The Realm of Wonders

Chapter 5: The Ash-Blood Pact

Lightning roared across the canyon as Alan unleashed the storm within.

The Crimson Heirs charged, blades flashing with rune-fire, but they were too slow. Alan’s eyes glowed silver-blue as instinct took over. His body moved like a ghost, each step a blur, each strike laced with raw elemental force. The first attacker lunged.

Alan twisted aside, his palm igniting with wind and flame. With a fierce shout, he slammed his hand into the man’s chest. The Heir was launched backward like a ragdoll, crashing into the glassy rocks with a sickening crunch.

Two more came from the flanks. Kaela loosed arrow after arrow, her aim sharp and deadly. But these Heirs were elite, one deflected a shot mid-air with a crescent blade, while the other spun into a shadowy form and vanished.

“Alan, behind you!” Kaela cried. Too late. The shadowy Heir reformed behind Alan, blade raised But Alan’s medallion flashed.

The strike never landed. A shimmering wall of storm-light burst from Alan’s back, repelling the assassin. Alan turned, eyes furious. With a roar, he brought his hands together, summoning the power of wind and thunder.

The blast shattered the ridge. Heirs flew like leaves in a hurricane, their bodies crashing against stone. Only one remained standing, a tall woman with a crimson mask and curved daggers burning with spectral flame. She smiled beneath her hood.

“You’re waking up,” she said. “Good. We’ll meet again, ‘Vessel.’ When your fire consumes you… I’ll be there to claim what’s left.” With that, she vanished into black mist.

.Later That Night.

Alan slumped against the canyon wall, drenched in sweat and blood. His body screamed with fatigue. Power like that had never surged through him before, it had nearly torn him apart.

Kaela sat beside him, wrapping her wounds in cloth. She was breathing hard but smiling slightly.

“You didn’t explode,” she said. Alan gave a weak chuckle. “Felt like I would.”

Kaela’s smile faded. “The Crimson Heirs only come for high bounties. Someone out there has put a serious price on your head.” Alan’s fingers tightened around the medallion.

“The Order… the Heirs… Why now?” Kaela looked at him carefully.

“Because the Eye woke up. And so did you.”

She reached into her satchel and pulled out a flask. “Here. Drink.” Alan took it gratefully, then paused.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” he said. “You could’ve left.”

Kaela glanced at the stars.

“I thought about it,” she admitted. “But my father once said something strange. He told me the world would change when the Eye of Nihros found a new host. That we'd either be saved… or destroyed.”

She looked back at Alan. “I want to see which one you’ll become.”

.Shrine of the Sleeping Flame — Two Days Later.

Nestled within the jagged cliffs of the Ember Crater lay a temple carved from volcanic stone. It pulsed with dormant energy, the air heavy with sulfur and ash. Obsidian statues lined the stairway, guardians with molten eyes. Alan and Kaela climbed in silence.

At the top, they found a wide gate of flame, forged steel. Before it sat an old man in crimson robes, blindfolded, sipping tea as if nothing in the world could disturb him. Alan stepped forward. “Are you the Ember Sage?”

The man raised his head slowly. “The Warden sends you, then?”

Alan nodded, holding out the scroll. The Sage waved it away. “I don’t need to read it. I felt your power the moment you crossed the crater. The Eye is awake, and the old bindings tremble.”

He stood, joints cracking like kindling. “If you’ve come to learn, then step inside. But beware, this shrine burns away the false self. If you lie to yourself, if you fear who you are… the flames will show you no mercy.” Alan swallowed. “I’m ready.”

The interior of the shrine was like the belly of a living volcano. Rivers of magma flowed through runes etched into the floor. Alan stood at the center of a glowing ring, stripped of weapons, his medallion floating before him. The Ember Sage’s voice echoed.

“Begin the Ash-Blood Pact. Let the Eye reveal the truth of your soul.” The medallion pulsed once… then again… And then, Alan was inside the fire.

.Within the Flame.

Visions flooded him again, but these were different. They weren’t past lives or divine wars. They were his memories. His mother, vanishing into a blizzard with the medallion in hand. His father, whispering stories of ancient gods and forgotten cities. The jeering voices of sect disciples calling him a disgrace. The loneliness. The hunger. The shame. Each pain was a flame. But Alan stood tall within them.

“I’m not that weak boy anymore,” he whispered. The fire swirled. A shadow formed, his own face, twisted, laughing. “You’re still afraid,” the shadow mocked. “You don’t deserve this power. It’ll kill everyone around you.”

“No.” Alan stepped forward. “I will change. I will protect them. I don’t care if I’m chosen or cursed. I choose myself.” He reached into the fire, and seized the Eye. It shattered. And reformed.

.The flames vanished.

Alan stood alone in the shrine, surrounded by silence. His skin glowed faintly, and where his eyes once held confusion, now burned two irises of flickering ash-silver light. The Ember Sage watched, silent for a long time.

“You passed.” Alan turned. “What now?” The Sage smiled faintly. “Now… the real war begins.”