The crimson handprint on the wall pulsed with a soft, warm light, a beacon in the drab, grey surroundings of the orphanage. Elian stared at it, his infant heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He had called out to the Crimson Hand, and they had answered. But what did it mean? What did they want? And how could he, a mere infant, possibly interact with them?
He tried to focus his mind, to reach out to the handprint, to understand its purpose. He felt a faint connection, a thread of energy linking him to the symbol. It was as if the handprint was a doorway, a gateway to something… else.
He willed himself to move closer, to touch the handprint. Of course, he couldn't physically move. He was still confined to his crib, his tiny limbs too weak to lift him. But he could move his consciousness, his awareness. He focused his mind on the handprint, imagining himself reaching out, touching its surface.
As he did so, the handprint shimmered, its crimson glow intensifying. The wall behind it seemed to dissolve, revealing a swirling vortex of crimson and black. It was like a miniature portal, a gateway to another place.
Elian gasped (or at least, the infant equivalent of a gasp), his eyes wide with wonder. He had never seen anything like this before. He had only heard whispers of magic, of mages who could manipulate the elements, who could bend reality to their will. Now, he was witnessing it firsthand.
He hesitated. He didn't know what lay beyond the portal. It could be dangerous. It could be a trap. But he also knew that this was his chance, his opportunity to connect with the Crimson Hand, to learn more about his powers, to find his place in this world.
He made a decision. He would go through the portal.
He focused his mind on the swirling vortex, imagining himself stepping through it. He felt a strange sensation, a pulling, a tugging, as if he was being drawn into the portal. His vision blurred, and the familiar surroundings of the orphanage faded away.
When his vision cleared, he found himself in a completely different place. He was no longer in the drab, grey room of the orphanage. He was in a vast, cavernous space, lit by torches that flickered on the walls, casting long, dancing shadows. The air was thick with the smell of incense and something else… something metallic, almost like blood. It was a strange, unsettling scent, both alluring and repulsive.
The walls of the cavern were covered in strange symbols, similar to the ones he had seen in the Whispering Woods. They glowed faintly, emitting a soft, crimson light that illuminated the cavern with an eerie, otherworldly glow. In the center of the cavern stood a large, stone altar, covered in the same symbols. And on the altar, a single object rested: a dagger, its hilt encrusted with obsidian, its blade pulsing with a faint, blue light.
Elian recognized the dagger. He had seen it in a vision, a vision that had flooded his mind when he had touched a similar dagger in the Whispering Woods. A burning city, a figure cloaked in darkness, and a single, piercing scream.
He felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew, instinctively, that this place was dangerous. But he also knew that he had to explore it. He had to understand what it meant. He had to find out what the Crimson Hand wanted from him.
He focused his mind on the dagger, trying to understand its significance. He felt a pull towards it, a sense of destiny, as if it was calling to him.
As he focused on the dagger, a voice echoed through the cavern, a voice that was both ancient and powerful, resonating with an authority that commanded attention.
"Welcome, Elian," the voice said. "We have been waiting for you."
Elian's heart pounded in his chest. He had made contact. He had found the Crimson Hand. But who were they? What did they want?
A figure materialized before him, stepping out from the shadows. It was tall and cloaked, its face hidden in the depths of its hood. But Elian could see two glowing red eyes staring back at him, burning with an intensity that made him shiver.
"We are the Crimson Hand," the figure said, its voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the cavern. "We are the guardians of potential, the protectors of those who are different."
The figure gestured towards the dagger on the altar. "That dagger is a key," it said. "A key to your destiny, to your true potential. It is a weapon, a tool, a symbol. It is yours to claim, if you are worthy."
Elian felt a surge of excitement. This was it. This was his chance to break free from the confines of the orphanage, to embrace his powers, to become something more.
"But be warned," the figure continued, its voice taking on a more ominous tone. "The path you have chosen is not an easy one. It is fraught with danger, with challenges that will test you to your limits. You will face enemies, both within and without. You will be tempted, betrayed, and hunted. But if you persevere, if you remain true to your purpose, you will achieve greatness. You will become a legend."
Elian felt a thrill of anticipation. He was ready for the challenge. He had been preparing for this his entire life, even if he hadn't known it.
"Are you willing to accept the burden of your destiny, Elian?" the figure asked. "Are you willing to join the Crimson Hand?"
Elian didn't hesitate. "Yes," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "I am."
The figure nodded. "Then step forward," it said. "Claim your destiny."
Elian focused his mind, willing his consciousness to move towards the altar. He felt the pull of the dagger, the call of his destiny. He reached out, and his spectral hand grasped the hilt of the dagger.
As he did so, a surge of energy flowed through him, a power unlike anything he had ever felt before. The cavern around him seemed to dissolve, and he was enveloped in a blinding white light.