Crimson Instinct and The Core Within

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden haze across the city of Valmorra, Velmira sat alone atop a tall building, her eyes fixed on the fading light. Her body still bore the marks of battle, but her mind was calm.

"Every life has value," she whispered, the crimson stains on her armor still fresh. "Now that I've taken one… may the stars forgive me."

Behind her, a faint rustle broke the silence.

She didn't move.

She had already sensed him.

The presence was gentle—yet heavy. Royal.

The Prince.

With hair split between black and red and eyes of pure crimson, he looked forged between dusk and dawn. He wore a crimson-black vest beneath a navy cloak lined in red and white—echoing the contrast in his hair. Golden trim traced the edges, and tall black boots completed his sharp, noble silhouette.

His eyes burned with a quiet, terrifying power.

Velmira slowly rose, brushing dust from her armor, and turned with composed defiance. She didn't bow.

"Prince Drazhael. Why are you here?"

He offered a soft smile—one that didn't reach his eyes.

 "Let's be direct. Are you truly from the Ironvil Clan?"

Velmira nodded, voice unwavering.

 "Yes, Your Highness."

He studied her. His gaze didn't blink.

"Hmm... Are you really human?"

The question struck like lightning. Velmira's eyes widened—just for a moment.

"Yes… Prince Drazhael," she answered, slower this time.

He took a measured step forward.

His crimson eyes gleamed—unnaturally bright, like burning embers.

The air thickened. Even the shadows held their breath.

Velmira subtly shifted her stance. Muscles tensed.

If needed, she would strike.

His voice dropped to a whisper, slicing through the silence like a dagger.

"Do you know, Ms. Velmira Ironvil—the Knight Slayer—I truly despise liars."

He chuckled softly, but his aura sharpened like drawn steel.

"No one can lie to me," he continued. "Not even the gods. These eyes…"

He leaned in. His irises burned with something ancient—older than magic.

"They see through anything. Lies. Fear. Guilt. Sorrow… even your bloodline."

Velmira's eyes flickered.

Crimson Insight.

Now she understood.

Her gaze darkened.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, low and angry.

In a blink, the Prince vanished—

—then reappeared behind her.

His breath brushed her ear.

But before he could speak, Velmira's blade was already at his neck. Cold. Close.

His crimson gaze flicked down—not with fear, but amusement.

 "You're indeed… a great weapon."

Velmira's hands trembled—but not with fear.

With fury.

And yet…

She smiled.

The Prince stepped back, relaxed once more.

 "Oh, right," he added, as if remembering a forgotten chore, "let's meet again at the Knight Ceremony."

Then he turned—disappearing into the wind.

Velmira stood alone once more.

For a heartbeat, one of her eyes glowed—a dark red pulse.

A memory struck like a curse.

Chaos. Flames.

A young Velmira, surrounded by fire.

A woman burning, screaming.

In the background:

 "Kill her and take those features."

The woman cried out:

"Run!"

The words echoed through time like a ghost's final breath.

Anger.

But still… she smiled.

Her wounds sealed shut.

The blood on her armor vaporized into mist.

And as the last light of the sun vanished—

so did she.into the night.

Two days passed in quiet peace.

The wooden house nestled at the edge of the village stood surrounded by flowers, vines, and trees. The scent of early morning dew clung to the air, sweet and earthy.

Then— A shout shattered the stillness.

"HEY! YOU TWO! Wake up already!"

The voice, loud and commanding, echoed through the hall like a war drum. Aelric and Zevril jolted awake, a tangle of limbs and blankets.

Zevril groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Ugh... what time is it?"

Aelric yawned, rolled over—and thudded to the floor.

"Coming, Grandpa!" he called out, barely conscious.

Outside, their grandfather had already prepped the cart, the horse pawing the ground, impatient.

Zevril and Aelric stumbled out the door, one after the other, half-dressed and sleepy-eyed. The sunlight made them squint like moles dragged from a cave.

"You two ready?" their grandfather asked, smiling at the familiar chaos.

Aelric raced to the cart and climbed in. "I call the right side!"

"Oi! Wait for me!" Zevril shouted, scrambling in behind him.

The cart rolled forward, wheels crunching over dirt as the scenery slowly shifted from village roads to open fields. Birds chirped above, clouds drifted lazily across the sky.

Aelric stretched and grinned. "I'm so excited! I can't wait to find out what my element is!"

Zevril didn't share the energy. He sat with arms crossed, expression tight.

"What if mine turns out to be weak? Or useless?"

Aelric laughed. "Then you can be my sidekick! I'll even give you a cape."

Zevril glared at him. "I'll never be your sidekick. If anyone's a sidekick, it's you!"

"You sure about that?" Aelric wiggled his eyebrows. "C'mon, faster Grandpa! I wanna see Zevril get Earth element!"

Zevril groaned. "I swear, if you don't shut up..."

"You'll what? Zap me with lightning? Oh wait, you don't even know if you have lightning yet!"

Their argument faded into the wind, laughter following them all the way to the inspection hall.

The cart came to a slow stop before a towering structure—wooden walls aged by time, etched with glowing green runes that pulsed faintly in the morning light.

The Inspection Hall.

A sacred place where all children received their element—a rite of passage, and the first step toward a future of magic.

The boys stepped down. Zevril's eyes widened as he looked at the ancient runes. Aelric bounced on his heels.

A man stood waiting near the entrance. Cloaked in green, tall and sharp-eyed. His presence quieted the wind itself.

"Are you two ready?" the mage asked.

"Yes, sir!" they both answered.

The doors opened with a soft hum. Inside, silence swallowed sound. The air was thick with invisible power.

"You," the mage said, eyes on Zevril. "Step forward."

Zevril obeyed. He looked nervous, but there was a fire beneath his skin—buried deeper than even he knew.

"Place your hand in mine. Don't resist. I'll read your core."

Zevril nodded.

The mage closed his eyes. The world fell away.

Darkness. Heavy, unending.

No light. No warmth.

Thunder rumbled—distant, low, like a beast breathing in its sleep.

Ah... so this boy holds thunder.

The mage floated through the void, seeking the core.

And then—he found it.

A glowing orb in the black, pulsing with electrical light. He reached for it.

But suddenly—

The thunder silenced.

The orb dimmed.

The void shifted.

Darkness grew heavier. The air thickened.

What is this...?

He turned—and saw it.

A figure. A boy, curled up, sleeping peacefully within the abyss. Surrounded by purple light, as if the void itself adored him.

Then—

The boy opened his eyes.

The mage's soul screamed.

He was hurled backward, crushing pressure slamming into his chest. Every instinct shrieked.

GET OUT!

He ripped himself free.

The mage gasped, sweat dripping from his brow.

Zevril looked at him, worried. "What... happened?"

The mage steadied his breath.

"Thunder," he said. "Your element... is Thunder."

Zevril blinked. "Thunder... really?"

"AWESOME!" Aelric shouted. "You're gonna be SO cool!"

Zevril smiled faintly, though something inside still felt strange. Like something inside him had awakened—and was still watching.

"Your turn," the mage said to Aelric, though a flicker of unease passed through his eyes.

Aelric stepped forward. "Let's go!"

The mage hesitated only for a second before extending his hand.

Light.

Soft. Warm. Gentle.

A peaceful forest stretched out in every direction. Trees swayed in golden breeze. Flowers bloomed at every step.

This boy... he has no element?

No fire. No ice. No thunder.

Just—serenity.

The mage wandered forward, confused.

Then he saw her.

A girl, seated on a tree branch. Pale skin. White hair. Unmoving.

"Who...?"

She didn't answer. She only watched.

And then—

She vanished.

The world faded.

A core floated alone in the void.

Then—

It shattered.

The fragments vanished into blackness.

The mage recoiled, horror dawning.

No...

He tore himself out before the pressure consumed him.

He collapsed to his knees.

The two boys and their grandfather rushed toward him.

"Are you okay?" Aelric asked.

The mage slowly stood, lips pale.

"This boy..." he whispered. "He... has no core."

Aelric blinked. "No core? What does that mean?"

"It means..." The mage hesitated. "You cannot use magic."

Silence fell like a hammer.

Even the wind stilled.

Aelric forced a grin. "Well... guess I'll just master....."his voice breaking "elemental tools instead! Who needs a .....core when I've got these....?"

He flexed weakly.

Zevril stared at him, worried.

"Aelric... Hey it alright... there's always a choice.. you know...?"

"What choice do I have?" Aelric laughed. "Don't worry. I'll still be the strongest tool-wielding hero the world's ever seen. Besides... I'll just ride your lightning bolts into battle!"

Grandpa chuckled. "That's the spirit."

Zevril finally smiled. "Idiot."

They turned and walked back toward the cart.

The inspection complete.

Their fates—unknown.

The mage stood alone, trembling.

"No core..." he whispered. "No core, my foot."

He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.

"He had something... Something far beyond elemental magic."

The runes on the hall pulsed once—ominous. Faint.

"Both of them... They're not just children."

"They are harbingers of something far, far greater."

And as the wind picked up again, carrying leaves across the ancient floor, the mage felt it in his soul.