---   Day One: The Blood on the Sand   The gates of the Crimson Chain arena opened to thunderous applause. Severus Snake, known to the ringmasters now as Ironblood, stood in the sandy pit of the arena under the red sun, the cheers still a low hum compared to the noise in his heart. Today he fought not just to win, but to rise.   His opponent was brutal, a hammer-wielding ogre of a man with scars like maps carved into his flesh. But Severus moved like a serpent—graceful, poised, lethal. One moment he was below the hammer’s swing, the next he was behind his foe, driving his blade between shoulder blades.   The crowd erupted.   Later that evening, as Severus was having the cuts on his arms sewn shut, a young scribe recited whispers heard in the noble balconies. Rumors of a tremor. Of lakes boiling in the west. Severus barely listened. He only had room for the next battle.   ---   Day Two: Of Chains and Champions   He was called into the inner chamber of the Crimson Chain’s guildhall—a rare honor. There, a full-blooded tiefling named Vicegrin offered him a trial: face an elite, and rise to Bladebound status, or fail and remain among the Ironblood ranks.   Severus accepted before the words finished leaving Vicegrin’s mouth.   The match was vicious. A double-bladed duel against a seasoned Bladebound named Breya the Gale, whose wind-dancing techniques had unseated stronger warriors. But Severus wasn’t stronger—he was smarter, slicker. His footwork wove between her strikes, and his tail—red, gleaming, fast—snatched her ankle at just the right moment. She fell, and his blade pressed against her throat.   She yielded. The crowd stood.   That night, someone tossed him a coin in the bathhouse and asked if he’d heard about Plumefall. “lakeside cliffs collapsed” the man muttered. “Whole wagons swallowed under rubble.”   Severus didn’t reply. He simply grinned.   ---   Day Three: The Oath of Bladebound   Guildmaster Karhorn himself met Severus in the training yard. There, with twenty guild members in silent attendance, Severus knelt and swore the Oath of the Bladebound.   He would uphold the values of spectacle, mastery, and lethal artistry. He would pay his dues, protect the honor of the Chain, and never slay outside the circle unless given due challenge.   As he rose, the title was his. Bladebound.   He sparred with other members that afternoon—men and women who, weeks ago, wouldn’t have spared him a glance. But now they called him “Blade-born.”   News came that evening: Titan’s Dream had heard unusual rumbles and thunder.   Severus sat up late that night in his chambers, practicing a new tune on his lute.   ---   Day Four: Glory, Gilded   The fame came fast. Three arena matches in one day. The first a two-on-one. The second a gauntlet match with rising Chainlords. The final, a dramatic battle against a summoned elemental, all while music played in the background and Severus delivered lines he’d written the night before.   He won them all, and the crowd began chanting a name that wasn’t his: “Champion! Champion! Crimson Champion!”   He stepped into the locker room, his body drenched in sweat, his sword nicked and bent. Two halfling boys waited there with ink and paper.   “Can we have your autograph?”   He signed them gladly.   News from Dewbreak trickled in—unsettling stories of water going sour and lights vanishing beneath the waves. Severus listened. But he still smiled. It was all becoming clear. He wasn’t just winning fights. He was becoming legend.   ---   Day Five: A Prayer for Joy   The temple of Lysmera was busy that morning. Musicians played, dancers twirled, and incense curled in the air like ribbons of smoke. Severus entered silently, approached the altar, and lit a single flame.   He didn’t pray for victory. He prayed for purpose.   He gave thanks to the goddess who pulled him from the shadows of Elaria's grip. Then he offered his music, playing a haunting, triumphant tune before the gathered clergy.   Joytenders whispered that his performance had brought tears to the goddess’s statue.   Outside the temple, a dwarf from Brackenrest staggered into the plaza—his clothes torn, his face streaked with soot. “It’s coming,” he kept saying. “It’s coming faster than we thought. And it’s hungry still.” He later learns that apparently this dwarf was captured in a mine collapse under the village of Brackenrest and had a vision of some sort of beast.   Severus tightened the straps on his gloves.   ---   Day Six: A Banner of His Own   Severus used the coin he’d earned—175 gold after dues—to commission a personal arena banner: a red serpent coiled around a silver chain. The forge lit it with magical stitching, and when the wind caught it during his next fight, the crowd roared.   He crushed his opponent in two minutes.   After the match, the arena steward approached him. “You’ve had five victories this week. The Chain wants to host a named match for you. Title bout. You ready?”   Severus answered by throwing his sword into the sand, where it landed point-first. “Name it. I’ll dance the blades with anyone.”   ---   Day Seven: The Storm’s Edge   Severus stood atop the arena gatehouse, his arms crossed, his red scales gleaming in the dawn light. Below, apprentices trained. Above, stormclouds gathered.   He’d booked no fights today. Not because he couldn’t, but because something bigger waited.   He spent the day composing. A new piece. A final performance, perhaps. He called it “The Last Delver.”   In the evening, Guildmaster Karhorn met him in private. “There are rumors you plan to ride out with your adventuring company.”   Severus nodded.   Karhorn placed a hand on his shoulder.   “Then take this.” He handed him a pendant in the shape of a chain link—black iron, warm to the touch. “You wear this, and you carry our name into legend.”   As Severus stepped into the street, his lute slung across his back and sword at his side, voices filled the air—bards singing the Ballad of the Backwards Delvers.   He smiled.   He was ready to make the next verse his.