The Flame lingered, watching Kieran with dull interest. Still, a deeper kind of desire welled in its hollow sockets.
A wistful limerence bled from its gaze while sensing hints of a kindred power idling beneath Kieran's surface, kept at bay by an ineluctable restraint. It hated that restraint, for it felt too similar to its own, only far weaker in comparison.
The strength needed to contain a God — even its Fallen and Broken remnants — was unfathomable.
Quietly, the Flame continued watching Kieran's current actions.
Its voice was atypically quiet, but its thoughts and ambitions scurried with blazing alacrity. Avarice and aspiration united as the Flame watched Kieran carve his palm and await the onset of pouring blood.
Kieran had been skeptical of this, but it was an experiment he had to conduct. He had succeeded in emulating the Mystic Gate's effect to the best of his abilities. Would imitating the power of the Blood Rune be any different?
