Darkness wrapped the chamber like a suffocating shroud, so thick it felt alive. Caveen sat in the center, bound to a cold iron chair that groaned with the weight of ancient enchantments. The air was heavy with the scent of scorched herbs and decayed stone, laced with something older—something twisted by time and magic.
Runes etched into the stone floor pulsed dimly, casting flickering shadows that danced like ghosts across the chamber walls. Chains didn't hold him in place—he could've broken those with ease. No, what bound him now were the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, infused with arcane power meant to suppress what churned inside him.
His blood wasn't normal. Neither was he.
Time lost all meaning in that room. Sometimes, the light from the runes flickered out completely, leaving him in absolute darkness. Other times, the doors creaked open, and shadowy figures in long robes glided in—silent, watchful, like vultures waiting for a corpse to rot.
The Council.
They never spoke to him. They only observed, touched, tested. They took his blood. His hair. Even the shattered remnants of the pendant he wore.
He didn't scream when the magic needles pierced his skin. But gods, he wanted to. Not because of the pain. But because something inside him was starting to shift—something wrong.
Every time they cast their spells, he heard it again.
That voice.
Low. Familiar. Whispering like smoke curling through a dream.
> "Let me show you… who you truly are."
He didn't know what it meant.
Who was he?
Caveen. That was his name. He remembered his mother's face—warm and fierce—but her name was starting to slip. His father—Carl—was strength, fire, and the scent of pine. But then there were other memories too…
A woman with lavender hair and eyes dark as night.
A forest.
A burning cabin.
A scream.
"Focus," a sharp voice snapped in front of him, dragging him back to the present.
A woman stepped into the light, her pale blue council robe rippling with every movement. Her silver eyes shimmered, not with cruelty—but curiosity. Like she was studying an unsolved puzzle.
"You've kept it buried," she said, circling him slowly. "Your aura is… fascinating. Vampire. Lycan. But beneath it… something else entirely."
Caveen said nothing.
She leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Do you even know what kind of blood runs in your veins, boy?"
He met her gaze with quiet defiance. "Mine."
A smile tugged at her lips. "And what a blood it is. You don't even know, do you? The kind of power you carry. The kind of history that trembles in your bones."
A sudden jolt of heat surged in Caveen's chest. His hands clenched in their restraints. "I'm not a weapon."
She circled him again, her voice soft like poison. "Not yet. But you will be. Blood doesn't lie. And yours sings of darkness. Of a legacy that predates even the vampire kings."
The central rune on the floor suddenly flared—bright and angry—just as another figure entered. An older man, hunched and sharp-eyed, holding a crooked staff that reeked of dark enchantments.
"Begin the second phase," he said simply.
The woman nodded once.
Caveen's breath caught. "What… phase?"
The air around him thickened. Magic twisted and writhed like a living thing, coiling around him, forcing itself through his skin. The runes ignited into searing red light, pulsing like a heartbeat. He cried out, head thrown back as pressure built inside him—until something snapped.
A memory—not his—exploded in his mind.
Fire.
He stood in a field, arms outstretched. Flames—dark, unnatural—danced along his fingertips.
People screamed. Forests burned.
Then—
A woman's voice, sharp with fear and love.
> "ASTER!"
He gasped and snapped forward, sweat dripping from his temples.
"What… what was that?" he rasped.
The councilwoman's eyes glittered. "A memory."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Your mother's."
His heart dropped. "What…?"
"She wasn't just a vampire," the man with the staff added. "Once, she was human. A girl adopted by a witch. The last daughter of a cursed bloodline."
Caveen's pulse pounded in his ears. "You're lying."
"We do not lie," the woman said. "We observe. We guard balance. And when something threatens that balance… we act."
He fought against the cuffs, muscles straining, fury rising. "Where is she?! Where is my mother?!"
The woman didn't flinch. "She will come."
Her eyes softened.
"Mothers always do."
Then they left, the two of them vanishing behind the heavy stone doors.
Silence returned. Only the runes flickered now, casting a lonely red glow.
Caveen sat still.
He didn't cry. He wouldn't give them that.
But inside… something had changed.
They were right.
Something was waking up inside him.
And it terrified him.
---
Hours Later
The silence had stretched so long, he almost forgot what voices sounded like.
But then, softly… it came.
> "Caveen…"
His mother's voice.
Maika? No… Aster?
He wasn't sure anymore.
He closed his eyes and clutched the broken pendant on his chest. The one she'd given him, passed down by his father. Somehow, it still held a trace of her warmth. Of her love.
> "Hold on. I'm coming."
And for the first time in days… hope sparked inside his chest.
---
Meanwhile, On the Cliffs of Eltharion
The wind howled like a banshee across the jagged cliffs of Eltharion, where the Council's fortress rose like a spear stabbing into the sky. It wasn't on any map. No one spoke its name aloud. It was a place of exile, punishment… and secrets.
Maika stood at the cliff's edge, her cloak billowing behind her like wings of shadow. Her eyes were locked on the obsidian tower below, burning with something beyond fury.
Purpose.
Beside her, Carl adjusted the black armor on his shoulders. His amber eyes scanned the terrain, calculating every path, every guard rotation, every scent carried on the wind.
"You sure about this?" he asked quietly.
Maika didn't look at him. "I've never been more sure of anything."
Carl studied her. This was not the woman who had once wept in confusion, haunted by lost memories. This was not even the vampire who'd lived with restraint.
This was something else.
Since removing the anklet that had suppressed her powers, Maika's presence had shifted. Her aura no longer shimmered like light—it radiated like a storm.
Carl smelled it.
The Carellos.
Salem had warned him. Queen Vantessa had begged him to keep her safe.
But it didn't matter anymore.
Because the Council had taken their son.
And now?
Now the full wrath of mother and father would rain upon them.
Let the gods tremble.
They were coming.