The scroll trembled in Renak's hand.
By torchlight, he read it again, lips forming words written in blood and ash.
> "If the line of the First Blood rises again, the Veil shall thin.
The one cursed to burn shall choose love and set the old world ablaze."
Lucian.
The boy who should have perished in that old war. The vampire they had hunted, hidden, bound in chains of law and tradition. The true heir to the throne Silas tried to erase from history.
Renak stared at the broken seal beside Lucian's scratched name. The Royal House had not just banished Lucian—they had feared him. Silas hadn't been guarding Kyrell; he'd been waiting for Lucian to return to him.
Behind him, the air shifted.
Damien was still there, leaning against the pillar like a stalking cat.
"You read it," Renak said bitterly. "You know what he is."
"I've always known what he is," Damien said. "But now I know what Lucian is."
Renak clenched his jaw. "And you'd still rather burn everything down just to claim a piece of Kyrell?"
Damien looked at him, and for once, there was no jealousy—just something older. Sadder.
"He doesn't belong to anyone. But I would have kept him safe."
Renak scoffed. "Safe? You mean chained."
Damien didn't reply.
---
Below them, the crypt had shifted.
Lucian sat beside Kyrell now, but he didn't touch him. He didn't beg or plead.
Instead, he whispered stories.
Of rain falling in the Vale. Of the blood moon that once shone over the glass fields. Of a time when the sky cracked open and something ancient whispered his name.
Kyrell stared ahead, eyes glossed. He didn't stop Lucian, but he didn't reach for him either.
"I'm sorry," Lucian said at last. "For the way I entered your life. For the monster I was when I met you."
Kyrell's voice cracked. "You were the only one who looked at me like I wasn't a mistake."
That was enough.
Lucian closed his eyes. Even if Kyrell didn't remember the kiss, the vow, the touch—they meant something still.
A thrum echoed through the floor.
The Veil was thinning.
---
Atop the spire, Mara clutched her dagger, breath ragged. The entity had spoken, then vanished. But it had left behind a mirror—no reflection, just Kyrell's voice, echoing back every time she dared speak.
"I love him," the mirror said.
She screamed. "No, no—he belongs to me!"
But the mirror cracked.
And behind it—another vision. A throne. Shattered. A man in white fire, bleeding from the eyes. Lucian, crowned in thorns.
And Kyrell beside him, hand in hand.
Mara stumbled back, sobbing.
It wasn't just fate. It was done.
Unless she killed one of them before it began.
---