Blood Of FirstBorn

The Vault's silence was deceptive. After the blood, the chaos, and the magic, it now stood too still. The scattered bones of the Serpent Kings lay untouched, their cursed armor dimmed beneath the eerie torchlight. But something had changed—Kael could feel it.

The relic pulsed in his hand.

It wasn't made of metal, nor gemstone. It was a crown, wrought from fossilized scales and silver threads that shimmered with ancient runes. A jagged, broken halo with a hunger embedded into every crack.

Kael didn't remember picking it up. But it was there, clutched tightly in his hand. It felt… familiar.

Sylen's voice broke through the haze. "Put that down, boy. Now."

Kael turned. Sylen stood at a distance, sword unsheathed, though not pointed. His eyes weren't just wary—they were fearful.

"It's just a crown," Kael said quietly. "Isn't it?"

Sylen shook his head. "No. That's no crown. That's the Mark of Ruin—a relic forged from the essence of the Firstborn who defied the old gods. It was lost in the First Sundering. You shouldn't be touching it."

"I didn't choose to," Kael whispered. "It… called me."

Behind him, Lira placed a hand on his shoulder. She looked at the relic, and her voice trembled. "Kael… what is that thing doing to you?"

Kael blinked. His fingers were bleeding.

Where he gripped the relic, the flesh had split open—not from injury, but from something underneath pushing outward. Veins darkened with ancient light traced down his forearm.

Before he could drop it, the crown melted into smoke—and vanished into his skin.

"No!" Sylen shouted, rushing forward—but it was already gone.

The chamber rumbled.

A sharp, piercing screech echoed from the deepest shadows of the Vault. One of the sarcophagi burst open. From the dust rose a massive skeletal serpent—its bones stitched with metal, runes etched into every rib.

"The Vault's guardian," Sylen cursed. "We've awakened it."

Kael's eyes flared silver.

His hand moved before his thoughts did, drawing a rune he shouldn't know. The air snapped. Power surged. Ancient. Violent. Raw.

The serpent lunged.

Kael met it head-on, wind swirling in unnatural patterns around him. His spell slammed into the serpent's skull. Bone cracked. Dust flew.

Sylen joined the fight, leaping onto its back, blade flashing in the gloom.

Lira, meanwhile, activated her blood-borne shield. Her magic, still weak compared to her brother's, formed a glowing barrier to protect him from the creature's tail sweep.

Kael's vision blurred. The world distorted. He wasn't fighting alone—he felt something inside him guiding his movements.

A memory not his own.

"Strike beneath the third eye. That is where the soul binds to the bone."

He moved with eerie precision. His palm opened, forming a sigil midair, then driving it forward.

The serpent let out a final, tortured shriek—and collapsed.

The chamber fell still once more.

Sylen approached Kael, panting, face grim. "You've awakened something that cannot be undone. The Vault was never meant to be opened by someone like you."

Kael turned to him, his voice hollow. "Then tell me. What am I?"

Sylen didn't answer.

But Lira did. "You're my brother. That's all that matters."

He smiled faintly at her, though pain danced behind his eyes.

But the Vault had one final gift.

As the dust settled, an ancient mural revealed itself behind the central sarcophagus. Etched in black stone, it showed the rise and fall of the Firstborn.

Kael stepped closer.

The figure in the center wore a familiar crown. His eyes glowed silver. In one hand, he held a serpent's skull. In the other—a broken world.

And beneath, in the Old Tongue: He who bore the Ruin shall rise again. The gods shall bleed.

Kael staggered back. "That's me…"

Lira stared. "No… it can't be."

Sylen's expression hardened. "The Pale Hand will come for you now. They were formed to destroy anything tied to the Firstborn. You just painted a target on your soul."

Kael straightened. "Then let them come."

He turned to the mural again. The man depicted there had stood alone, against gods and armies alike.

Kael clenched his fists.

But this time… he wouldn't be alone.

Not while he had his sister.

Not while his mother waited in the safehouse beyond the marsh, protecting what was left of their family with quiet strength and unspoken love.

Not while allies like Sylen, however reluctant, stood by his side.

The Vault rumbled one last time as they turned to leave, sealing itself shut behind them.

The journey ahead would be perilous.

But Kael had taken his first step not just into ancient power—but into ancient purpose.