Blood Of FirstBorn

The morning fog clung to the ground like a ghost.

Kael tightened the straps on his cloak, eyes scanning the horizon. The forest behind them had grown too quiet since the Revenant's death—nature holding its breath.

Sylen stood at the ridge, unmoving.

"They're close."

Kael frowned. "The Order?"

"No," Sylen muttered. "Something worse."

---

Two hours earlier, Sylen had uncovered a sigil burnt into a tree—coiled like a serpent eating its own tail. It wasn't just a warning.

It was a mark.

The Silent Order.

Unlike the Church's warriors, the Silent Ones didn't march in legions. They moved in shadows. Where they passed, voices vanished. Villages forgot. History erased.

They were the ones who cleansed bloodlines.

Firstborns.

Like Kael.

---

Lira gripped Kael's hand tightly. She didn't speak, but her eyes asked enough.

Will they find us?

Kael squeezed her hand.

Not today.

---

The trap was laid before noon.

Sylen moved like a ghost, placing blood runes in the earth, glyphs etched into bones he'd crushed from old revenants. Kael helped silently, watching as the man's knowledge poured out like instinct.

"You were one of them, weren't you?" Kael asked.

Sylen paused.

"I was many things. A Firstborn. A traitor. A survivor."

"And now?"

Sylen looked toward the treeline, where mist and silence grew thicker.

"Now I'm a teacher. Until I'm not."

---

They came like wind.

No sound. No warning.

Just death.

The first was a woman with silver blades. She appeared behind Sylen mid-sentence.

Kael barely saw the shimmer before the sword moved.

CLANG!

Sylen's hand caught the blade midair, bare fingers bleeding.

"Found you," he whispered.

Kael didn't wait.

He dashed forward, drawing his blade, channeling Instinct Shift. The world blurred. Footsteps softened. The angle of her next strike burned into his mind.

He parried.

Spark. Twist. Slash.

The assassin fell back, eyes widening.

"You're not ready for this," she hissed.

"Good," Kael said, "but you are."

---

Three more emerged from the fog—cloaked in gray, runes on their foreheads. One carried chains of black iron, another wielded twin glaives etched with red eyes.

Lira ducked behind a rock, clutching her charm.

Sylen raised his hand—and the ground erupted in flame.

---

Kael danced between blades, activating Blade Echo—and his movements began to mirror something else. A memory. A duel. The technique of someone who wasn't him—but had been.

He slashed low. Twisted. Caught a glaive and shattered it.

The Order wasn't expecting resistance.

Definitely not Firstborn resistance.

---

But then they changed tactics.

One stepped back and knelt, drawing a symbol in blood—an invocation. The others backed off.

Sylen shouted, "Stop them!"

Too late.

The air twisted.

A figure emerged.

Not cloaked. Not armored.

But drifting.

Tall, pale, face hidden behind a wooden mask carved with ancient glyphs.

Kael shivered.

"Who is that?"

Sylen's voice was grim.

"A Silent Herald."

---

The Herald floated toward them, hands moving like smoke. Runes formed in the air—binding, suppressing, unraveling.

Sylen lunged to intercept but was hurled back by invisible force. Rocks shattered behind him.

Kael gritted his teeth. His mark glowed brighter.

Then… the whisper came again.

---

System Alert: Relic Detected. Bloodbind Compatibility High.

Choose Action: [Awaken Memory] – [Ignore]

---

Kael didn't hesitate.

[Awaken Memory]

---

Pain.

Light.

Then—clarity.

Kael's eyes burned golden as visions crashed through him. A sword duel in an obsidian palace. A beast made of shadows. A vault inside the moon.

When it ended, Kael stood taller, his blade now ringed in glowing runes. Energy pulsed along his veins like fire.

The Herald tilted its head.

"Impossible."

Kael smiled.

"Let's test that."

---

He moved faster than thought, slicing the air itself. The Herald blocked—but staggered. Kael drove forward, blade flashing.

For a moment, Firstborn met Forgotten.

And Kael didn't lose.

---

Sylen joined in, hurling spears of light that carved through the remaining assassins. Together, teacher and student pushed the Herald back until it hissed and vanished—folding into mist.

Silence returned.

But the message was clear.

They knew who he was now.

And they would return.

---

As they packed up camp, Kael sat by the fire, Lira curled beside him.

"Did I really win?" he asked Sylen.

"No," Sylen replied. "You survived."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. Winning comes later. After you've earned it."

Kael stared into the flames.

"I want to earn it."

"Then tomorrow," Sylen said, "we begin the real training."

---

As Kael lay awake that night, the stars pulsed above—and far to the south, something stirred beneath a mountain of bones.

A voice whispered in a tongue long dead.

"The blood awakens. The Vault must not open."