approval. “And your Ascen?”

  Lucian hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  Aldric leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you feel it flowing through you? Like an aura of armor, coating your body?”

  Lucian blinked. That sensation… now that Aldric mentioned it, there had been something. His skin had tingled, as if wrapped in an unseen force. The beast’s attacks hadn’t felt as lethal as they should have. But was that really his Ascen?

  “I… I think so,” he admitted. “I just don’t remember everything clearly.”

  Aldric nodded as if he expected that answer. “That was the first phase of fighting with an Ascen,” he said. “Before you learn to wield it as a weapon, you must first learn to let it flow through you. It is instinctual, but it takes control and awareness to maintain. The fact that you even reached that state in the middle of battle proves your potential.”

  Lucian absorbed his words in silence, his mind still trying to piece together what had happened in that fight. He had barely been aware of it at the time, yet somehow, his body had moved as if something else had taken over.

  Something… deeper.

  A thought struck him then, and he turned to Aldric. “What about you?” he asked. “Do you have a Relicarn? Can you summon it at will?”

  For the first time, Aldric genuinely laughed. Not his usual dry chuckle, but a deep, hearty laugh that filled the small church. Lucian frowned, unsure what was so funny.

  “Oh, boy,” Aldric said, shaking his head. “Do you want to see it that badly?”

  Lucian nodded. “Wouldn’t it help me understand?”

  Aldric’s amusement faded slightly, though the smirk remained on his lips. “Perhaps. But I won’t show it to you.”

  Lucian raised a brow. “Why not?”

  “Because,” Aldric said, standing from his chair, “it wouldn’t be safe.”

  Lucian’s brows furrowed, but Aldric gave him no further explanation. The old man simply stretched, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off some invisible weight.

  “That’s enough talk for now,” Aldric said. “Rest. Your body needs it.”

  Lucian wanted to argue, but the exhaustion tugging at his limbs was undeniable. He let out a reluctant sigh and sank deeper into the mattress, his mind still swarming with thoughts.

  Aldric made his way to the door, pausing just before stepping out. He lingered for a moment, casting a glance back at Lucian.

  Then, he closed his eyes.

  He could feel it.

  Something was coming.

  The air carried a weight that hadn’t been there before, a silent omen pressing against his senses. He had lived long enough to recognize it.

  The beginning of the end.