Draeven sighed, shaking his head. "Why do I even bring you two?"
Reaching into the pouch hanging from his waist, he pulled out a small object. The moment his palm opened, a wave of searing heat exploded outward, forcing Vek'tal and Tzarek to instinctively take a step back.
The boat lurched, rocked by the sudden burst of energy. The octopus-like creature pulling them hissed in agitation, its tentacles gripping the edges tightly. But the heat lasted only a moment—Draeven swiftly sealed the molten core back inside the pouch, his fingers tightening around it. He knew better than to let it linger. If the heat flared for too long, the beast would panic, and an accident in the middle of the magma river was the last thing they needed.
Even though it had only been a glimpse, Vek'tal and Tzarek would never forget what they saw. Vek'tal's voice came out rough, almost disbelieving. "Isn't that... just our heart???"
Draeven chuckled. "This is exactly why it's forbidden to show it to others. It's part of the secret behind the Ashborn's strength… and to keep everyone motivated to become one."
The mortality rate for the Ashborn ritual was already dangerously high. Despite their natural resistance to heat, having their very existence reshaped by the Primordial Flame was something only a handful survived. And if more people knew the process involved ripping out their own heart… well, fewer would dare take the trial. But as high as the cost was, so was the reward—complete immunity to heat and a living weapon bound to them.
"You fool, it's not just our heart! Didn't you see?" Tzarek's voice was sharp, his gaze locked onto Draeven's pouch. "It had teeth! That thing is alive." His mind raced as the pieces fell into place. "Now I understand… why the Ashborn must undergo another trial. When they say we 'forge our weapon' from our own body, they mean it literally..."
Draeven exhaled. "Honestly, I was just as surprised. I only learned about this after surviving the baptism." His glowing eyes flickered in the dim light. "People think we're gathering materials for another ritual. But in reality, we're just feeding the molten core. Once it's full, it transforms into a weapon."
Tzarek's expression darkened as the weight of the revelation settled over him. "Are you really sure about telling us this?" His voice was lower now, tense. "If this gets out… if anyone hears that you've broken the oath, you'll be labeled a traitor."
The implication was clear. The Ashborn were famous for their near-indestructibility in battle—limitless stamina, absurd regeneration, and even if their heads were severed, they would just turn to ash and grow back. Until now, everyone assumed it was a blessing from the Primordial Flame. But now Tzarek knew the truth. Their heart wasn't in their body. It had been separated—turned into a living weapon. That meant to truly kill an Ashborn, one didn't need to destroy their body. They needed to destroy the weapon.
This knowledge changed everything. The reason the Nephirid still held their position despite their last great tragedy was because of the Ashborn warriors. If this secret ever got out… if their enemies learned how to truly kill them…
At the very least, Draeven, Vek'tal, and Tzarek would be silenced—publicly executed as a warning to keep the Ashborn loyal and silent.
Draeven just let out another low chuckle. "You two already know my true goal. We're all in the same boat—not just this one." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to carry a quiet weight. "If either of you babble… I'm finished. And so are you."
Silence ensued as the three of them locked eyes. Draeven's words brought back memories of an old oath—one that had pushed him to become Ashborn while the others had focused on carving their own place in the world.
Vek'tal let out a long sigh before cracking a grin. "Well, enough about that. What's the plan now? First, we need you to officially become Ashborn before you start thinking about your suicide mission."
Tzarek nodded, his molten-red veins pulsing faintly as he studied Draeven. "We'll go to the Durnokh. Ugly bastards, but their scouting skills are unmatched. They have an information network that stretches across the entire underground. I'm sure they know more than that bastard king ever told me."
"The Durnokh?" Vek'tal's grin faded, replaced with a scowl. "You serious? Those creepy crawlers?" His expression twisted with reluctance as old memories surfaced.
The Durnokh were short, hunched creatures, standing at around 91-122 cm, their bodies encased in jet-black chitin that absorbed both light and vibrations, making them nearly impossible to detect. Even a veteran like Vek'tal had barely sensed them the last time they worked together. But it wasn't just their stealth that got under his skin—it was their attitude.
Most Durnokh had a rough, sadistic streak. They enjoyed messing with their allies, constantly jump-scaring them mid-mission, making it seem like they were about to slit their throats, only to stop at the last second and mock them for being too slow to react. Even though the Durnokh were technically vassals of the Nephirid, they never showed an ounce of respect.
Vek'tal crossed his arms. "You sure there's no better choice? Maybe anything that doesn't skitter around in the dark and think it's funny to give their own allies a heart attack?"
Draeven smirked. "If you've got a better option, let's hear it."
Vek'tal fell silent, his expression tightening. He knew firsthand how dangerous the Durnokh were. It wasn't just their stealth—their three multi-jointed fingers could shift into razor-sharp claws, slicing through even the toughest armor like it was wet paper. Their detection abilities made it nearly impossible to surprise them, and their ability to vanish into the dark was something he still found unsettling.
"They're a solid choice," Vek'tal admitted, grudgingly. "But they're not gonna help for free. You got the payment?"
Tzarek nodded in agreement. "They will ask for something, and it won't be cheap."
Draeven chuckled, tapping the pouch at his waist. "Don't worry. I came prepared. Besides, this is a chance to lay the groundwork for our future plans."
He leaned forward, his voice lowering as he began explaining in detail what he had in mind.