Bloodmarked: The forgotten seal

Cairen should've known better than to trust a place called the Ember Vault.

The name alone sounded like a dragon's bathroom or a place you stored curses. Instead, it was worse — a giant chamber carved into the bedrock below Velmora, lit only by shifting embers suspended in midair. No flames. No torches. Just heat and red light like coals that had grown sentient and judgmental.

"Let me guess," Cairen muttered, "this is where I fight a flaming demon goat while shirtless and emotionally vulnerable."

Lyrix, standing beside the archway, raised a brow. "No goats. Just your fear, failure, and the fire soul bound to your blood."

"Oh. Fun."

Tessia rolled her eyes from the corner. "You volunteered."

"I was tricked."

"You nodded."

"I thought she was offering snacks!"

Lyrix ignored them both and stepped forward, placing her hand over the rune-carved gate.

"The Trial by Flame is not just a rite," she said, her voice dropping into something ceremonial and terrifyingly calm. "It is a dialogue. Between the pact-bearer and the soul within. Between who you are — and who you must become."

Cairen gulped. "Is there a safe word?"

"'Stop' is traditionally ignored," Lyrix said with a smirk.

The Flames Know

Inside the chamber, everything was heat and breath.

The air moved, as if alive. The embers hovered close, curious. Cairen stepped onto the platform of obsidian and immediately felt the rune on his arm pulse like it had found its favorite playlist.

The sword on his back snapped into being — not by his hand, but by will.

"The trial begins."

"You will burn, boy. Not to die. To rise."

Then the heat took him.

Flames erupted around the edges of the platform, curling into illusions — not illusions. Memories.

He saw his father — the one who'd vanished when he was five — shouting, fighting with someone outside their home. A burst of red magic. Then silence.

He saw his mother — stern, always tired, always watching the windows.

He saw himself, alone. Crying in the rain. Rune glowing faintly under a soaked sleeve.

Then the flames changed.

Tessia, lying on the ground, bleeding.

Lyrix, whispering something into a dark mage's ear.

Whist — unmoving — covered in shadow.

"No," Cairen growled. "This isn't real."

"It is what may be. Fear. Loss. Betrayal. All are yours."

"You carry flame. And flame consumes."

The sword grew heavier in his hands. His knees buckled.

He felt the dragon inside him rise — a shape of wings and molten hate. Not evil. Just ancient. It wanted action, not weakness.

"Burn or be broken."

"No," Cairen said again.

And he stood.

The fire around him twisted into dragons — a circle of them, spectral and massive. They watched him. Judged him. Then one stepped forward — the biggest. Serpentine, scarred, with glowing gold eyes.

"I'm not a hero," Cairen said, facing it. "I'm not perfect. I mess up. I talk too much. I run from fights."

"True," the dragon said aloud for the first time, voice like cracking worlds.

"But I don't abandon people. And I don't quit. So if you want someone perfect—"

He raised the sword.

"—go find a statue."

He plunged the blade into the obsidian.

The fire exploded.

When He Woke

The flames were gone. The sword was warm but calm. His clothes were singed, but he was alive.

Tessia blinked. "You… survived?"

"I what?"

Lyrix smiled faintly. "He passed. Nicely done. The sword recognizes your resolve. For now."

"For now?"

"It's a dragon pact. Not a tea party. The bond must be fed."

Tessia nodded. "Yeah, so don't start slacking."

Cairen smirked, still panting. "You sound worried about me."

She walked past him, lightly punching his arm. "I just don't want to clean up the mess if you explode."

Elsewhere…

A man in golden robes poured wine into a glass made of bone.

He watched a mirror of black water, where Cairen's trial replayed silently.

"So," he said. "The boy passed."

The figure beside him said nothing.

"You were right to mark him. Let the pacts awaken. Let the dragons stir."

He smiled without warmth.

"And when they do… we'll be ready."