The sanctuary was eerily quiet that evening. Dante sat in a corner of the stone chamber, his back pressed against the cool wall as he leafed through the ancient book Alaric had given him. The faint flicker of candlelight cast dancing shadows on the pages, but the cryptic writing made little sense to him.
Symbols intertwined with jagged handwriting described techniques he could barely comprehend. Words like blood resonance, latent surge, and primordial binding leaped off the page, each more confusing than the last.
"Don't try to understand it all at once," Alaric said, entering the room with his usual air of calm authority. "The book is a guide, not a manual. You'll understand more when the time comes."
Dante sighed, closing the book. "What if the time comes too soon? What if I don't get it before—"
Alaric cut him off. "That's why you're training. Worrying about what-ifs won't help you survive."
Dante stood, frustration bubbling to the surface. "It's not just the training. It's everything—this mark, these powers, these Lords you keep talking about. I didn't ask for any of this!"
Alaric's gaze was steady, his tone even. "No one asks for fate, Dante. It's thrust upon us. But what you do with it—that's where your choice lies."
Dante clenched his fists, his anger simmering. "And what if I choose to walk away?"
"You won't," Alaric said simply. "Because deep down, you know there's no escaping this. The mark binds you to the Bloodline, and the Bloodline binds you to its destiny."
Before Dante could respond, a sharp knock echoed through the sanctuary. Both men froze, their instincts kicking in.
"Stay here," Alaric ordered, his voice low. He moved to the entrance, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Dante watched as Alaric disappeared into the shadows, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. Moments later, he heard muffled voices. Curious—and defiant—he crept closer, pressing himself against the cold stone wall near the doorway.
"You're reckless, Alaric," a deep, unfamiliar voice said. "Hiding him here puts us all at risk."
"I'm protecting him," Alaric replied, his tone cold. "He's not ready for your interference."
"He's not ready for anything," the voice countered. "And yet the mark is active. Do you know what that means?"
Dante leaned in, his heart pounding.
"It means they've already sensed him," the voice continued. "You're gambling with his life—and ours."
"Enough," Alaric snapped. "He'll be ready when the time comes. I won't let you or anyone else rush his awakening."
There was a tense silence before the other voice spoke again. "You're playing a dangerous game, Alaric. The Lords don't wait. Neither do their enemies."
Dante pulled back, his mind racing. The conversation confirmed what he feared: he was at the center of something far bigger than he understood.
Alaric returned moments later, his expression grim.
"Who was that?" Dante demanded.
"A messenger," Alaric said curtly. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Dante stepped forward, his frustration boiling over. "Nothing to worry about? I just heard him say the Lords already know about me. How is that nothing?"
Alaric's eyes narrowed. "Eavesdropping will only get you half-truths, Dante. There are things in motion you can't begin to understand. Focus on your training."
Dante's jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. Arguing with Alaric never got him anywhere.
"Tomorrow, we'll take a different approach," Alaric said, his tone softening slightly. "Your abilities are tied to your emotions, but they also respond to your instincts. We'll test that."
"What kind of test?" Dante asked warily.
Alaric didn't answer directly. "Rest while you can. The road ahead won't be easy."
As Alaric disappeared deeper into the sanctuary, Dante sat back down, staring at the closed book beside him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was running out of time—that no amount of training would prepare him for what lay ahead.
In the flickering candlelight, the mark on his palm glowed faintly, as if whispering to him. Dante clenched his hand into a fist, determined to find answers—before they found him.