My eyes slowly opened.
Even before my vision adjusted, I could feel it—Light.Blinding, searing light.
It flooded my senses, so bright it felt like I had gone blind. Then it came—the pain. A crashing, overwhelming agony tore through my skull, my body, my soul. Every fiber of my being screamed in torment.
I tried to cry out. I tried again and again to open my mouth—
But I couldn't.
"What… is this?""Why can't I move?"
I felt like I was suspended, bound by invisible chains that kept me floating against a wall.
Then, slowly, the blinding light began to fade.Shapes started to form.
And I saw them—three figures standing before me.
One of them held a torch, the beam stabbing into my eyes like a dagger. He was searching for something in them.
He wore thick, square-rimmed spectacles. His long, jet-black hair clung to his face, damp with sweat. Despite his scholarly look, the top of his head showed early signs of balding. His hands fidgeted as he held the torch, and yet, he wore a maniacal grin—torch in one hand, pen in the other.
"My eyes…?" I thought.
Before I could process more, another voice echoed through the dim space.
"Michael, are you sure this is the one?"
The speaker was massive—broad-shouldered, with reddish-orange hair. A greatsword rested easily in his grip, its weight nothing to him. His stance was alert, every muscle ready to strike. His eyes scanned every corner like a predator on edge.
Michael—the man with the torch—answered.
"Pathetic as he looks, he's still the sole heir of the Draven Dukedom. He has what we need. And he'll do what we want."
Before I could react, something warm ran down my cheek.
Blood.
It gushed from my left eye.
Michael began to laugh.
A long, manic laugh.
I couldn't see his face clearly, but I knew the expression he wore—gleeful madness.
"It's starting. The act we've prepared begins now."
Darkness returned—not the light this time, but blood-red nothingness. My mind began to fade.
Pain surged—mind-shattering, soul-breaking pain. I wanted to scream, to claw at my skull, to make it stop.
But I couldn't move.
No matter how hard I tried, I was helpless. Useless.
Then I saw it—Michael again. Holding a needle.
It glowed red, or perhaps it only seemed so—its body smoked like it had just emerged from a fire that had burned for days.
Without a word, he stabbed it into the center of my stomach.
My skin ignited. My flesh burned.
I tried to scream.
Nothing.
The needle began to expand—stretching to the size of a pen, ripping through my insides.
I wanted to scream.I wanted to run.I wanted to die.
.
.
.
Did I die?That thought echoed in the silence.
Wherever I was now, it was… peaceful. Strangely comforting.
I couldn't move, but I didn't need to.
Then it came to me—like a whisper from a dream.
I am Alaric Draven.Heir to the Draven Dukedom.One of the Three Great Houses of War and Healing.
Our bloodline—blessed by the Phoenix Griffin.
Yes… The Phoenix Griffin.
In the ancient tongue, it is called Velkaryon—the Flame-Winged Healer. A creature of divine fire and boundless mercy. With the body of a lion and wings of eternal flame, it has not been seen for centuries—except in moments of great reckoning.
Its cry is said to split steel and purge corruption. It scorches battlefields in wrath, yet its feathers can restore life from the brink of death.
Legends say it appears only to those torn between vengeance and virtue. To see it is to be judged.To ride with it... is to walk the edge of salvation and ruin.
Some claim that my ancestors once bound Velkaryon to our bloodline. That it slumbers now, awaiting a worthy heir.
We of House Draven have always been a devout people—Praying not to gods, but to the Phoenix Griffin.
[3rd Person POV]
"So... I'm the heir of House Draven. Now that I'm dead, do I get a private meeting with Velkaryon in heaven?"
A voice responded.
"Calm your thoughts, mortal. This isn't heaven."
Alaric turned—up, down, side to side.
There was nothing.
Then, suddenly—A gigantic eye opened before him. A burning, divine eye, filled with judgment and flame.
"The eye… of the Phoenix Griffin…"
Another voice boomed.
"Shall I shut off that foolish mind of yours, mortal?"
At that moment, another colossal eye emerged from the dark—vaster than the first, burning with ancient light and layered with curiosity and quiet amusement. It gazed at Alaric, unblinking, as though peering into the threads of his very soul.
"Oh? So this is the one you were talking about?"
The voice was smooth, laced with an almost mischievous charm. It echoed with age and power, but held a glint of mirth beneath its words.
Before Alaric could even process the presence of the second entity, another voice cracked through the void—harsher, colder. It was a sound like grinding stone and roaring wind, laced with frustration and something deeper... disappointment.
"You brought him here? This should've been handled by the one who started this mess. We agreed not to interfere directly."
The amused eye pulsed once, then narrowed, as if suppressing an age-old argument.
"And yet, here we are. Watching another mortal bleed at the feet of tyrants. Again."
The harsher voice scoffed.
"He's too early. He's not ready. If we gift him now—"
"Then he might survive," the first voice cut in, its tone sharpened now. "You speak of readiness while forgetting time doesn't wait. The game has already begun."
A heavy silence followed. Alaric, suspended in the weight of their power, could barely breathe—yet every word they spoke burned itself into his mind like prophecy.
Then, after a pause, the second eye sighed. A deep, thunderous sound that seemed to shake the void itself.
"Fine. Let's finish this. But mark my words—if he fails, you will answer for it."
The amused eye turned its full attention to Alaric. The fire within it dimmed into a softer glow, like a star reaching out across eternity. Its voice, when it returned, held a warmth that startled Alaric more than the void ever could.
"For what it's worth… I hope you'll cherish the gift of our first meeting."
And with that, the void pulsed. Something ancient stirred.
Power—pure, unfiltered, and untamed—began to pour into Alaric's soul.