Surviving the Death Hunt

A few days ago...

Above, the Scarlet Moon hovered with a malevolent pulse, breathing, almost, as though it were a living vessel with something beating at its core.

Beneath its crimson light, deep in the middle of nowhere within Scarlet Kin territory, two men stood inside what remained of an ancient temple.

The throne that had once commanded the room was long empty, its surface cracked and dulled with age. The roof had collapsed ages ago.

What remained were a few stubborn walls, and even they — weathered and broken as they were — were enough to suggest what this place had once been before the Red Day swallowed everything.

The silver-haired man carried himself like something the world had shaped specifically to be looked at. Deep golden eyes, a gray beard and mustache, and a scar drawn across his left eye, rendering it blind.

His short white robe did what it always did: it made him look less like a person and more like a god who had decided to show up. Arthur Rover.

The young man before him was a different kind of striking... dark hair, dark eyes, tall and unhurried in his elegance. His features were almost too refined, slick, and smooth, catching the moonlight in a way that made them shine. Dain Vorn Zaireth.

Arthur’s soft smile never wavered. It sat on his face the whole time, easy and unbothered, like Dain was something he found quietly entertaining.

Dain wore a wistful smile.

"I don’t even have to think. You’re here for your nephew, aren’t you? How pitiful. And right after I finally finished that overgrown bat. It took quite some time... eight months of work, to be precise. The old man at the tower didn’t make this stay easy, I should be resting by now."

The childlike side of Arthur returned without announcement. He stood there fidgeting with his fingers, the picture of someone too flustered to know what to do with their hands, the kind of thing you’d expect from a boy in front of his crush.

His words, though, carried none of that softness.

"Why do you claim this is for my nephew? You slaughtered my brother and his wife... what makes you think I wouldn’t take your life in return?"

Dain glanced through his mind for a second as if searching for the right words for his overwhelming thoughts.

"Because you can’t?"

He exhaled.

"Your presence says it all. You’ve clearly made peace with your fate. For a ninety-year-old, you seem far too young, proof that you’ve prepared for this. I take it you’ve already chosen your successor and now seek to measure my strength, carving a path to victory for your nephew."

PHEW.

"It pains me deeply to take your life without a chance to stop you. You’ve helped me, and humanity too. Why would you want to die this way?"

Arthur laughed.

"Nothing evades you, does it? Sharp as always. And yet, age has humbled me enough to endure this. Your predecessor never would have spoken so boldly even at his peak, but you do it with casual ease."

Arthur’s laughter continued, unbothered. But whatever had struck him as funny hadn’t traveled across to Dain.

The words had landed differently there... quietly, heavily, leaving something that looked a little like sadness on his face.

"It hurts deeply. You’ve always been one of the good ones, strong enough to show humanity’s true power. And yet... you’ve lost your sense of justice. Why stand by him simply because he’s your nephew?"

Arthur paused, pulling back from the laughter long enough to actually weigh what Dain had said. It didn’t help. The laughing resumed.

"Really? The answer’s in your question, dummy. He’s my nephew."

When he spoke, it was as though something moved through him, quiet and deliberate. The laughter didn’t fade, it simply stopped.

"You’re the monster. Afraid of Flames of the Unknown, you hunt down its wielders, execute them before they even know their supposed crimes, and slaughter their families along the way."

A soft smile tugged on his lips as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Creation carries responsibility. We shaped this power, and now we recoil from it. Inheritances are born from: faith, beliefs, myths and conspiracies and I were part of those who started Flames of the Unknown.

But potential is not guilt. You speak of balance and judgment, yet you deny these children the very chance to choose. What makes the Flames unworthy of the same mercy you grant other Outlaws?"

The dynamic had quietly flipped. Arthur’s laughter was a recent memory now, and in its place was Dain’s... loud and genuine, pulled straight from his lungs without a single attempt at restraint.

"Fear? Don’t flatter yourself. I was aware of Scar’s presence that day eight years ago. I saw the old man escape with him. I allowed it. Killing him would have been mercy. No... I wanted him to witness it all. Every scream. Every drop of blood. Trauma is a far better forge than grief."

His slaughter turned somewhat sinister.

"Isn’t that fascinating? I wanted to give him a reason to fight, not a pathetic scramble to survive, but something real. Something that forces growth. Every predecessor before me killed the wielder of Flames of the Unknown before the power could truly awaken. Not out of fear... but to keep it beyond humanity’s reach.

"Their ambitions are shallow. Mine are not. I don’t seek to suppress the flames, I seek to conclude them. I will face him when he is complete, when there is no doubt left about his strength. All their minds. When he falls at his best, the Inheritance will have no reason to exist... and it will vanish."

Arthur kept his composure. He wore it well. But underneath the stillness, something burned, a deep, consuming desire to reduce Dain to cinders where he stood.

It was the deliberateness of it that made it worse. Malevolent words delivered with such careful, unhurried precision had a way of getting under the skin that shouting never could.

Dain wore a smirk.

"The instant he awakens, they’ll sense him down... and they will find him. I’ll strike him before he cou—

"Just shut the fuck up, kid."

Dain didn’t get to finish. Arthur was already speaking, cutting cleanly through whatever came next.

"Twenty-six? Twenty-eight? It hardly matters. You’re still a child playing hero. That ego will bury you. The Ruler of Zeus always favors the same type, doesn’t it? Justice-obsessed, unbearably proud, convinced they’re chosen. It’s less destiny... more a pattern of madness."

He took a deep breath.

"Listen carefully... If you believe you can kill Scar, you’re already mistaken. He won’t defeat you because of Flames of the Unknown or its allies. He’ll defeat you because he carries Rover blood. You should understand something very clearly... you are at war with a Rover."

The smirk came first, wide and enthusiastic, like he’d been looking forward to this. Then flames began climbing up his hands, easy and eager.

He assumed his stance. He posed like a god, because of course he did.

His aura began to shift after that, thickening, darkening, and taking on a weight and a will that felt entirely its own.

Dain felt it settle over him like a presence, not Arthur’s exactly, but something that lived alongside him, something predatory. He broke a sweat.

With an awkward smile, Dain spoke:

"Ah... so this is the famed presence. I see why they trembled. In your prime, I doubt I’d even be standing here. But time is cruel, isn’t it? Fortunately for me... you are no longer at your peak."

Dain answered the pressure with a smile, sharp and unhurried, and beckoned Arthur forward with one hand.

Just the one.