62

  Barang stood alone at the center of the circular platform.

  The air had grown impossibly still, as if the entire dome held its breath. The vines that made up the walls trembled subtly, not from movement, but from fear—an instinctive recoil from the object before him.

  Resting on the circular high table was the Goblet of Blood.

  Even unheld, the goblet emanated an aura so dense it felt like a physical weight in the air. The base and rim were forged from blackened metal with streaks of gold folded through it like veins. The central body of the goblet was layered with small overlapping scales—dragon hide, or something older. And at its very tip, carved into the metal with chilling perfection, was a single purple eye.

  A slit pupil.

  Alive.

  Watching.

  Its gaze followed Barang as he stepped closer.

  He tried not to show hesitation, but the insects crawling beneath his skin slowed, becoming uncertain. He reached out, fingers inches from the goblet—

  —and instantly froze.

  A sensation ran up his spine.

  A prickling.

  A warning.

  Someone was watching him.

  He retracted his hand without meaning to, breath caught in his throat. His body tensed. The vines twitched. Even the Karit at his hip vibrated with unease.

  Barang swallowed.

  This was no ordinary relic.

  “Hmph…” he breathed to steady himself, forcing his fingers to curl into a fist. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  His mind drifted before he could stop it.

  Helena.

  Her name flooded through his thoughts like a sudden wave. The memory of her laughter echoing inside a cavern. The warmth of her body pressed against his. The way her eyes shimmered in firelight the night they first gave themselves to each other—

  A moment he never forgot.

  A moment he never forgave the world for taking.

  He clenched his jaw, forcing the memories back. The pain sharpened his resolve.

  Helena was why he needed this.

  He needed the dragon’s power.

  He needed strength nothing could challenge.

  His hand moved again, trembling only slightly, and closed around the goblet.

  The moment his skin touched it—

  The world shattered.

  Flames.

  Chaos.

  Screaming.

  Barang stood on a circular platform identical to the one in the dome, but everything beyond it was devastation.

  Castles collapsed in the distance. Mountains cracked in half. Fire belched from the torn earth. Shadows ran across burning fields—people engulfed in flames, crying, begging for help, their arms reaching toward him.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He did not move.

  He couldn’t.

  Above the platform, chained between four ancient pillars, hung a heart.

  A heart the size of his entire body.

  Black-red.

  Beating slowly, each throb pulsing through the air like thunder.

  Blood dripped from its valves into the goblet he was holding.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Every drop was thick with power unlike anything he’d ever felt.

  He stared at the goblet in his hand. The liquid inside glowed faintly, as if lit from within by some forbidden flame.

  It terrified him.

  He could not handle this.

  He knew it.

  But the memory of Helena crushed that fear.

  Barang lifted the goblet to his lips and drank.

  Heat exploded down his throat, spreading through his veins like molten iron. His knees buckled, but he tightened his grip, forcing every burning drop down.

  When he finished, half the goblet remained. He slammed it down on the high circular table and dropped to one knee.

  Air vanished from his lungs.

  His chest convulsed.

  His hands clawed at the ground.

  The insects in his body spilled out from beneath his skin.

  But they didn’t swarm.

  They didn’t attack.

  They died.

  One by one, they dropped like charred embers, their legs curling inward. Some melted entirely, turning into black sludge that hissed when it hit the platform.

  Barang opened his mouth to scream—

  No sound came out.

  The heat inside him intensified, burning so hot it felt like it was cracking his bones from the inside. His vision blurred. Everything tilted. The burning world flickered—

  And suddenly, he was back inside the dome.

  He fell to his hands and knees, choking silently. Steam rose off his skin. His veins glowed faintly red beneath the surface.

  He staggered forward, panic breaking through his usual control.

  He ran toward the exit of the dome, clutching his chest, leaving smoldering footprints behind him.

  The vines in the passageways recoiled.

  Some reached toward him—

  —and melted before they touched his skin.

  Barang burst into the massive hall outside, collapsing to one knee. His body had turned a dark gray, cracks spreading across his arms, chest, and neck like hardened magma.

  The remaining Revenant rushed to him immediately.

  “My Lord!” one shouted.

  Another reached for him but jerked their hand back—the heat was unbearable.

  “He’s burning alive!”

  The Revenant circled him, lost, shaken. None dared touch him at first.

  Then Barang forced a breath.

  “D… Diospyrus…” he growled, voice scraping like stone. “Take… me… back…”

  His knees buckled.

  That was all they needed.

  The Revenant lifted him carefully, some using cloth, others using magic to shield themselves from the heat. Without waiting another second, they moved as one and retreated into the shadowed corridors, carrying their leader away from the collapsing vines of the dome.

  Back inside the dome, silence returned.

  Kael stirred.

  His body ached, cold sweat mixing with drying blood around the wound in his abdomen. But he forced himself upright, leaning heavily on the wall at first before limping toward the circular platform.

  The world around him still felt warped, the air heavy.

  He saw the trail Barang had left—burn marks, melted vines, and droplets of hardened black beneath the stone.

  But most of all—

  He saw the goblet.

  It still sat on the high table.

  Still half full.

  Still humming with that unnatural aura.

  Kael approached it.

  He didn’t know why.

  He didn’t ask himself why.

  He simply knew.

  This thing… had called.

  Kael reached for the goblet.

  And like Barang before him—

  The world changed.

  He stood on a cliff high above an impossible landscape.

  On one side, jagged mountains erupted with ash and fire—rivers of magma flowing through the valleys like glowing veins. The sky above them churned in molten reds and deep blacks.

  On the other side, a vast ocean spread endlessly, so clear he could see the patterns on the seafloor. Birds soared peacefully above it, their wings glinting in the sunlight.

  Two extremes.

  Two worlds.

  Balanced.

  Above him, suspended in the air by spectral chains, hung a heart—the same size as his body, but gray, hardened, and unmoving.

  The goblet in his hand was only slightly filled—less than what Barang drank.

  But Kael did not hesitate.

  He lifted the goblet.

  Coldness spread the moment the liquid touched his tongue. It seeped into his chest, freezing his lungs. Frost traced patterns up his neck. His arms stiffened. His heartbeat slowed—

  Once.

  Again.

  Then stopped entirely.

  His eyes turned white.

  The goblet slipped from his fingers.

  He fell forward—

  —and hit the stone floor of the dome.

  His vision blurred, fading to white.

  When focus returned, he was only conscious enough to see a shadow standing over him.

  Baldirion.

  No words were spoken.

  No expression revealed.

  Baldirion lifted Kael’s body with steady arms and turned.

  The dome cracked above them, the vines curling inward as the Revenant departed.

  And Baldirion took Kael’s body back to Sierra Castle.