Time seemed frozen in that instant.
In the dark, cramped space filled with ambiguous desire, only Elian's body turning ice-cold remained, along with Rafe's heartbeat that had suddenly stopped in shock.
That voice outside the door was like a judge from hell, pronouncing a sentence that could shatter Elian's soul.
His "sire."
The man he had watched with his own eyes step into holy fire and turn to ash on that full moon night two centuries ago, laughing madly because he couldn't bear the curse of eternal life. The sole source of "fear" and "reverence" in his existence.
He was still alive.
Moreover, he was the mastermind behind the "Sacred Thorn Knights"—this extremist organization that had slaughtered countless of their kind and nearly killed him.
This realization pierced through all the psychological defenses Elian had painstakingly built over three centuries like a blade of pure ice. His pride in his composure, his reliance on reason—everything crumbled in this moment.
He didn't even notice that Rafe's burning hand had somehow gripped his ice-cold, slightly trembling hand in a protective gesture.
"Hey! Pull yourself together!" Rafe's voice boomed like muffled thunder in the deep sea, forcibly dragging Elian's consciousness back from the brink of collapse. "We need to get out of here!"
Rafe didn't know who that voice belonged to, but he could clearly feel the near-breakdown terror radiating from Elian. He had never imagined there could be anything in this world that could make Elian afraid. This realization didn't bring him satisfaction—instead, it aroused a strange, violent... protective instinct.
He no longer dwelled on that loss-of-control kiss, no longer pondered any complex emotional issues. His mind held only one thought—get this breaking vampire out of here.
"Listen!" Rafe used his other hand to forcibly turn Elian's face toward him, compelling him to "look" at him in the absolute darkness. "You listen, I'll fight. Find their weak point and tell me the direction!"
Elian's pupils were unfocused.
"It's useless..." he murmured, his voice carrying a childlike fragility Rafe had never heard before. "We can't escape... no one can escape from his grasp..."
"Bullshit!" Rafe roared, suddenly leaning forward to knock his forehead against Elian's. "Look at me! Elian! Aren't you some centuries-old monster? Where's your pride? Your cunning? Do you want to die here and let him display you like a trophy in his collection room?!"
The word "trophy" finally stung Elian.
His scattered gaze finally regained a glimmer of focus.
"...Left," he squeezed out two words through gritted teeth. "The left wall... behind it is hollow... main ventilation shaft..."
"Good!"
Rafe hesitated no longer. He took a deep breath as the wolf blood within him began to roar. He suddenly turned and used his still-healing shoulder to crash violently into the cold wall!
"CRASH!"
A tremendous impact. The wall dented inward with countless cracks spreading.
"Again!" Elian's voice regained a trace of composure.
"CRASH!!"
The wall was completely shattered, revealing a wider but even darker vertical shaft behind it.
"Go!"
Rafe grabbed Elian's wrist and without hesitation leaped into that bottomless darkness.
Behind them came the knights' furious shouts and the sound of heavy objects striking the iron door.
They fell through the dark vertical shaft, relying on remaining ladders and pipes on the walls to descend madly. Wind howled past their ears.
Throughout the entire process, Rafe never released Elian's hand. He could feel that always-cold hand still trembling slightly. Not knowing what to say, he could only grip it tighter with all his strength.
After an eternity, they finally reached the bottom of the shaft. This was a massive, abandoned turbine fan room filled with the smell of machine oil and rust.
They were temporarily safe.
As adrenaline gradually faded, it was replaced by infinite exhaustion and... that awkward yet burning silence branded into both their memories like a scar.
That kiss.
Like an elephant in the room, no matter how they pretended not to see it, it was undeniably there.
Elian suddenly shook off Rafe's hand, staggering backward several steps to lean against the cold turbine blades. He hugged his arms, curling into himself in an extremely insecure, self-protective posture. His usually perfect face now showed pallor and confusion.
He looked like a lost child.
Seeing him like this, an inexplicable anger flared up in Rafe's chest again. But when he opened his mouth, the habitual mockery and sarcasm wouldn't come out.
He paced the room several times in frustration, then finally returned to Elian's side, roughly pulling off his tattered jacket and throwing it over him.
"Put it on," his voice remained gruff. "You look like a corpse that just crawled out of a grave and is about to fall apart."
Elian didn't move or speak.
"Hey!" Rafe finally couldn't stand it, grabbing his collar and growling, "What the hell is wrong with you? Who was that voice? Even if the Vampire King himself showed up, you shouldn't be scared like this!"
Elian slowly raised his head, those gray-blue eyes completely hollow.
"He's much more terrifying than the Vampire King," he said softly. "He's the 'God' who created me, and the 'Devil' who imprisoned me for three hundred years."
Rafe was stunned. He finally understood.
That voice outside belonged to Elian's "sire."
This realization replaced the lingering romantic confusion from their kiss with something deeper and more complex. It was a sympathy bordering on pity.
He released his grip and silently sat down beside Elian.
"So," he tried to make his voice sound less harsh, "someone who should have been dead for two hundred years has become our greatest enemy. This is really... clichéd dramatic irony."
Elian didn't laugh.
"He couldn't possibly die," he said, as if to himself or to Rafe. "How could someone like him self-destruct because of 'emotional torment'—such a ridiculous reason... That was just another lie he told me. A lie... to make me willingly guard this prison for three hundred years..."
From his words, Rafe heard a dark past filled with lies and manipulation that he couldn't imagine.
He wanted to say something but found all words pale and powerless in this moment.
He could only sit there silently, using his presence to provide wordless support for this collapsing, proud creature.
After a long time, Elian's emotions seemed to settle somewhat.
"We need to leave," he stood up, his voice still hoarse. "Before they find this place."
Rafe nodded. Just as he rose to leave, his foot seemed to kick something hard.
Looking down, he found a palm-sized object made of some black alloy, resembling a tablet. It still bore the Knights' insignia.
"Wait," he picked up the device. "This seems to be dropped by that knight commander."
The data pad's casing was extremely sturdy, but cracks had appeared at the corners during the earlier battle. Elian took it, using his sharp nails to pry open the casing and expose the intricate circuitry inside.
"Their information is encrypted with ancient Church codes," Elian said while performing complex operations on the core chip with his fingertips. "However, this type of encryption... happened to be one of my required courses as a child."
Following his manipulations, the data pad's screen flickered several times and actually lit up.
Rows of dense, journal-like records appeared on screen.
"...'Seeding' Project Phase 73 complete. Target factions 'Shadow Council' and 'Blood Fang Tribe' broke into full conflict last night, both sides suffering heavy casualties, threat level downgraded..."
"...'Division' Project Phase 12 assessment. Through forged evidence, successfully led vampire prince 'Vladimir' to believe his companion was involved with werewolves. Target has entered 'fury' state, expected to begin purge of local werewolf tribes at next full moon..."
Item by item, case by case.
Shocking beyond words.
This data pad contained detailed evidence of the "Sacred Thorn Knights'" centuries-long secret manipulation worldwide, creating hatred and war between supernatural species!
They were like chess players hiding in shadows, treating all supernatural beings as pieces, manipulating them at will, making them slaughter each other to achieve their ultimate goal of weakening everyone and "purifying" the world!
The centuries-old blood feud between vampires and werewolves, carved into their very bones, might be... just one of their countless "masterpieces"!
This realization made Rafe's blood nearly freeze.
Elian's finger swiped rapidly across the screen. His expression grew paler and more terrible with each item he read.
Suddenly, his finger stopped on a particular page.
His pupils contracted to the most dangerous pinpricks.
It was a document marked "Top Secret" from ten years ago.
Operation codename: "Severed Fang."
The log contained only a few sentences, yet they carved into Rafe's soul like the most malicious curse.
Elian read the text aloud in an emotionless, machine-like, hollow voice, word by word:
"...Target individual, codename 'Pathfinder,' werewolf tribe Alpha, confirmed awareness of 'The Great Lie' exceeds threshold parameters, with concrete evidence indicating attempts to make secret contact with opposing faction leader, vampire prince 'Caspian,' for purposes of 'revealing the truth.'"
"...Action team successfully intercepted and captured target at predetermined meeting location last night."
"...Conclusion: 'Severed Fang' operation successful. Potential 'two-tribe alliance' threat eliminated at inception stage."
The log's final entry included a note.
"Addendum: Target contact, vampire prince 'Caspian,' threat level elevated to maximum. Recommend initiating 'Patricide' contingency for next phase cleanup and... replacement."
Caspian.
Rafe knew this name.
That was Elian's "sire," the man who should have turned to ash two centuries ago.