Toronto, Ontario – August 23, 2025. 4:51 a.m. EST.
The east wing of the old factory complex smelled like rust, mildew, and the faint sourness of things that had died recently and not been found yet.
Concrete floors cracked like dry lips. Steel beams overhead dripped condensation in slow, deliberate intervals. The group had cleared one large loading bay, dragged in scavenged mattresses, tarps, and whatever unbroken furniture they could carry. A single chemical lantern hung from a chain—green ghost-light that made everyone look half-dead.
Malik lay on a stack of folded moving blankets. Fever still high. Skin slick with sweat. The black threads under his skin had spread further—thin spidering lines crawling up his neck now. Not aggressive. Not yet. Just… present.
Aisha hadn't left his side since they carried him in.
Elias stood near the loading door, back to the others, staring out at the dark yard between buildings. Ashka's Nightclaw people moved in the distance—silhouettes against low fires. No one had crossed the invisible line they'd agreed on. Not yet.
Zara sat on a crate a few meters behind him. Legs crossed. Watching his back like it owed her money. She hadn't tried to touch him again since the gate. Smart. Or scared. Hard to tell.
Jamal paced near the far wall, pipe tapping his calf in restless rhythm.
"This place is a tomb," he muttered. "We're sitting ducks if those cat-things change their mind."
"They won't," Elias said without turning.
"You trust a seven-foot lioness with fangs?"
"I trust self-interest. She knows I can take more than I already did."
Talia snorted from her perch on a rusted forklift. "You really think you scared her?"
"I think I made her curious." Elias finally turned. Purple eyes catching the lantern light. "Curiosity buys time. Fear buys nothing."
Kwame sat cross-legged near Malik, one hand resting on the floor. Thin black vines had already begun threading through cracks in the concrete—his early-warning system.
"She looked at you like you were meat," he said quietly.
"She looked at me like I was potential," Elias corrected. "Big difference."
Aisha spoke without looking up from her brother's face.
"Stop talking about her like she's a person we can negotiate with. She offered to breed with you. Like it's a transaction."
Elias met her eyes across the dim space.
"It is a transaction. Everything is now. Power. Food. Safety. Sex. Loyalty. You pay or you get paid for."
Aisha's jaw clenched.
"You sound like them."
"I sound like someone who wants to live longer than tomorrow."
Silence stretched—thin, sharp.
Zara broke it. Voice soft. Careful.
"He's right. The world doesn't care about manners anymore."
Aisha didn't answer. Just wiped Malik's forehead with a damp rag.
Malik stirred. Eyes cracked open.
"Water…"
Aisha helped him drink. Slow. Careful.
When he finished he looked straight at Elias.
"They said… the Hollowed aren't the only ones. There's others. Hidden. Waiting for the second wave."
Elias walked over. Crouched.
"Second wave?"
Malik nodded weakly.
"They kept talking about cycles. First eclipse woke the bloodlines. Second one… finishes it. They're collecting people like me. Like us. Anyone who changed. Anyone with 'resonance'."
Elias's expression didn't shift.
"Did they say what they want with resonance?"
Malik swallowed. Voice cracked.
"To make something new. Something that survives the finish. They called it… the Crown."
Jamal laughed once—harsh.
"Great. Another prophecy."
Elias didn't laugh.
He looked at Malik for a long moment.
"No crowns," he said quietly. "No prophecies. No ancient bloodlines. I'm just a man who made a very stupid mistake with a syringe. And now I'm very good at surviving stupid mistakes."
Malik stared at him.
"Then why do they act like you're… important?"
"Because they're scared of anything they don't control." Elias stood. "Fear makes people see patterns that aren't there."
He turned away.
But the black vein on his shoulder pulsed once—hard.
Like it disagreed.
7:33 a.m.
They ate cold canned beans and stale crackers in near-silence.
Outside, the yard was quiet.
Too quiet.
Talia slid down from the forklift.
"Something's moving. North side. Not Nightclaw."
Elias was already moving.
They gathered near the north wall—high windows, rusted bars.
Through the glass: shapes.
Not goblins.
Taller. Leaner. Humanoid. Skin pale gray. Long ears—pointed, but jagged at the tips like they'd been chewed. Eyes glowing faint silver. Weapons: curved blades, bone-white, serrated.
Elves.
Or what the storm had decided to call elves.
Seven of them. Moving in loose formation. Scanning.
One raised a hand.
The group froze.
The lead elf tilted its head—then spoke. Voice clear. Carrying. Like wind through broken glass.
"Flesh-bearer. We smell your resonance. Step out. Speak."
Jamal gripped his pipe tighter.
Elias looked at the others.
"Stay here."
Aisha grabbed his arm.
"You're not going out there alone."
He looked down at her hand. Then at her face.
"I'm not asking permission."
He pulled free—gently, but firmly—and walked to the loading door.
Pushed it open.
Stepped into morning light.
The elves turned as one.
The leader stepped forward. Female—tall, willowy, silver hair braided with bone beads. Blade resting loosely on her shoulder.
"You are the one who touched the Nightclaw matriarch."
Elias stopped ten meters away.
"I touched a lot of things yesterday."
Her lips curled—almost a smile.
"We are the Ashen Veil. Remnant of the Third Line. We do not serve the Hollowed. We do not serve the Nightclaw. We serve only the cycle."
Elias tilted his head.
"And what does the cycle want with me?"
"You are anomaly. No bloodline. No lineage. Yet resonance burns in you like star-fire. The Hollowed wish to harvest you. The Nightclaw wish to breed you. We… wish to understand you."
Elias spread his hands slightly.
"Understanding costs."
The elf's eyes narrowed.
"We offer knowledge. The locations of three hidden families. Their sigils. Their weaknesses. In exchange—"
She stepped closer.
"—a sample. One drop of your blood. Nothing more."
Elias considered it.
Behind him, Zara appeared in the doorway—uninvited. Aisha right behind her. Tension rolling off both in waves.
The elf noticed.
"Already gathering mates. Fast."
Elias didn't answer.
Instead he asked:
"What happens if I say no?"
The elf's blade shifted—casual, but ready.
"Then we take the sample anyway."
Elias smiled.
Small.
Cold.
Dangerous.
"Try."
The elf moved.
Fast.
Blade slashing in a silver arc aimed at his throat.
Elias didn't dodge.
He caught the wrist—mid-motion—twisted.
Bone snapped.
The elf hissed.
Two more lunged.
Elias pivoted. Drove an elbow into one throat. Felt cartilage collapse. The other he grabbed by the braid—yanked down, knee into face. Nose pulped.
The remaining four circled.
He didn't wait.
Black vein flared—violet-white.
He took.
Not gently.
The nearest elf screamed as traits ripped free—reflexes, night-sight, venom resistance, elven grace.
All of it.
Flooded into him.
The elf dropped—empty. Gray skin paling to ash.
The leader staggered back.
"You… devour."
Elias flexed his fingers.
New strength. New speed. New sharpness in his hearing.
"I adapt."
The leader raised her blade—shaking now.
"We will remember this."
Elias stepped forward.
"Remember it well."
She turned.
The survivors fled.
Silence returned.
Elias exhaled slowly.
Behind him, the group stared.
Zara's eyes were wide—hungry.
Aisha's were hard—wounded.
Malik—propped against the doorway—whispered:
"You didn't have to kill them."
Elias looked at him.
"Yes. I did."
He walked back inside.
Past Aisha.
Past Zara.
Past everyone.
He didn't speak again until he reached the darkest corner of the bay.
Then—quiet. To himself.
"No crowns. No prophecies. Just consequences."
The black vein pulsed again.
Satisfied.
For now.
(End of Chapter 8)