Argent Sanctum Archive - 3

"Freedom," Aden said. "A body of your own. Not mine. Someone strong. Worthy of you."

Egmund stared. For a heartbeat, the subspace seemed to still—the hum of the throne quieted, the chains froze mid-rattle.

"...Why?" The word was barely a whisper.

"Because I'm tired of being a pawn," Aden said. "And you're tired of being a weapon."

The demon's form flickered, settling into the guise of a man—ash-gray skin, eyes like cracked obsidian. For the first time, Aden saw it: exhaustion. A weariness older than empires.

"You sound like him," Egmund muttered.

"Who?"

"Edrick. The Fourth Patriarch." The demon's voice softened, almost nostalgic. "He said the same thing. 'Fight with me, and I'll make you free.' We shook hands. He smiled. And when the time came to pass on." He lifted his shackled wrists, chains clinking. "Edrick forged these himself."

Aden stepped closer, the throne's shadow licking at his boots. "I'm not him."

"No?" Egmund tilted his head, studying him. The subspace rippled—a fleeting vision superimposed over Aden's face. Edrick Vasco, young and blazing with ambition, his hand outstretched in this same void. The resemblance was uncanny: the set of the jaw, the fire in the eyes, the stubborn tilt of the chin.

Egmund blinked, and the vision faded.

The subspace trembled as Egmund's chains disintegrated into ash, the remnants swirling like dark snow around them. Aden stood firm, his hand still clasped in Egmund's icy grip, the demon's crimson eyes burning into him like twin coals. 

"How am I supposed to trust you?" Egmund hissed, his voice low and frayed at the edges. The words hung in the air, sharp as the throne's jagged silhouette behind them. 

Aden didn't pull away. "You don't have to," he said, his voice steady. "Trust is a luxury. I'm offering you a *trade*." 

The demon's gaze narrowed. The subspace hummed, shadows writhing at the periphery of Aden's vision. 

"You know nothing of what I am," Egmund muttered. 

"I know what it's like to be alone," Aden said quietly. "To scream into the dark and hear nothing. To be used until there's nothing left." He tightened his grip, the cold of Egmund's skin seeping into his bones. "As long as I'm alive, I'll work to free you. That's the promise." 

For a moment, Egmund said nothing. 

Aden extended his hand. "Shake on it."

The demon stared at the offer, then at his own chained arms. A dry, humorless chuckle escaped him. "How? Unless you plan to chop off my hands."

Aden's lips twitched. "Figured you'd have a trick for that."

For a moment, Egmund looked almost… amused. "You're either brave or stupid."

"Both, probably."

The silence stretched, thick and charged, until something shifted in the demon's expression—a flicker of amusement, bitter but genuine. Though the subspace was a void of shadows, Aden could feel Egmund's smile. It unnerved him, how human it seemed. 

"Annoying Vasco," Egmund said finally, his voice softer. "You're as stubborn as your ancestors." 

Before Aden could reply, Egmund's crimson eyes flared. A pulse of scarlet aura erupted from the demon's core, snaking through the air like liquid fire. It slammed into Aden's chest, flooding his meridians with searing heat. He gasped, staggering back as the energy tore through him—mending ruptured pathways, stitching flesh, burning away the fatigue that had anchored him for weeks. 

When the haze cleared, Aden stood straighter, his breath steady for the first time in months. His veins hummed with raw power, foreign yet familiar. 

Egmund sagged against the remnants of his chains, his form flickering weakly. "That's all I can spare," he rasped. "For now." 

Aden flexed his hands, watching crimson sparks dance across his fingertips. "It's enough." 

"Don't waste it," Egmund snapped, though the edge in his voice had dulled.

"The aura is crude. Refine it. Circulate it until it's pure energy. Unless you want your veins to melt." 

Aden almost smiled. "I'll manage." 

The demon rolled his eyes—a startlingly human gesture—and waved a clawed hand. The subspace shuddered, shadows collapsing inward. "Get out of my sight, boy. And don't die before you uphold your end." 

"Don't make me regret this, Vasco."

Two Days passed like a light wind hurling off into the distance.

Aden sat cross-legged in his cell, the air around him crackling with energy. Crimson light seeped from his pores, swirling in intricate patterns before funneling back into his core. The scroll of Vasco Eclipse lay forgotten beside him, its diagrams now etched into his muscle memory. 

Egmund's aura had been a wildfire in his veins—chaotic, destructive, *alive*. But hour by hour, Aden had tempered it. Forced it into disciplined channels. Purified it until it burned white-hot, a contained inferno humming beneath his skin. 

When he opened his eyes, the world felt sharper. The cracks in the iron door, the scuttling of insects in the walls, the distant clang of Ser Varek's drills—all amplified. He rose, muscles coiled and steady, and caught his reflection in a pool of stagnant water. 

His eyes glinted, the irises tinged a faint, luminous crimson. 

'The cost', he thought, pressing a finger to the glassy surface. The red hue was subtle, barely noticeable unless the light caught it just so.

A small price for power.

A smaller price for freedom.