The Price of Power: Born in Binding

The air reeked of smoke and scorched earth.

Beneath a bleeding sky, Lio stood alone before the Ashen Span—a colossal, ancient bridge of obsidian and bone that arched across the roaring Chasm of Khar-Tirn. Below, molten rivers surged like serpents in agony, throwing flickers of crimson onto Lio's face as he stared across. This was no ordinary place. This was where legends died. And secrets were buried in fire.

He adjusted the strap of his worn satchel, fingers brushing against the Severed Glyphstone and the Shattered Oath Sigil tucked safely inside. Tools, relics—keys. Everything he'd recovered over the past weeks had led him here. But no relic was heavier than the weight in his chest.

Behind him, the others remained in hiding—Tesha, still haunted by the destruction at Arvain Hollow; Ferren, barely recovered from the Fanged Mist; and Sien, the boy who had finally learned what killing truly meant. Lio hadn't told them where he was going. He couldn't risk it. They weren't ready to walk this path. Maybe he wasn't either.

But the Vault of Echoes waited beyond this infernal divide. And it knew his name.

The Ashen Span had not been crossed in over two centuries.

Each step felt heavier than the last. The air here burned, yet frost clung to the arches. Old magic—residual from the First Binding—infested the stone, humming beneath his boots. Lio didn't hesitate. He'd come too far. He needed to reach the Vault before the Crimson Hand did.

Then came the voices.

Whispers slithered from cracks in the bridge. Disjointed, layered. Not human.

"Return… Return… He is not yet whole…"

He clenched his jaw and moved faster.

Halfway across, a figure materialized before him—cloaked in ash, wrapped in torn ceremonial robes, skin etched with runes that burned violet. Its feet did not touch the ground. Its presence distorted the air, like reality recoiling around it.

"Your blood carries the Brand," it rasped. "You are not permitted."

Lio met its gaze without flinching. "I carry the truth. That's more than most."

The entity tilted its head. "Truth burns. As will you."

"I'm already burning," Lio muttered, stepping forward.

The entity floated backward—silent, watching—then vanished.

The temperature dropped. Frost licked the obsidian. Pain lanced through Lio's chest as the Binding Mark on his arm flared to life—glowing with molten red light. His knees buckled. Memories surged, unbidden:

—His father's silhouette walking away as the village burned.

—Tesha's face when she found her brother's remains.

—The boy, Sien, whispering "I'm sorry" after his first kill.

The bridge began to shake.

Lio forced himself upright, pushing past the anguish. These weren't just memories. The bridge—the Span—was testing him. Not just strength. Resolve.

"I will not break," he whispered, stumbling forward. "Not now."

With every step, the bridge fell silent.

At the far end of the Ashen Span, the land changed.

The sky above was blackened slate, without stars. A jagged cliff rose from the scorched earth, and carved into it was the Vault of Echoes—no door, just a wall of polished obsidian carved with runes older than any language Lio knew. But the Mark on his arm responded. It throbbed with the same rhythm that pulsed through the stone.

Lio approached.

As his hand touched the Vault, the world shifted.

Sound vanished. Light bent. For a moment, Lio was nowhere—and everywhere.

Then, the stone rippled beneath his palm. A seam formed. The wall of the Vault parted like silk under a knife. A warm breath of air spilled out from within—not natural air—but breathing, intentional, like the Vault itself had been waiting.

A voice echoed—not in his ears, but in his bones:

"Child of the Forsaken Binding. Come and remember what was stolen."

Lio's eyes widened.

He stepped through.

Inside the Vault, time did not exist. Runes danced midair, forming constellations, fragments of worlds long dead. Murals moved like liquid memory across the walls. And at the center, suspended in stasis, was a single throne of molten crystal.

Upon it sat a corpse.

No… not a corpse.

A mirror.

Lio stared at the figure—it wore the same Mark. The same face. But older. Wiser. Twisted.

The air grew cold as realization dawned.

This Vault didn't hold secrets.

It reflected them.

And Lio… was about to learn what he had once been—and what he would become again.

End of Chapter 20