The throne room was thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of bad news. The King sat upon his gilded seat, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests, his face a mask of simmering rage. Before him stood the Commander of the Royal Guard, a seasoned warrior clad in polished armor that gleamed under the light of the chandeliers. But even the commander, a man known for his unshakable composure, appeared unsettled.
"Dead," the King said, his voice low and trembling with suppressed fury. "Ravok is dead."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the commander confirmed, his head bowed in deference. "We found his body in the northern woods. His Aether Crystal had been removed, and his wounds… they were not the work of a single man."
The King's eyes burned with rage. "Then who? Who dares defy me in such a way?"
The commander hesitated, then spoke carefully. "Your Majesty, it is clear that Walid did not escape alone. A group of formidable individuals must have aided him. The power required to bring down Ravok—one of the kingdom's finest hunters—is beyond that of any common man."
"Walid!" the King spat the name as if it were poison. "He's a mere peasant! Why would anyone risk so much for someone so insignificant?"
"That, sire, is the question," the commander replied, his brow furrowed. "Perhaps Walid is not as simple as he appears. There may be more to him than we've been led to believe."
The King rose from his throne, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the chamber. "Then we will find out. Raise the bounty on his head. I want every hunter, mercenary, and cutthroat in the land searching for him. Double the reward if he's brought to me alive."
The commander bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Majesty."
As the commander left to carry out the orders, the King remained standing, his fists clenched at his sides. The flames in the torches lining the walls seemed to flicker in response to his wrath.
In the eastern wing of the palace, the Princess sat in her lavish chambers, adorned with silks and treasures from across the realm. She lounged by her window, a faint smirk playing on her lips as she gazed out at the palace gardens.
"Ravok, dead," she mused, a soft laugh escaping her. "And all because of that little commoner. How delightfully unexpected."
She reached for a glass of wine, swirling the crimson liquid as if it were a reflection of her amusement. "Oh, Walid, you're proving to be far more entertaining than I thought. A simple pawn, yet you've managed to throw the entire court into disarray."
Her handmaid, standing nearby, hesitated before speaking. "Your Highness, should I inform His Majesty of your thoughts?"
The Princess waved her off dismissively. "No need. Let the King rage and the court tremble. I prefer to watch this game unfold. And Walid…" Her smirk deepened. "Let's see how long you can survive. Entertain me, little game piece."
Far from the palace, Walid and Daemir trudged through a muddy path, their cloaks pulled tightly around them to conceal their identities. The remote village they had entered was little more than a collection of shacks, its people haggard and weary. They purchased provisions—bread, dried meat, and water—without lingering, their presence drawing curious glances from the villagers.
They soon left the village behind, heading into the dense forest. The trees loomed overhead, their branches intertwined to form a canopy that blocked out most of the sunlight. After walking for what felt like hours, they found a secluded cave nestled among the rocks. Exhausted, they settled inside, their breaths visible in the cool air.
Daemir sat cross-legged, removing his cloak to reveal the deep gash on his shoulder from the earlier battle. His hand glowed faintly as he pressed it against the wound, muttering an incantation. The injury began to close, the skin knitting itself back together.
Walid watched in awe. "You can heal yourself like that?"
Daemir glanced at him, gesturing for Walid to come closer. "Hold still." He placed his hand on Walid's head, and a warm sensation spread through Walid's body. The aches and cuts from their escape faded, leaving him feeling refreshed.
Walid touched his now-healed arm, astonished. "What… what kind of power is this? And that crystal you took from Ravok—what is it?"
Daemir leaned back, his expression unreadable. "You've heard of Essence Crystals, haven't you? The rare stones that grant power when bonded to a person's heart?"
"Yes," Walid admitted. "But I've never seen anything like what you did back there."
Daemir smirked faintly. "What you saw was the power of a Blood Crystal. The energy you felt earlier—the surge of strength, the mark on your hand—was my doing. It's called the Blood Curse, a power unique to the Blood Crystal."
Walid stared at his hand, where the faint, jagged mark glimmered in the firelight. "This… this mark? You did this to me?"
Daemir nodded. "The curse enhances physical capabilities far beyond what the human body can achieve. But it's not a gift—it's a burden. The mark binds you to the curse until I release it, and the power comes at a cost."
"A cost?" Walid's voice wavered. "What kind of cost?"
Daemir's expression darkened. "Nothing comes without sacrifice. The Blood Crystal draws from the user's life essence. Overuse of the curse can lead to madness—or worse."
Walid's unease grew, but his curiosity got the better of him. "And what about the people like you—those who use these crystals? What are you?"
Daemir's gaze locked onto Walid, his voice carrying a gravity that silenced the forest around them. "We are Crystalbound. Those who merge an Essence Crystal with their hearts. Each Crystalbound wields power unique to the type of crystal they've bonded with—Soul, Aether, Void, Blood, Echo… and more. But remember this: we pay a price for this power. Some lose their humanity. Others… their sanity."
Walid's mind raced as he absorbed Daemir's words. He clenched his fist, staring at the mark on his hand. "Why me? Why would you use this curse on me?"
Daemir's smirk returned, this time tinged with something unreadable. "Because you survived it. Most would have died—or lost their minds. You're stronger than you think, Walid. Stronger than you have any right to be. That's why I brought you this far. But don't let it go to your head. Surviving is only the first step."
As Daemir spoke, he occasionally performed rituals near the cave's entrance, drawing strange symbols in the dirt and chanting under his breath. At one point, a spark of light shot into the sky, disappearing into the night.
"What was that?" Walid asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Daemir shot him a warning look. "Don't ask about things that don't concern you."
Walid frowned but held his tongue. Something about Daemir's demeanor told him it was better not to push the matter.
The sound of wings beating against the air broke the silence. Walid and Daemir stepped out of the cave, their eyes widening as a massive bird descended from the sky. Its feathers shimmered in the moonlight, and its wingspan cast a shadow over the forest. Three figures rode upon its back, their presence commanding attention.
The first was a man clad in dark armor, his face obscured by a mask. The second was a slender figure draped in a flowing cloak, their features hidden beneath a hood. And the third was a woman with striking features, her long hair billowing in the wind. Elira.
Daemir stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "You're late."
Elira dismounted gracefully, stepped forward. Her voice was calm but carried an edge of authority.
"Daemir, you were instructed not to act alone. Yet here you are, dragging this boy into our affairs without approval."
Daemir smirked, clearly unbothered. "Approval? He's exactly what we've been waiting for, Elira. Or do you not trust my judgment?"
Elira's eyes flickered to Walid, studying him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. "You think this… boy is the one? He looks barely capable of holding a sword, let alone wielding the Hollow's power."
Daemir crossed his arms. "He survived the Blood Curse. That makes him worth keeping alive—for now, he's raw, yes. But he's stronger than he looks. And if we don't act now, the king's forces—and worse—will find him first."
Elira hesitated, then addressed Walid directly. "Do you even understand what you've stumbled into? The Crimson Veil doesn't take in strays. We deal in absolutes—freedom or death. Power or ruin. If you join us, you must be willing to sacrifice everything."
Walid met her gaze, his fear giving way to determination. "I've already lost everything. If this is my chance to take control of my life, I'll take it."
Elira raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. She looked back at Daemir. "Fine. But if he fails, it's on you."