Journey to Become the Zenith

The Blood Oath

Once the group was inside the building, everyone sat down.

Everyone... except Eon.

The giant remained standing as though he had entered the chamber by instinct alone, his body arriving before his mind had caught up. His broad frame was still as iron, his dark eyes lifted toward the timbered ceiling, unfocused, dazed.

Amber lampfire swayed across the room.

Shadows crawled over stone walls.

Somewhere beyond the heavy doors, muffled laughter and tankards clashing drifted from the underworld den, but in this chamber the silence felt almost sacred.

No one disturbed him.

No one could.

Because everyone present understood.

To suddenly learn he was part of the royal family...

That was no small revelation.

That was a thunderbolt striking a man’s identity.

Anyone in his place would stagger.

Even Clara, who had only recently begun to glimpse how deep Victor’s hidden schemes ran, felt the weight of it.

Lane sat with arms folded, black eyes studying Eon in thought.

Videl leaned back, though her sapphire gaze remained sharp.

Brinda’s playful smile had long since faded.

Even she respected the gravity in the room.

Yet with revelation came darker questions.

Why had Eon been abandoned in the slums of Fantom City?

Why no memories?

Why buried blood?

Betrayal.

The thought moved through them all without being spoken.

Perhaps someone had wanted him dead.

Perhaps he escaped.

Perhaps he had been discarded.

Or perhaps... something uglier.

Still they did not know what relation he bore to Queen Amara.

A forgotten prince?

A bastard son?

A lost branch of the bloodline?

Too many possibilities.

Too little truth.

And while they waited for Eon to speak, Victor rose.

Slowly.

Like a predator approaching wounded prey.

He stepped beside the giant and leaned close, speaking so softly no one else could hear.

”Hey, how long are you going to mope around for, unsure what to do since you have no memories?” Victor whispered.

His tone was almost teasing.

Almost kind.

But beneath it was steel.

”Isn’t there a path now that you could tread to find out the truth? Now that the path is right in front of you, why don’t you walk it Eon? In fact if you wish to tread this path of either revenge or finding the truth, heck you could even have both, I will gladly lend you a hand.”

Victor’s golden eyes sharpened.

”That is of course if you promise me something. Obviously if I help you, there must be something in exchange for my help, since I’m neither a hero nor a saint.”

His smile darkened.

”So what say you Eon?”

None but Eon heard.

Not even Videl.

Victor had woven a sound barrier no one recognized.

Only Brinda noticed the faintest ripple of mana.

A tiny vibration.

Like a thread plucked in the unseen.

Her brow moved a fraction.

Then settled.

She mistook it for stray mana drift.

Nothing more.

But Victor’s words were already sinking deep into Eon.

The giant’s jaw tightened.

He began thinking.

Everything Victor said was true.

Why hesitate?

The path to his past stood before him now clearer than ever.

He could pursue revenge.

He could pursue truth.

Perhaps both.

Then why was he still frozen?

Because of Victor.

That was why.

This man looked young.

Almost harmless.

A handsome devil in black and gold.

But Eon knew better.

He had seen monsters.

He had fought killers.

And Victor was more dangerous than the creatures lurking in the deepest dungeons.

There was something ancient in those golden eyes.

Something that devoured.

Eon understood one truth with painful clarity.

The moment he accepted Victor’s proposal...

He would be signing away his life.

Was it worth it?

He thought of his current life.

As Ox King.

As Victor’s subordinate.

The pay was good.

The food was better.

Even the women were kind.

Aside from taking orders from a brat—

Life was not bad.

Yet.

Something gnawed at him.

It wasn’t enough.

Never had been.

He wanted his past.

He wanted the truth stolen from him.

And only one hand in this room could lead him there.

The devil standing before him.

Slowly Eon exhaled.

Decision hardened.

He looked down at Victor.

”Fine then,” he said at last, voice rough but steady. ”Please help me find out the truth.”

Victor smiled.

And the room seemed colder.

”Very well Eon,” he said, almost pleasantly, ”as long as you promise me your everything—your loyalty, your strength, and your life. If you promise to give me those, I will help you find the truth.”

Then he showed that smile.

That vicious smile.

The one born only when battle stirred his blood.

Lane felt a faint shiver.

Videl recognized that expression and said nothing.

Brinda’s eyes narrowed.

She had seen ambition before.

This was something beyond ambition.

This was hunger.

Because Victor held one goal.

One towering impossible goal.

And for that goal he would use every piece placed in his hands.

Eon was such a piece.

A piece too valuable to lose.

To fulfill the promise he made Videl.

The promise only he knew.

The promise to change the script written by gods.

To overturn fate.

To do what even Anos once could not.

He needed power.

More than personal strength.

He needed followers.

Kings.

Empires.

And perhaps... a throne.

Then before the stunned people present—

Eon knelt.

The giant dropped to one knee before Victor.

Stone groaned faintly beneath the impact.

Clara’s lips parted.

Lane’s eyes widened.

Even Videl looked struck.

Brinda stared as though witnessing ritual.

Eon lowered his head.

”I promise you my everything, my loyalty, my strength, and my life. I promise to give it all to you Victor, for as long as you show me the truth.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Consecrated.

Victor did not speak immediately.

Instead, with calm precision, he drew a knife.

Silver flashed.

Without hesitation he cut the palm of his right hand.

Blood welled.

Dark red under amber light.

He tossed the blade to Eon.

”Let’s shake on it.”

Victor extended the wounded hand.

No theatrics.

No ceremony.

Only inevitability.

Eon looked at the blade.

Then at Victor.

He understood.

This was no simple gesture.

This was oath.

Binding.

Using the knife, he cut his own palm.

A shallow line.

Blood rose.

Then he clasped Victor’s hand.

Blood met blood.

Hands locked.

And in that instant something unseen seemed to settle over the room.

Even the air felt heavier.

As though fate itself had acknowledged the pact.

Victor’s voice came low.

Cold.

Absolute.

”The pact has been formed. Your life and everything else is now mine. If you breach this contract formed by blood, then expect to lose everything you have.”