The hall reeked of cold stone, dried blood, and something older—a suffocating scent that lingered in the air like a forgotten curse.
"You've come for the test," Juli said, her voice echoing softly through the silence. She led him to an altar of black stone, worn smooth by time and countless offerings. "To see if you're worthy of the Blood Quest."
Vale said nothing.
Juli drew a slender silver blade, its edge catching the low, red light. She held it out toward him, the weapon gleaming like a promise. "Just a cut. If your blood responds to the moonlight—if it changes—you've been chosen."
The blade pressed against his palm. Blood welled up instantly, dripping onto the altar.
But it didn't just darken.
It pulsed.
Thick. Alive. Heavy with something unseen.
The blood began to rise—slowly at first, curling into the air like smoke. The altar groaned beneath it, its stone shuddering under the strange force. Juli took a step back, her eyes widening in disbelief.
"You're not just chosen," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You're claimed."
The blood-mist surged upward, coiling with unnatural grace, as if pulled by unseen hands. Light bent around it, the atmosphere warping in response. The air grew heavier, saturated with something ancient and forgotten.
Vale stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on the rising mist.
The blood responded to him—not merely as its source—but as its master.
Juli's grip on the blade tightened, though she didn't raise it. Awe and fear fought in her eyes, struggling for dominance.
The altar trembled harder.
The mist thickened, swirling violently.
And then, the world fell away.