The freezing rain of the Imperial Capital didn't wash away the filth of the lower districts; it just made the cobblestones slippery and the stench of the gutters worse. But for Vera, the rain was a blessing. It was a heavy, rhythmic curtain of noise that hid the sound of her soft leather boots sliding across the slate tiles of the Imperial Treasury's roof.
Vera adjusted the black mask covering the lower half of her face. A stray lock of hair, the color of rusted copper and wild as a brushfire, escaped her hood, plastering against her damp forehead. She tucked it back impatiently. She couldn't afford mistakes tonight.
She shivered, but not from the biting winter wind. While normal people complained about the freezing temperature of the solstice night, Vera always felt a different kind of cold. It was a strange, humming chill that lived deep inside her marrow, a permanent souvenir from a mistake she made ten years ago. Back when she was a starving orphan, she had swallowed a glowing blue stone she mistook for a sugar crystal.
That stone had dissolved into her blood, making her skin perpetually cool to the touch. It was a curse, mostly. But tonight, it kept her calm while she broke into the most dangerous building on the continent.
"Focus, Vera," she whispered to herself, her breath misting in the air. "In and out. Grab the ruby chalice, leave the fake, and vanish. Milo needs medicine, not a dead sister."
She wasn't a hero. She wasn't a spy. She was the "Shadow Finger," a thief who stole from the corrupt nobility to keep her little makeshift family alive.
She slid a thin, metal wire between the heavy glass panes of the West Wing's skylight. Her emerald-green eyes narrowed in concentration. With a soft, satisfying click, the complex magical lock disengaged.
Vera smirked behind her mask. The Imperial guards were arrogant. They believed the rumors of their Emperor were enough to keep thieves away.
To be fair, the rumors were terrifying.
They called him the "Red Tyrant." They said Emperor Kassian was a monster who drank human blood to quench an unholy thirst. They said his touch could turn a man to ash.
Superstitious nonsense, Vera thought, dismissing the fear as she lowered herself silently onto the plush velvet carpet of the corridor. He's just a man with too much political power and a bad temper.
She landed in a crouch, silent as a ghost. She waited for the sound of patrolling boots, but the hallway was dead silent.
Too silent.
And then, she felt it.
It wasn't the silence that was wrong. It was the temperature.
It was... hot.
Unbearably, suffocatingly hot.
The air in the hallway shimmered, distorting the light of the magic lamps like a desert mirage at noon. The stone walls, usually freezing in winter, radiated heat like the bricks of a baker's oven. Vera frowned, wiping a sudden bead of sweat from her neck.
Why is the Treasury wing burning?
She checked her hand-drawn map, her brow furrowing. It said the Vault should be just around the corner. But as she looked up, the intense heat radiating from the walls seemed to warp the very air, making the corridor stretch and twist in her vision. Even her internal sense of direction, usually flawless, felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the dense magical pressure filling the air.
Disoriented by the haze, she took the turn, trusting her map over her confused senses.
But as she turned the corner, she froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought it might crack them.
The heavy iron doors at the end of the hall, doors reinforced with magic and steel, meant to be guarded by twelve elite knights, were destroyed. They weren't picked or unlocked. They were twisted outward, bent like melted wax, as if a giant hand had punched through them from the inside.
And there was blood.
So much blood.
It splashed against the golden tapestries, ruining centuries-old art. It pooled on the white marble floor, thick and dark. Twelve armored bodies lay scattered like broken dolls. Breastplates were crushed inward by bare hands. Helmets were melted.
Vera's survival instincts screamed at her, drowning out all thoughts of the ruby chalice. Run. Leave the money. Just run.
She took a step back, her breath hitching. She turned to flee, to dive back out the window and never return, but a sound stopped her.
It was a low, guttural growl. It vibrated through the floorboards and up into the soles of her boots. It didn't sound human. It sounded like a beast dying of thirst in a cage.
Against her better judgment, driven by a fatal curiosity that had always been her greatest weakness, Vera looked through the shattered doors into the room beyond.
It wasn't the Treasury. The magical heat had scrambled her senses and led her straight into the heart of the fire.
It was a vast, dark chamber with no furniture. The walls were scorched black. Heavy chains, thick as a man's arm, hung from the ceiling. And in the center of the room, a man was kneeling.
He was shirtless, his pants torn and stained with soot. But it was his back that made Vera gasp.
His skin was pale, almost translucent, but beneath the surface, a network of veins glowed with a terrifying, molten orange light. It looked like liquid magma was flowing through his body instead of blood. The heat radiating from him was physical; it hit Vera's face like a blast from a furnace, making her eyes water from twenty feet away.
It was Emperor Kassian.
He was fighting against the black iron cuffs binding his wrists to the floor. His muscles, lean and corded like steel cables, strained.
"More..." he rasped, his voice a broken sound of agony. "Need... to... cool..."
With a roar that shook the stone foundations of the palace, he yanked his arms back. The reinforced steel links didn't just break; they glowed red hot and snapped like dry twigs.
Vera stopped breathing. He just broke enchanted steel with his bare hands.
Kassian slowly stood up. He was tall, terrifyingly so. His long hair, the color of platinum and winter frost, was matted with sweat and fell wildly over his face. The contrast between his icy white hair and the burning orange veins pulsing under his skin was a visual nightmare.
He turned his head, sniffing the air.
Vera pressed herself against the soot-stained wall, making herself as small as possible. Please don't see me. I'm just a shadow. I'm not here.
But Kassian didn't need to see her. He turned fully, and for the first time, Vera saw his face.
He was devastatingly beautiful, with sharp, aristocratic features that looked like they were carved from marble. But his eyes... his eyes destroyed any illusion of humanity.
They were supposed to be blue. But now, the irises were swimming in a sea of blood. The sclera was dark, and the pupils were gone, replaced by a glowing, demonic red light. The glowing orange veins crept up his neck, across his jaw, looking like cracks in a porcelain doll that was about to shatter.
The "Red Hunger." The rumors weren't nonsense. They were an understatement.
He looked directly at the shadow where Vera was hiding.
"A rat..." His voice was rough, sounding like grinding stones. "Or... a spy?"
Vera didn't wait. She turned and sprinted toward the window at the end of the hall.
"Run!" her mind screamed.
The window was only thirty paces away. She leaped over the body of a dead knight, sliding on the bloody floor, and scrambled forward. Twenty paces. Ten paces. She could feel the cold night air coming from the glass.
But she wasn't fast enough. No human could be fast enough against a monster.
A wave of scorching heat hit her back before he even touched her. It felt like standing next to an erupting volcano. Just as her fingers brushed the windowsill, a hand, hot as a branding iron, clamped around her throat.
Vera was slammed against the stone wall. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs, and her head cracked against the masonry. Her mask was ripped away, exposing her face to the dim light.
She looked up, gasping, into the face of death.
Kassian loomed over her. Up close, the heat coming off him was suffocating. His skin was burning hot to the touch. He looked deranged, a man lost to madness, consumed by the fire in his own blood.
"Who sent you?" he snarled, his fingers tightening around her windpipe. Smoke began to rise from where his hand touched her tunic. "Lysander? The Church? Did they send a girl to finish me?"
Vera clawed at his hand, her legs kicking uselessly. She couldn't speak. Black spots danced in her vision. She was going to die here, just another body on the pile, and Milo would starve alone in the slums.
No. I won't die. Not today.
Her hand dropped to her waist. She pulled out her hidden dagger, a small, curved blade made of silver.
Without hesitation, she slashed at his arm.
It was a pathetic strike against a monster who had just slaughtered twelve knights, but it did one thing: it drew blood. The silver blade sliced through the burning skin of his forearm.
And in the struggle, the sharp edge of the blade grazed Vera's own palm.
A single drop of her blood welled up.
The scent hit the air instantly.
To anyone else, it would smell like metallic rust. But the effect on Kassian was immediate, violent, and bizarre.
His glowing red eyes widened. The hand around her throat froze, though it didn't let go.
He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. The look of pure, murderous rage on his face wavered. It was replaced by confusion, and then... a desperate, animalistic hunger. But not the hunger for violence.
"What is... that?" he whispered.
He leaned in closer. The suffocating heat radiating from his body seemed to drop by a few degrees. The glowing orange veins on his neck pulsed more slowly.
Vera took the chance. "Let me go!" she rasped, preparing to stab him again.
But Kassian moved faster than lightning. He caught her wrist, pinning her knife hand to the wall. But instead of breaking her arm, he pulled her bleeding palm toward his face.
Vera squeezed her emerald eyes shut, trembling. He's going to eat me. He's going to bite my hand off.
Instead, she felt a wet, hot tongue drag across her palm.
A shock of electricity jolted through her spine. It was disgusting. It was terrifying. And yet, the moment his tongue touched her blood, a strange reaction occurred.
The "chill" inside Vera's bones surged forward.
On her left collarbone, hidden beneath her tunic, the silver birthmark shaped like a snowflake, the mark of the treasure she had swallowed, suddenly flared with a pale blue light.
The cold magic in her blood rushed out to meet the "fire" of his curse.
Kassian gasped. It was a sound of pure ecstasy, like a man dying of thirst finally drinking ice-cold water.
"Cold..." he groaned, his voice trembling.
The crimson glow in his eyes flickered and began to fade, retreating like a tide. Underneath the red madness, Vera saw his true eye color for the first time: a piercing, crystalline ice-blue.
The glowing magma veins on his neck dimmed, turning back to pale skin. The tension in his iron-hard muscles collapsed.
He slumped forward.
Vera panicked as his heavy weight pressed her against the wall. "Get off! You lunatic, get off me!"
He didn't listen. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. His body was still heavy, but he wasn't attacking anymore. He was shaking.
"So... quiet," he mumbled, his words slurring like a drunkard. "The fire... is gone."
And then, the impossible happened.
The tyrant, the monster who broke steel chains and burned men alive, closed his eyes. His breathing, ragged and harsh a moment ago, slowed into a deep, rhythmic pattern. His dead weight pinned Vera to the cold stone wall.
He was asleep.
Vera stood there, frozen, her heart beating like a trapped bird against her ribs. The Emperor of the realm was passed out on her shoulder, his platinum hair tickling her cheek, drooling slightly on her black thief's tunic.
What the hell just happened?