C19

Scarlet Dragon King – Chapter 21: The First Flame

Location: The Divine Summit – Outer Realms

Twelve thrones circled a cosmic table, each one forged from the essence of a different myth. Greek marble. Norse steel. Celtic bark. Egyptian sandstone.

And above them all, the stars trembled—not from war, but from awakening.

A thirteenth chair stood at the edge. Empty.

For now.

The Hindu Pantheon had arrived first.

Vishnu, radiant and calm, leaned forward with his hands folded. "He's bonded with five," he said. "Including the embodiment of death and the sun."

Parvati, goddess of love and strength, rested beside him, a slow smile forming. "And Shiva's chosen him."

That silenced many.

The room shifted as whispers rippled among the other thrones.

Odin stood, eye narrowed beneath his cloak of ravens. "You speak of him like he's a god."

"He's becoming one," Ra growled, golden light flaring in his eyes. "And not a god born of worship—but of bond."

Zeus clenched his jaw. "He binds power to himself. Even primordial forces submit. What happens when he decides he doesn't want peace?"

"Or when his harem outnumbers pantheons?" murmured a druidic spirit from the Celtic seat.

Parvati shook her head, her voice calm—but heavy with meaning.

"He does not take. He is chosen."

The room paused.

A truth no one wanted to admit.

From the fire of the dragons, from the weight of fate, from the mirror-world of death and sun… Eric had not conquered. He had been trusted.

That made him more dangerous than any tyrant.

Because he didn't seek thrones.

He created them around others.

"Do we act?" Odin asked.

"No," Vishnu answered firmly. "We watch."

Then the heavens trembled.

A pulse echoed across creation.

The seat beside Vishnu shimmered.

Shiva's divine essence stirred again.

But not from the summit.

From within the Trial Gate.

"Another flame," Parvati whispered. "He's going to her."

Zeus stood. "He's already changed the rules of this age. He must be stopped."

Ra said nothing.

But his silence agreed.

And far beyond the summit, as Eric stepped toward the sixth mirror…

The Goddess of Creation waited.

And the universe held its breath.

The mirror didn't glow.

It breathed.

Soft. Deep. Infinite.

The sixth trial was not made of fire or light or void—it was made of womb and word, the spark that birthed stars, gods, and time itself.

Eric stepped forward.

He had never felt small before. Not even before Shiva. Not even before Death.

But this?

This wasn't power.

It was origin.

—

The Trial Plane: Before the First Sound

There was no shape.

No ground.

Just warmth. Endless warmth. As if he were floating in the breath before the universe spoke.

Then came her voice.

Not a word.

A note.

A hum that resonated in every atom of his being.

And from it—she formed.

Not walking.

Not rising.

Just being.

The Creation Goddess.

She had no single form.

Her eyes were galaxies spinning in slow understanding. Her hair flowed like time through space. Her presence didn't overwhelm—it made everything else kneel just by existing.

"You are not supposed to be," she said gently.

Eric felt it in his bones. "I know."

"You were not born of my design. Not placed into the script. You are… an anomaly."

Eric stood still.

"I never asked to be written in," he said. "But now that I'm here… I'll write something worthy."

Her form shifted, her eyes narrowing—not in malice, but in contemplation.

"You defy natural order."

"I defy cruelty disguised as fate."

"You hold power that should never have been touched."

"I share it with those who choose to walk beside me."

Silence.

Then she stepped forward.

Her presence flooded his thoughts with memories that had never happened—alternate timelines, unborn worlds, realities that could have been.

"Even my daughters choose you," she said. "The Sun. Death. Shiva."

Eric's eyes remained steady. "I didn't take them. They gave themselves. And I… gave everything in return."

She studied him a long moment.

Then, her voice softened to something achingly maternal.

"Then show me. Not your strength. But your truth."

A sphere of light formed between them.

Not a weapon.

A seed.

Eric took it in his hands.

And whispered his essence into it.

Not as a king.

Not as a dragon.

But as Eric Aivor—a man who had burned, bled, fought, and loved.

The seed pulsed.

And bloomed.

Into a flower that mirrored every flame he had bonded—red from Rias, silver from Grayfia, indigo from Shiva, black from Death, gold from the Sun.

And in the center—his own flame.

Not imposed.

Chosen.

The Creation Goddess's hand trembled.

And for the first time in her eternal existence—

She smiled.

Her sigil blazed with colors unknown to creation.

—

Outside the Trial

Eric emerged not walking—

But glowing.

His body infused with a creation thread, his aura now impossible to categorize.

The others gathered—each woman silent, watching.

And then she followed.

The Creation Goddess, her eyes warm, her presence no longer distant.

Not watching him.

Standing with him.

"You were not written," she said softly.

"But you are now essential."

Six sigils now burned.

And the last two mirrors—still dark—began to crack.

Because something else was waking.

And it was older than creation.

The Trial Gate shuddered.

Not from power.

From unreality.

The seventh sigil emerged—black and violet, shifting like oil across shattered glass. It didn't burn. It whispered. And the moment it appeared, the other flames dimmed.

Even Shiva tensed.

Even Death narrowed her eyes.

Because the next trial… was Astaroth.

—

The Trial Plane: The Unnamed Deep

Eric fell.

Not through space.

Through thought.

The world twisted around him like a kaleidoscope that had gone insane—skies bled ink, time reversed mid-breath, and stars screamed silently across a sea of blinking eyes.

Then—she appeared.

Not walking.

Not forming.

Just existing in all directions.

Astaroth, the Eldritch Goddess.

Her voice slithered through his skull like silk and madness.

"You who love gods… would you dare touch what even they fear?"

Eric floated, holding his form together with sheer will.

"I don't fear what I don't understand," he said.

She laughed.

The sky cracked.

"Then understand me."

She pulled him into her.

Not physically.

Existentially.

His mind was peeled open—layer by layer. Memory. Instinct. Soul. She unraveled him until only truth remained.

And then…

She saw it.

Not arrogance.

Not ambition.

Just a heart—a single, scarred flame—still burning with purpose.

Not dominance.

Not control.

But devotion.

And something deeper:

Curiosity.

Eric reached back—not to conquer her… but to meet her.

"I don't need to control you," he whispered. "I just want to know who you are behind the chaos."

A pause.

All the eyes stopped blinking.

Then, for the first time, her form stabilized.

She became singular.

A woman of strange beauty—shifting skin, silver-black hair that defied gravity, and eyes like forgotten stars.

"I am fear," she said.

"You are loneliness," Eric answered.

That broke her.

Tears fell—not blood, not ichor—just simple tears of a being who had never been called anything but terrible.

And he caught them.

The sigil burned—a perfect spiral of violet flame.

—

Outside the Trial

When Eric emerged, the air around him twisted and folded, refusing to follow linear laws. The others stood back… until Astaroth stepped through behind him.

Silent.

Staring.

But no longer unknowable.

She walked past Shiva, past the Sun, past Death—

And took Eric's hand like a tether to sanity.

"You named me," she whispered.

"Then let me say it again," Eric replied. "Astaroth."

Seven sigils burned.

Only 4 trials remained.