They walked through what remained of the Old Hollowmere Road, now little more than a shadowed trail flanked by bones and twisted trees.
Rael said nothing at first. He was still numb. His arms ached from the strange heat beneath his skin, his vision occasionally blurred with violet haze. Every few minutes, he looked down to see faint symbols pulsing beneath his veins. They always faded before he could study them.
The man who called himself Maerin moved like someone too familiar with death. Each step measured. Each breath quiet.
Eventually, Rael broke the silence.
"You said I have the blood of the First Vein. What does that mean?"
Maerin didn't turn around. "It means your existence is a crime."
Rael frowned. "A crime?"
"They buried it for a reason. Long before the Blood Courts, before the founding of the Twelve Houses, the First Vein was the source. The purest form of power. It was not granted. It was taken. Forced from gods. Birthed in war. And it devoured those who wielded it."
Rael stepped over a broken branch, heart hammering. "You're saying I'm cursed."
"I'm saying you are feared. And fear turns kings into killers."
They emerged into a clearing where the sky cracked open above, revealing a crescent moon tinged with red. In its center stood an ancient shrine—fallen and half-eaten by moss. At its heart was a blood-stained altar carved from obsidian.
Maerin gestured toward it. "We rest here."
Rael sat against a tree, still watching the man carefully. "You used to serve House Thorne?"
Maerin unwrapped a piece of dry bread and offered half to Rael, who took it hesitantly.
"I was one of their Hounds. Hunters of the Uncontrolled. Those who awakened without permission."
"And now you protect one?"
Maerin's expression was unreadable. "I no longer serve Thorne. I serve truth. And truth is, if your bloodline has returned, the world will burn or be reborn through it."
Rael lowered his eyes. "Why me?"
"There's no answer to that," Maerin said. "Blood doesn't ask permission. It chooses."
A low hum began to rise from the altar. Rael felt it before he heard it. His veins responded again.
Suddenly, the stone cracked open at the center. A column of crimson light shot up, revealing a relic suspended within. It was a heart. Small. Shrivelled. Still beating.
Rael's skin went cold. "What is that?"
"The Seed," Maerin replied quietly. "It's the last remnant of the First Vein's origin. The source from which all other bloodlines were diluted. Watered down. Controlled."
Rael took a step closer, despite himself. His vision swam. Memories not his own rushed forward. He saw a city falling into the sea. A king impaled by a blade of light. A child with white eyes walking through fire untouched.
"Why do I remember things I've never seen?"
Maerin looked at him with something between pity and awe. "Because blood remembers. Yours carries centuries of silence, buried power, and wrath."
Rael's hands trembled. "And what happens now?"
Maerin pointed north. Toward mountains far in the distance.
"We go to the Cradle of Veins. Where all bloodlines began."
"And if we don't?"
Maerin's answer was simple.
"Then you die. And the First Vein dies with you."