Chapter 22: Clash of the First Heirs

The night was thick with silence.

Kraevok's ears twitched first—a faint disturbance in the air.

He turned, swords already half-drawn. "We're not alone."

Alan rose smoothly, his katana humming as he summoned a faint ripple of magic through it.

Seris vanished into the shadows, daggers glinting like the fangs of some wild beast.

From the darkness, figures emerged.

Five men, all clad in armor crafted from scavenged bones and melted iron. Their bodies were disfigured—twisted by magic, rage, and something older.

And leading them… was a boy no older than Alan.

Ashren.

The Crimson Heir.

He stood barefoot on the cracked ground, his smile wide and hollow.

Flames curled lazily around his fingertips, not red—but black as spilled ink.

"Found you, brother," Ashren crooned.

Alan stepped forward. His voice was calm, sharp. "I'm no brother of yours."

Ashren laughed. It was a sound like bones snapping.

"We are all brothers and sisters under Kael's curse. You just haven't embraced it yet."

The five warriors lunged at once.

*****

The battle erupted in an instant.

Kraevok met them with a roar, twin swords flashing silver under the broken moon.

Seris struck from the shadows, her daggers carving precise lines of death through exposed flesh.

Alan focused solely on Ashren.

Their eyes locked.

The air between them cracked.

Ashren moved first—faster than any mortal.

His black flames surged, twisting into spears of ruin aimed straight at Alan's heart.

Alan's katana met them, cutting through the corrupted fire—but the magic was alive, slithering back toward him.

Alan spun, weaving his body and blade as one, deflecting the attacks with precision.

But Ashren only smiled wider.

"You can't kill what's already broken."

He raised his hand.

The ground around Alan exploded in black tendrils, trying to chain him.

Alan's seal—the Thirteenth—flared to life.

Silver and violet light burst from his body, ripping through the tendrils with raw, pure power.

The ground trembled as Alan stepped forward, katana lowered, magic coiling around him like a living storm.

Ashren's smile faltered.

For the first time, the Crimson Heir felt fear.

Alan blurred.

One moment, he was standing still.

The next, his blade was at Ashren's throat.

The black flames recoiled, unable to touch him.

"You're weak," Alan said, voice like thunder wrapped in ice.

Ashren staggered back, bleeding magic from a cut he didn't even see happen.

Snarling, he unleashed a final burst of ruin-fire and disappeared into the night, his broken warriors falling dead where they stood.

The ambush had failed.

But the war had just begun.

*****

Kraevok wiped his swords clean. "That was just the first."

Seris emerged from the darkness, blood splattered across her cloak. "They'll come in greater numbers next time."

Alan sheathed his katana.

He stared into the horizon, where faint traces of black fire still burned.

"They can come with armies," he said coldly. "It won't matter."

Because Alan was no longer the boy from yesterday.

He was the heir of the Thirteenth Seal.

And his enemies would learn...

Some powers aren't meant to be hunted.