Chapter 5: The Blood That Calls
Raviel's boots crunched against the shattered stone as he followed Horizon deeper into the ruins. His body still ached, a constant reminder of his humiliation, but he refused to show weakness.
The city was eerily quiet, the air thick with something unseen—a presence that coiled through the broken streets like a whisper waiting to be heard.
Raviel clenched his jaw. He hated it. The silence. The feeling of being hunted.
Horizon moved with practiced ease, his golden eyes scanning their surroundings. His steps made no sound, and every movement was deliberate.
Raviel, despite himself, found it… irritating.
"You're too careful," he muttered.
Horizon smirked. "And you're not careful enough."
Before Raviel could reply, something shifted in the air.
A sensation.
A pull.
Raviel froze, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers curled involuntarily, as if grasping for something long lost.
This feeling—
Magic.
It was faint. Barely a whisper. But it was there.
His magic.
Raviel's pulse quickened.
Horizon noticed the change immediately. "What is it?"
Raviel didn't answer. He turned sharply, following the faint trace of power, weaving through the rubble with newfound urgency.
Horizon let out a sigh. "Oh, sure. Just run off toward the ominous death trap. Great idea."
Raviel ignored him. His focus was elsewhere.
The sensation grew stronger with every step. His heart pounded. If he could just—
His foot crossed an invisible threshold—
And the world changed.
—
A flash of something ancient. Something torn from time itself.
A chamber, vast and dark, with crimson symbols burning against black stone.
A throne, shattered and broken, yet pulsing with an unnatural heat.
And in the center of it all—
A sigil. Floating, twisting, alive.
Calling to him.
—
Raviel staggered, gasping as the vision faded.
He was back in the ruins. The empty streets. The cold air. Horizon was staring at him, arms crossed.
"You good, or did your brain just melt?"
Raviel didn't answer. He turned toward a collapsed building, its structure warped as if something had exploded within it. His pulse hammered.
"It's there."
Something waited beneath the rubble. Something that belonged to him.
He took a step forward.
Horizon grabbed his shoulder.
"Hold up, prince." His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it. "Whatever you just saw—it wasn't normal, was it?"
Raviel hesitated.
"...No."
Horizon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
Then he drew his sword.
And threw it.
A blur of silver. A wet squelch.
A body hit the ground.
Raviel spun, eyes widening.
A figure—draped in tattered robes, its skin gray and cracked—lay twitching on the stone. Horizon walked up, yanked his sword free, and casually wiped the blood off on the corpse's cloak.
"Told you we had company," he muttered.
Raviel's gaze flicked toward the shadows.
More were coming.
He could hear them now—whispers slithering through the air. Hungry. Hollow. Endless.
His fingers itched.
He needed his power.
And whatever was buried beneath that rubble…
It was his.
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