⚡ The Blood Binding ⚡
You Accepted Talveran's Power
The Ritual
Xanther's hand closed around the obsidian dagger. The blade felt warm, almost alive, humming with a subtle thrum of power that connected to the bracelet resting on Lyra's velvet cushion.
He pricked his fingertip with practiced precision. A single drop of blood welled up, crimson and bright.
Lyra stepped forward with the delicate silver bowl, catching the drop with practiced precision. She added it to a vial half-full with viscous, dark liquid.
The blood shimmered. It seemed to almost glow.
The mixture swirled, combining his essence with whatever ancient power had been collected in that vial. The color shifted from crimson to deep purple, then to an iridescent black that seemed to absorb light itself.
Renaldo took the vial, mixed the contents with a whispered incantation in a language that predated the dimension itself, and poured it over Talveran's Bracelet.
The bracelet pulsed with brilliant ethereal light.
The Binding
A wave of power washed over Xanther—overwhelming, ancient, vast.
He felt a connection, a subtle link, to something that had existed before Nexus was built, before the dimension took shape. The feeling was both exhilarating and terrifying.
Renaldo placed the bracelet on Xanther's wrist. It closed with a soft click that echoed through the hall like thunder.
Renaldo: "You are now host to Talveran, King of Nexus."
Power surged through Xanther—not his own, but something patient, calculating, impossibly vast.
And then—
Everything went white.
The White Space
Xanther's consciousness was ripped from the throne room and pulled into an infinite white void.
No floor. No ceiling. No walls. Just endless, blinding whiteness in every direction.
And standing before him—
A figure of gold and black armor.
The armor was not worn by anyone. It was someone. Sentient. Ancient. Forged from something that predated the dimension itself.
The plates shifted and moved with liquid grace, each piece interlocking perfectly. Gold trimming gleamed against obsidian black metal. And where a face should be—
Emerald eyes glowed with impossible light.
Not eyes set into a helmet. Eyes that were the helmet. Eyes that burned with consciousness forged from Keeper blood.
TALVERAN:
"So. You are the vessel who would host a King."
The voice didn't come from the armor. It came from everywhere—from the white void itself, from inside Xanther's mind, from the very fabric of reality.
Xanther tried to speak. His mouth moved but no sound came.
"You need not speak here. I hear your thoughts. I feel your fear. I know your doubt."
The armor stepped forward—or perhaps the white space shifted around it. Distance had no meaning here.
"You believe you have become King of Nexus. You have not."
"I am King. You are vessel. Together, we rule. But make no mistake—I am the crown, and you are the head that bears its weight."
Those emerald eyes burned brighter, and Xanther felt something fundamental shift inside him. Not his body. His soul.
"This is not a gift. This is duty without end. Responsibility without escape."
"We are bound now. Your blood sealed it. Your choice made it so."
"Welcome to eternity, vessel."
And then the white space shattered like glass.
He was now officially, inextricably bound to Talveran, and to the fate of Nexus.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Nobles bowed. Common folk celebrated. The King had been crowned.
The Work Begins
But the celebratory mood evaporated quickly, replaced by tense anticipation.
Xanther—no, King Xanther now—felt the crushing weight of responsibility settle onto his shoulders like a physical thing. The crown wasn't just metal and jewels. It was expectations, decisions, lives.
Relana's smile was strained, her silver eyes reflecting his own apprehension. She squeezed his hand one more time before stepping back to allow the court to approach their new king.
Renaldo stood conferring with advisors in hushed whispers. Lyra stood apart, observing with an unsettling stillness.
The bracelet pulsed faintly on Xanther's wrist—a constant reminder of his pact with Talveran. He could feel the connection, a strange pull towards a power he barely understood, a power both seductive and frightening.
Despite being surrounded by his court, Xanther felt isolated. Alone.
Reports began arriving almost immediately:
The Shadow War had escalated beyond initial assessments.
A growing rebellion in the North, led by someone who had once been loyal to the crown.
Shadowy figures. Ancient evils stirring. Alliances shifting with the speed of a venomous viper's strike.
The very power he now possessed, the very alliance that secured his throne, felt tainted—overshadowed by a darkness that resonated with the pulsing bracelet.
The celebrations were over. The work, the true work of being King, had begun.
And Xanther had a very unsettling feeling that this was only the beginning of his problems.
The wedding was complete. Nexus had a king.
But in the shadows at the edge of the realm, something ancient stirred.
Nexus's Shadow was beginning to fall.