RISE OF EROS-Chapter 670 - 569

Draneg the Boneweaver sat upon the throne he had forged from the remains of ancient heroes and villains in the vast, eerie silence of his fortress of bones.

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, a tangle of emotions he rarely allowed to surface. The words he had spoken to Andrew, the god-candidate, echoed over and over in his head like an eternal echo in a desolate canyon.

"You are a puppet of the dragon ancestor, Crhono!" he had shouted, his voice heavy with contempt and frustration. Now, in the solitude of his reflection, those words seemed heavier than the chains he used to rule his legions of undead.

He knew he had made a mistake. Not only had he insulted Andrew, but he had jeopardized the fragile alliance they had formed. Draneg rose from his throne with a sharp gesture.

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His footsteps echoed on the blackened marble floor, each footstep laden with his signature air of grim authority. Despite his apparent calm, a battle raged within him that few could imagine.

As a descendant of the Eternal Night, he had inherited a sharp mind and an iron will, but also a darkness that sometimes blinded him. "I shouldn’t have said that…" he muttered through gritted teeth.

The shadows that filled the room seemed to respond to his voice, dancing to the rhythm of his anguish. He knew that Andrew was key to achieving godhood. His strength and connection to the higher planes were essential, and the young candidate had a potential that could not be wasted.

But Crhono, the ancestor of the dragons, was another matter. That primal being represented an ancient power that not even Draneg could control. The demigod stopped in front of a fractured mirror that hung crookedly on one of the walls.

His reflection, blurred by the cracks, watched him with crimson eyes filled with determination and doubt. The runes inscribed on his skin seemed to glow with a faint light as if they shared his emotional burden.

"Andrew…" he repeated his name quietly, chewing each syllable as if it were a sweet poison. He needed to find a way to repair the damage, so he asked himself, "How can I make him trust me again?"

It was a question with no immediate answer, and it irritated him. He was Draneg, the Bone Weaver, the one who had defied kings and enslaved armies of the dead. Solutions had always come to him like a hunter stalking his prey, but now, faced with a problem of an emotional and political nature, he felt vulnerable.

The answer came in the form of an idea that slowly made its way through the mist of his thoughts. It all came down to one undeniable fact: a common enemy threatened to destroy everything. Purgatory, that organization whose ambition knew no bounds, and the traitor dragon Carcom, who had sold his loyalty to the highest bidder, were the true adversaries.

"If I prove that I can contribute to the fight against them…" he mused aloud, letting the words take shape in the air. That might be enough to regain Andrew’s trust. More than words, he needed actions. Actions that would demonstrate his commitment to the common cause.

Draneg turned to one of his subordinates, a hunched figure wrapped in rags and whose face was hidden by a skull mask. It was Nihla, his most loyal advisor and one of the few souls he fully trusted.

"Send out scouts. I want information on the movements of Purgatory and Carcom. Spare no resources. If we need to negotiate with other powers, let us know. This is our priority now," he said.

Nihla nodded without a word, disappearing into the shadows like a specter. Draneg returned to his throne, though this time he did not sit down. His hands rested on the arms of the chair, and his gaze was lost in the immensity of the room.

The fight against Purgatorio was not only a political necessity; it was also an act of survival. Purgatorio had proven to be a cunning and ruthless enemy, and his connections to different races and the forces of chaos made him a threat that could not be ignored.

Draneg knew that he could not face him alone. He needed allies, and that meant that he had to repair the bridges that he had burned with his outburst of rage.

As time passed, his plan began to take shape. Draneg imagined himself presenting himself to Andrew with crucial information about Purgatorio’s movements, offering not only an apology but also tangible proof of his intention to work together. Although his pride resisted, he was willing to admit that he had been wrong.

"Divinity demands sacrifices… even from a demigod like me," he told himself, a bitter smile on his lips. Draneg thought of Crhono, too. Though he despised him, he knew he could not ignore the dragon ancestor’s influence on this entire conflict.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to openly confront him. Perhaps, rather than considering him an enemy, he could use his power for his own ends. The key was to understand Crhono’s true goals and maneuver in such a way that they could both benefit, even if temporarily.

"This is all a game of chess," he said aloud, his mind working rapidly. "And I am the deadliest strategist of them all". He ordered his scribes to compose encrypted messages addressed to potential allies, shadowy and neutral figures who might have an interest in the downfall of Purgatory.

At the same time, he sent his most capable necromancers to reinforce the defenses of his territories, anticipating any retaliation, but even as he acted, a part of him still hesitated.

The voice of the Eternal Night, that dark whisper that had always guided him, warned him not to let his guard down. Reconciliation with Andrew was necessary, but also dangerous. If the young candidate decided that Draneg was a threat, all his efforts could turn against him.

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"Nothing is guaranteed in this world or the next," he muttered, as his eyes closed briefly, allowing himself a moment of fatigue, but then opened them, full of determination, telling himself, "But I will not turn to dust without first leaving my eternal mark."

With that thought, Draneg prepared himself for the challenge ahead. Redemption, vengeance, and glory were threads woven through his mind, and like a good weaver, he was ready to create a tapestry that no mortal or god could ignore.