Arin stared into the eyes of the man no, the King standing before him.
Same eyes. Same face. But darker. Older. Twisted.
"I'm not you," Arin said, voice low.
"You will be," the Raven King replied, stepping down from the throne of bones. "They all think they can resist. Every Bloodbound does… until they realize that power always has a price."
The world around them pulsed waves of memories crashing through Arin's mind. Visions of kingdoms burning. Of a blade soaked in magic and grief. Of voices chanting his name… not in praise, but in fear.
"You slaughtered them," Arin whispered. "Your own people."
"I freed them," the King snapped. "From lies. From weakness. I gave them purpose. Just as you will."
"I won't follow your path."
"You already have." He pointed to Arin's arm. The Raven's Mark shimmered like molten silver. "You opened the Vault. You awakened the Feather. And now, you stand in the Memory Well, walking where I once walked. It's too late to turn back."
Arin clenched his fists. "Then I'll burn the path down."
With a roar, the Raven King charged. Magic screamed through the air—pure shadow, coiling like serpents. Arin dodged, rolling to the side and throwing up a barrier of light.
It shattered.
The King's blade struck.
Pain exploded in his shoulder, and the world warped again.
He wasn't on the battlefield anymore.
He stood in a dimly lit tower, surrounded by books and relics. The air was heavy with incense and regret.
A voice called out.
"Arin?"
He turned and gasped.
It was his mother.
Not a memory. Not a dream. But her, alive, younger. Standing there in robes of midnight blue, eyes wide.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"I… I don't understand."
She stepped forward, her fingers brushing his cheek. "Neither did I. Not when I bore you. Not when I ran from the prophecy. But now you must choose, my son. This is the moment that shapes the rest."
Arin's heart twisted. "Are you real?"
She smiled sadly. "Real enough."
Then her form began to fade. The scene cracked like glass under pressure.
The battlefield returned.
The King stood over him again, raising the shadow blade. "You're weak. Still clinging to hope."
Arin wiped the blood from his mouth. "Hope is all I've got."
And then he called to it.
The magic deep within. Not the Raven King's power, not the darkness but something buried deeper.
The Echofire.
A pulse erupted from his chest gold and silver flames spiraling outwards. The King staggered back, snarling.
"What have you done?"
Arin rose to his feet. "You're not my future. You're my warning."
The world began to tremble.
The battlefield cracked.
And then
Silence.
Arin woke gasping, his body drenched in sweat. The Memory Well was gone. He was back in the tower. Liora knelt beside him, her hands shaking as she cupped his face.
"You were gone for two days," she whispered.
"I was with him," Arin said. "The Raven King."
Avareth stood in the shadows, silent.
"Did he pass?" she asked.
"He survived," Liora said. "Barely."
Arin turned to them. "No. I didn't just survive. I chose."
Avareth stepped forward. "Then it's time for the next step."
"The next step?" Liora asked.
"Yes," Avareth said grimly. "The war that crowned the Raven King… is happening again. History is repeating itself. And this time our only weapon is a boy who bears the same blood as the monster we fear."
Arin met her gaze.
"I'm not the Raven King," he said quietly. "I'm something else."