The pridormial beast of ash

Chapter 3

"If you die tonight, little worm, you take my soul straight to hell with you."

Ethan ignored the flashing red numbers counting down in his vision and pushed through the rotten wooden door of his father's old workshop. The air inside smelled of dust, rusted iron, and old copper shavings. He kicked a broken gear out of his way, stumbling toward a workbench covered in cobwebs. The freezing rain outside battered the thin metal roof like a hail of gunfire.

"Hold on," Ethan whispered, his hands shaking violently as he gently placed the shivering creature onto a pile of dry rags. "Just look at me. Stay awake."

The tiny lizard let out a weak, dry clicking sound. Its pale skin was becoming brittle, covered in tiny fractures that leaked a strange, luminous golden mist. The scent of heavy ozone filled the small room, making Ethan’s hair stand on end.

"Come on, work with me!" Ethan muttered, rubbing his pounding temples. The burning crimson text in his eyes shifted, rearranging itself like hot coals.

"System," Ethan demanded, his voice echoing off the bare walls. "What do you want from me? Explain the seal!"

The text solidified in his field of view, crisp and unyielding.

"Species identified: Primeval Chaos Dragon," Ethan read aloud, his voice dropping into a stunned whisper. "Current status: Hibernating under nine cosmic seals. Current manifestation mistaken for genetic mutation defect. Danger: Soul bond active. Death of beast will result in total spiritual collapse of the host."

"A dragon?" Ethan stared at the pathetic, hairless thing on the rags. It looked more like a drowned rat than a myth. "You have got to be kidding me. How do I fix it?"

The crimson text flashed aggressively. "First seal release requirement: One hundred units of volatile fire energy. Recommendation: High-grade volcanic crystal or a raw Corrupted Fire Core. Time remaining: Five hours, forty-two minutes."

"A Corrupted Fire Core?" Ethan let out a bitter, breathy laugh. "Those are restricted items. The city guard locks them away in the high-security vaults of the black market district. Normal people get executed just for buying one on the street."

The little creature let out a sharp, painful gasp, its tiny tail curling tightly into a knot. Another crack opened up along its spine, glowing with that intense, bleeding gold light.

"Fine," Ethan said, his jaw tightening as he reached under the workbench to pull out an old leather tool belt. "They already kicked me out of the city. They already took my name. What else can they do to me?"

"You are going to get yourself killed before the clock even hits zero," a voice rasped from the dark corner of the workshop.

Ethan spun around, his hand instantly gripping a heavy iron wrench from the table. "Who is there? Show yourself!"

A thin, middle-aged man with a deep scar running down his cheek stepped into the dim light of the oil lamp. It was Vance's old neighbor, a disgraced blacksmith named Silas.

"Relax, kid," Silas said, raising his hands, though his eyes immediately drifted to the glowing creature on the bench. "I saw what happened at the arena. Your uncle sold this place to the Crest family an hour ago. They sent people to clear out the inventory. I came to warn you."

"I do not care about the inventory, Silas," Ethan said, his voice cold as he strapped a hunting dagger to his thigh. "I need to get to the underground storehouse in the third district."

"Are you insane?" Silas took a step forward, his voice rising over the sound of the rain. "The black market vaults are run by the Blood Hound gang! They work directly under the Crest family's payroll. If you go there looking to steal a fire core, they will hang your body from the city gates by morning!"

"Then let them try," Ethan snapped, checking the lock on his gauntlets. "If I stay here, this bond breaks and my soul burns to ash anyway. I have less than six hours."

Silas looked from Ethan’s furious eyes down to the tiny, agonizing lizard. He let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Your father was a good tamer, Ethan. He wouldn't want you throwing your life away in a gutter."

"My father told me to make them stare," Ethan said, stepping closer to the older man, his presence suddenly carrying a strange, heavy pressure that made Silas blink in surprise. "Right now, the only way to do that is to break into that vault. Are you going to help me, or do I have to walk through you?"

Silas stared at him for three agonizing seconds before shaking his head. "The guard rotation changes at midnight. The rear alley of the storehouse has a weak spot in the ventilation duct. But you will need a master key to bypass the elemental locks."

"Where do I get one?" Ethan asked instantly.

"I have an old prototype," Silas whispered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a jagged, brass-colored disc. "It will give you exactly one minute before the alarms trigger. If you are not out by then..."

"I will be out," Ethan interrupted, snatching the disc.

He turned back to the workbench, carefully placing Solis inside a padded leather carrying box and slinging it securely across his chest. The golden mist was leaking faster now, warming his skin through the leather.

"Thank you, Silas," Ethan said, moving toward the front exit.

"Do not make me regret this, Vance," Silas called out into the dark. "If you die out there, the Vance name dies with you."

"The Vance name died this afternoon," Ethan said, his hand reaching for the heavy iron doorknob. "When I come back, I am building something new."

He gripped the handle, ready to plunge back into the freezing storm.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of Ethan's neck stood up. The heavy downpour outside seemed to muffle, overridden by a tiny, scraping sound coming from directly above his head.

Ethan froze, his hand still clamping the cold iron of the doorknob. He held his breath, his eyes darting upward toward the shadowed wooden rafters of the ceiling.

*Creak.*

A floorboard shifted upstairs in the old storage loft. It was a calculated, weightless movement, the sound of a professional trying to avoid detection.

Ethan slowly lowered his hand from the doorknob, his heart hammering against his ribs as he slid his fingers down toward the hilt of his hunting dagger. Before he could even draw the blade, a tiny metallic glint caught the light of the oil lamp right at the bottom of the front door.

A thin, flexible wire slid silently through the gap beneath the frame, curving upward to hook onto the manual latch.