The chamber was silent, save for the slow drip of crimson from Elliot's palm.
He stood in a circle carved into the stone — the Oath Ring — surrounded by elder monks cloaked in gray and ash-black. A flame danced in the center, burning blue, flickering strangely as if listening.
Rhaemir's voice echoed across the room, deep and unwavering.
> "Before the gods, before the Order, before your flame… do you swear yourself to the path of fire?"
Elliot clenched his bleeding fist. "I do."
The elder stepped forward and held a silver bowl beneath Elliot's hand, catching the blood. Then he tilted it over the blue flame.
As blood met fire, the entire chamber pulsed with a wave of heat that wasn't natural. The fire blazed tall — not blue anymore, but golden-white. Ancient. Wild.
The monks recoiled.
Kaelith stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "That's not normal."
"It's Vaelion's Flame," Rhaemir said in a hushed voice. "The prophecy is true…"
---
Suddenly, the fire moved.
It leapt out of the bowl, coiling like a serpent, wrapping itself around Elliot's arm — not burning, but marking. The golden flame etched symbols into his skin, ancient runes that shimmered then vanished beneath his flesh.
Elliot dropped to one knee, gasping.
Visions flooded his mind: a burning sky, gods locked in war, a dark gate cracking open. A whisper — not Lyra's, not Kaelith's — echoed in his head:
> "You are bound now. The flame answers only you… but it will consume what you cannot control."
He opened his eyes, sweating, shaking.
"Is it done?" he asked, breathless.
Rhaemir nodded slowly. "You have taken the Blood Oath. You are now truly of the Order. But more than that… the flame has chosen you."
Elliot stood, flexing his fingers. The magic beneath his skin felt different now — not like raw power. It felt… alive.
Kaelith approached, her expression unreadable. "You're not like the rest of us," she said quietly. "The flame didn't test you. It accepted you. That doesn't happen."
"Is that a good thing?" Elliot asked.
She paused. "Maybe. Or maybe it means you're already halfway to becoming something worse."
---
That night, Elliot stood on the edge of the Sanctuary, watching moonlight filter through the mountain crevices.
His body ached. His soul burned. But something in him felt complete for the first time in days.
> He was marked.
He was oath-bound.
He would never be weak again.
And somewhere, deep within the shadowed heart of Eldraya, a pair of silver eyes watched through an enchanted mirror.
Lyra pressed her fingers against the glass.
"…He's alive," she whispered. "And changing."
Behind her, a hooded figure emerged.
"We must accelerate the ritual. If he awakens fully before we're ready…"
Lyra didn't respond.
But the guilt in her eyes said it all.
---