Varathis never slept.
The city of crimson towers rose like a wound beneath the eternal storm. Lightening crawled across the fortress spires, catching on the silver banners that bore the sigil of House Varzian. The hollow crown dripping blood.
Inside the high hall, the throne stood empty.
A single figure walked its marble floor, King Draven Vaelor Varzian, King of Varathis, Warden of the Crimson Court, father of the heir who should have taken that throne. His cloak whispered over the stone as he passed the circle of kneeling courtiers, each watching the empty seat like it might bite.
"Still no word?" Draven's voice carried through the hall.
General Malrik bowed ow. "The scouts lost his trail after the Vale collapsed, my Lord. The Hunt failed. The Ashovar riders are dead."
Draven stopped before him, eyes narrowing. "Dead? or devoured?"
Malrik hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing his scarred face. "The Vale's magic turned on itself before the battle ended. Shadows tore through the field, men screamed and vanished. Whatever power stirred there was beyond us. I barely escaped the collapse."
Draven studied him in silence, reading the tremor beneath his calm. "And yet you returned."
"I survived," Malrik said, voice low. "To bring warning. The heir's power isn't dormant anymore."
"And the witch?" Draven asked through clenched teeth.
"Alive. Bound to him by something none of our seers could name."
For a heartbeat, no one dared breathe. Even the crimson torches dimmed, as if the court itself feared what the Warden might do next.
Draven's eyes, pale and sharp as frost, turned toward the great window that overlooked the red-lit city. "Then the bond is real. The blood has begun to wake."
He reached into his sleeve and drew out a sealed parchment, edges blackened, burned around the edges as if it had survived fire. The mark pressed into the wax was unmistakable.
The seal of the King Beneath the blood, The Crimson Shade.
"This came the moment the Vale vanished," Draven said. "A warning. My father's mark."
Malrik swallowed. "The King has been dead for centuries."
"Not dead," Draven said softly. "Waiting."
He turned the parchment over in his hands, eyes reflecting its faint crimson gleam. "He believes the heir's blood will finish what he began. The bloodline reborn. But he forgets who controls the heir."
Marik's voice was careful. "And if the heir refuses?"
Draven's expression did not change. "Then we make him remember what he was born to be."
The thunder outside swallowed the silence that followed, shaking the stained glass.
From the shadows near the dais, a cloaked figure stepped forward, face hidden. "The bloodline cannot awaken without the catalyst," she said. "The witch's blood binds him. Remove her, and the curse completes itself."
Draven turned his gaze on her. "And you know this how?"
The woman's smile flickered beneath the hood. "I was there when your father forged the curse."
He studied her for a long moment before nodding once. "Then you'll bring her to me alive. When she dies, the heir will rise."
The woman bowed. "As you command, Lord Varzian."
When she was gone, Malrik spoke again. "My lord, if she fails ..."
"She won't."
Draven's voice carried the certainty of a blade. He looked once more toward the storm. Somewhere in its heart, he could almost feel his son's blood calling back.
He smiled faintly.
"You'll remain here and prepare the city's defenses," Draven said, his tone sharp as glass. "If the heir returns to Varathis, I want every gate ready to bleed."
Draven turned back to the storm, his face retaining the faint smile cutting across his face. "Every King bleeds for his crown," he murmured. "Even the ones who run from it."
Lightning struck the palace spire, painting the room red and white.
And far beyond the walls of Varathis, two fugitives ran beneath that same storm, unaware that the Court had already demanded their blood.
The ruin's walls still burned red long after the voice faded.
Kael leaned against the stone, breath uneven, fingers trembling as if the mark itself was pulling him apart. The glow beneath his skin had spread across his chest now, thin veins of light threading toward his throat.
Rayne stood close, wary but unafraid. The runes on her dagger flickered like dying stars, reacting to every single surge from him. "Kael," she said softly, "that voice ..."
"Wasn't human."
He forced himself upright, eyes sweeping the room. The tower seemed alive, the stone shifting subtly beneath the weight of his presence. "This place remembers me," he said. "But I've never been here before."
Rayne traced the old carvings on the wall, runes half-swallowed by moss. "Maybe it remembers our blood."
He didn't answer. His reflection still lingered in the shattered glass nearby, eyes burning faintly crimson, a ghost of the monster waiting beneath his skin.
Then something else moved in the shadows.
A ripple of air. A whisper of silk.
Rayne turned just in time to see a figure step out of the dark, hooded, silent, gloved hands holding a blade so thin it barely caught the light.
Kael's instincts flared. "Assassin!!"
The blade struck before the word finished leaving his mouth. He caught it with his gauntlet, steel shrieking. The impact drove him back against the wall.
Rayne's fire ignited instantly, gold heat filling the chamber. The assassin moved through it like smoke, barely slowed, striking again and again.
Kael met her in a clash that cracked stone. Her strikes were too fast, too deliberate to be mortal. She wasn't there to test him. She was there to end him.
Rayne's voice rose through the chaos. "She's not after you, she's after me!"
Kael turned in time to see the assassin pivot, blade aimed straight for Rayne's heart.
He didn't think.
The bond moved them both. HIs hand caught the strike, the edge burying into his palm. Blood splashed across the runes of Rayne's dagger. The metal screamed, literally screamed, as it absorbed his blood, runes glowing gold and crimson at once.
A shockwave tore through the chamber.
The assassin staggered back, cloak flaring. For the first time, her hood fell away, revealing a face far too familiar.
Rayne froze. "You..."
The woman smiled. "Still alive, little witch."
Kael's heart stopped. "You know her?"
"She was my mother's shadow," Rayne whispered. "A court wraith."
The assassin tilted her head, eyes glinting cold silver. "And your executioner, when the lord commands it."
The tower groaned under the surge of power between them.
Kael stepped in front of Rayne, blood dripping from his fist. "If your lord wants blood," he said darkly, "he'll have to take mine."
The assassin smiled wider. "That was always the plan."
Lightning split the tower roof open.
And the Hunt began again.
The roof shattered. Rain poured through the open wound in the tower as thunder cracked overhead.
Kael lunged first. The assassin met him midair, her blade spinning in a spiral of silver light. Their clash sent sparks through the storm. She moved like liquid shadow, each strike measured, designed to draw blood without wasting motion.
Rayne circled wide, fire trailing from her hand. Every time she loosed a spell, the assassin countered, not with magic, but with speed. The woman knew her movements. Every strike anticipated, every flame narrowly avoided.
Rayne's frustration broke through her control. "She's inside my head!"
Kael parried another blow, voice rough. "Then burn her out of it!"
The assassin pivoted low, her blade slicing across Kael's thigh. He staggered but recovered, slamming his gauntlet into her chest. She absorbed the hit and twisted free, landing soundlessly on the fractured floor.
"You've grown into your blood well, heir," she said, tone mocking. "Pity your mother couldn't hide you forever."
Kael froze. "You knew my mother?"
Her grin widened beneath the dripping hood. "I was there the night she defied the court. The night she hid what you are."
Rayne's flames flickered lower. The air crackled with tension and rain. "Who sent you?"
"Who do you think?"
The answer came with another lunge. Kael caught the blade with his own, the impact ringing through the ruin. Sparks danced along the edges as if the metal recognized itself, same forge, same curse.
Veindrinker and the assassin's weapon sang against each other in a dissonant harmony.
Kael felt the blood inside him stir again. HIs pulse quickened, the bond between him and Rayne surging violently as if her magic was the only thing keeping him tethered.
Rayne saw the change. Her eyes burned brighter, no longer faint red but molten.
"Kael," she whispered, "don't."
Too late.
The assassin pressed close, forcing his blade down towards his chest. The smell of her blood was everywhere now, his, hers, Rayne's, filling his head, drowning reason.
The world narrowed.
And finally, the hunger answered.
With a guttural sound, Kael's strength exploded outward. The assassin was thrown across the chamber, crashing through a column. His sword glowed like a living vein of crimson fire. The rain that struck him hissed into steam.
Rayne backed away a step, her heart hammering through their link. She could feel the pull of his power, hungry, ancient, alive.
The assassin rose from the ruble, slower now, her hood torn away. Her expression wasn't fear. It was realization.
"It's true," she whispered. "The bloodline endures."
Kael's voice was not his own when he spoke. "Tell my father," he said, eyes blazing, "his throne has a king again."
He swung.
The blow never landed. The assassin vanished into shadow, retreating with supernatural speed, leaving only the echo of her laughter behind.
The tower fell silent except for the rain.
Rayne stood frozen. "Kael..."
He turned toward her slowly, the glow fading from his skin, his breath ragged. "I didn't mean to..."
"I know." She stepped closer, her voice trembling despite the calm she tried to hold. "But the Court will know what you've become."
Kael stared into the storm beyond the broken roof, every word tasting like iron. "Then let them come."
The thunder rolled in answer.