The Black Gates opened with a creak. Chains rattled in the dark, cold wind brushed past Eron's face, bringing the faint smell of incense. He was tired from climbing, but he pushed himself to move forward.
Beyond the gates was not another chamber. It was a cathedral.
Tall black marble pillars with red streaks reached into the shadows, silver chains hung from above, moving slightly. Stained-glass windows glowed with a deep red light, making patterns on the floor.
At the end was an iron throne, shaped like twisted bones and jagged wings. A woman sat on it, still and regal.
Her long white hair fell over her shoulders. Her skin was pale and flawless. A black silk gown flowed down from the throne, gathering like a living shadow at her feet.
Then her red eyes opened.
The air felt heavy, pressing down on Eron. His legs shook, but he refused to kneel.
The woman stood, her gaze locked on him.
"A mortal dares to stand before my throne."
Her voice was smooth but cold, each word full of power.
"For centuries, no one has walked these halls. Those who tried were destroyed long before reaching me. You are the first."
Eron took a deep breath. "You're the leader of this place?"
She let out a low, cold laugh.
"Leader? Such a crude word. I have been called queen, mistress, curse... the eternal one. But never leader."
Her pale fingers rose, sharp as knives.
"Remember my name. I am Valerica Draemyr... the Crimson Queen."
Her name echoed in the cathedral like a bell.
Valerica moved quickly. Eron jumped aside as her claws tore through the marble, sending pieces flying.
He fought back with a burst of fire. It hit her chest, shaking the hall. But when the smoke cleared, her skin was unharmed.
Her lips twisted into a cruel smile.
"Fire brings destruction, but I am beyond destruction. I am immortal."
She moved toward him again. Eron raised his hands, sending out three fireballs that burst against her, creating violent flames.
When the flames faded, she walked through them unscathed, her dress moving like water.
"Nothing works..." Eron muttered.
Her laughter echoed in the stone.
"Is this all? You fought your way here just to die, pathetic like the others?"
She lunged at him again. Eron's fire clashed with her claws, sending sparks flying. The blow knocked him across the marble, pain shooting through his ribs.
"Normal fire can't hurt her… I've got few options left." He glanced at his hand, frustration tightening his jaw. "If this doesn't work, I'll use the Black Fire." His eyes caught the faint gray mark on his palm. "Damn… I forgot about that restriction."
He gathered energy into his core. A silver-white light flickered in his palm, soft and fragile like moonlight.
Valerica stopped, her red eyes narrowing. Her smile faded.
"What flame is that?"
Eron gritted his teeth.
"Fireball Number Twelve… White Flame."
He hurled the pale orb from his hand, and it struck her shoulder on impact. Light burst across the chamber, blinding white and silent for a breath.
Eron staggered back, blood dripping from his nose as pain shot through his arm, skin on his hand wrinkled and darkened, the veins showing faintly under the light, the spell had stolen years from him in an instant.
Her scream echoed through the cathedral.
Cracks spread across her flawless skin. Dark veins crawled beneath the glow. She clawed at the injury, but it wouldn't heal.
"It works…" Eron said, his heart racing. He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, eyes still locked on the fading light.
Valerica stumbled back, then began to laugh, wild and joyful.
"Wonderful! After centuries, something has finally hurt me!"
Eron fell to one knee, breath shaking. His palm felt dry and old, the White Flame's light already fading from her body. "No… it's fading…" he muttered, voice breaking. "I thought it worked…"
She steadied herself, her red eyes shining.
"You wield a flame that burns forever, yet you are still incomplete. Perhaps I should end you now, before you become truly dangerous."
Eron spat blood, glaring at her. "Go ahead. If only I could master this, you'd be the first I kill." His voice was bitter with regret.
Her fangs shone as her smile widened.
"Excellent! Bold and reckless I find that appealing, human."
She walked around him slowly, every step measured, her voice was smooth, promising and threatening.
"How about this, human? Let us form a pact."
The voice carried a calm weight as she gazed down at him, faintly glowing eyes narrowed, cold and knowing, as if it saw straight through him.
From where Eron sat, breath ragged and body trembling, the figure's stare made him feel small, like a mortal standing before something ancient and far above him.
Eron frowned while looking at Valerica's eyes. "A pact?"
"Yes. I will become your guide and protector. In return, you will master that White Flame of yours, and when the time comes, you will use it to burn me to ash."
He was shocked. "You want me to kill you?"
Her eyes softened, sadness in her noble tone.
"Immortality is not a gift. I have seen empires rise and fall, watched those I loved turn to dust. I long for an end. Only you have the flame that can grant it."
Eron lowered his head, breathing hard, he didn't want to accept it, but there was no other choice. For a long moment, he stayed silent, eyes fixed on the ground as his thoughts tangled between fear and resolve.
"…Fine," he muttered under his breath. "If this is the only way to survive… then I'll do it."
Valerica knelt slowly in front of him, eyes glinting faintly with amusement as she studied his face.
"Good, you've got some guts human," she said, a faint smile curling her lips. "Then let's begin."
She placed her hand against his chest. Red threads burst from her palm, shooting into his body like veins of light. The warmth spread fast, searing through his nerves, as if fire and ice were carving their marks inside him.
Eron screamed as if fire were burning through his soul. His body arched, fists slamming against the marble floor.
"Endure," Valerica commanded, her voice smooth yet strong. "If your soul breaks, you will disappear. I will not let my chosen vessel be destroyed so easily."
The threads pressed deeper, binding to his soul.
"Your soul is completely damaged," she said, her red gaze sharp. "Torn and poorly mended. No bond can grow in such ruin. To bear my mark, I must repair it first."
Eron gritted his teeth, forcing words through the pain. "What do you mean?"
"Your soul is badly broken," Valerica said, cold but firm. "If I bind myself now, the pact would fail quickly. You would die, and I don't want to waste my time and effort."
The pain intensified, almost beyond what he could bear, but the ache that had haunted him for days slowly faded, replaced by a bit of quiet relief.
Then Valerica's eyes widened, and her voice dropped to a whisper filled with wonder.
"Inside you is something I have not seen in a long time... a Creator's Gift."
Eron's blurred vision steadied. "What...?"
Her lips curved slightly, serious and respectful.
"No wonder your flame could hurt me. Such power should not exist in a mortal, yet it resides inside of you."
A red light filled the cathedral, stretching thin as if time itself held its breath. Reality trembled.
Far away, in the Library of Time, Naera sat at a marble table. A silver quill moved by itself across parchment, her voice binding it to truth.
"Do not reveal the Gift's nature. The time has not yet come."
Light flared as the decree sealed itself into fate.
Back in the cathedral, Valerica paused mid-sentence. Her red eyes clouded, lips parting as if a thought had been taken away.
"What was I... saying?"
Eron gasped. "You mentioned a Creator's..."
"Nothing important." Her voice was sharp, but strain lingered, as if something held her tongue.
The red threads continued to weave through the damage in his soul.
At last, Valerica pulled back her hand. The final threads sank into Eron's chest and disappeared.
He collapsed onto the marble, drenched in sweat, for the first time in days, the constant pain inside him was gone.
But something else stirred. His heartbeat faltered, vision tinted red, and his skin tingled as if another pulse was beating beneath it.
He gasped, clutching his ribs. Valerica offered no explanation. Her form dissolved into mist and drifted toward his feet, sinking into his shadow, her presence fading into the silence.
The cathedral grew quiet, chains above the throne swayed once, then stilled.
Eron lay trembling on the cold marble, knowing the shadow inside him no longer belonged to him alone.