The Crimson Flag

This knife isn’t sharp enough.

Not even close.

The cut left behind is almost too shallow.

I press my palms together. The liquid burns against my skin. Fire bursts up through the cracks in the stone. My armour scrapes loudly as I walk towards it.

“Come.” The roar of the mighty bear echoes quietly t first. One drop hits the ground; then two. I collapse to my knees. The creature rises; its fur is as scarlet as the blood which summoned it. I instinctively clutch my chest.

Magic does not come without a price.


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