For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Only the storm dared to speak, slamming rain against the manor walls and wailing through the valley like a dirge. The stranger's words lingered in the air—I have come for you—and Kaelith felt them coil around his chest like a chain.
Few dared to stand before him. None dared to speak with such calm certainty.
His amber gaze burned beneath the hood's shadow, narrowing as he studied the intruder. They did not shift, did not lower their head in fear. The storm made a spectacle of them—cloak plastered to their body, water dripping into a dark pool at their boots—but there was no tremor in their voice, no weakness in their stance.
Kaelith's hand flexed on the doorframe. His instincts sharpened, ancient and merciless. Shadows stirred at his heels, restless and eager, tasting the air like hounds before a hunt. A thousand questions ignited in his mind, yet one truth whispered louder than all:
This was no ordinary soul.
"Do you know," he said at last, voice low, velvet with menace, "what it means to seek me? To cross this valley and stand at my door?"
The stranger's hood shifted slightly, revealing only the faintest curve of lips—lips curved in something that was not quite a smile, not quite a threat. "I know exactly what it means."
Something hot and cold lanced through Kaelith in equal measure. Intrigue. Hunger. Fury. The words struck a chord buried deep in his blood, a note of inevitability he did not care for.
His kind did not believe in fate. And yet—why else would the runes have let them pass?
Kaelith exhaled, a sound closer to a growl than a sigh. His fingers brushed against the iron door, then released it. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped back, opening the entrance wider. "Then come in, stranger. If you have walked willingly into the lion's den, do not complain when the teeth close."
The stranger did not hesitate. One step carried them across the threshold, and with it, the manor itself seemed to shudder. The storm dimmed, muffled as the door groaned shut behind them. Silence reclaimed the air, thick and watchful.
Inside, the shadows swarmed eagerly, creeping across the walls and curling along the floorboards as if tasting their guest. The candles guttered low, as though bowing in recognition.
Kaelith led them into the great hall, his coat trailing whispers across the stone floor. The high ceilings loomed above, murals of angels and demons glaring down like judges at trial. He paused in the center of the hall, turning with predatory grace to face the intruder.
Their hood was still drawn, face hidden. It irritated him. It fascinated him.
"Remove it," he commanded. Not a request, not a courtesy. His voice cracked the silence like a whip.
The stranger tilted their head, as if weighing the order. Then, with slow precision, they lifted their hands and pushed back the hood.
Kaelith's eyes sharpened. The face revealed was no common traveler's: pale skin kissed by the storm's chill, features fine but defiant, and eyes that held a fire too steady for any mortal. They glowed faintly—not with amber like his own, but with something different, something that pulled at memory and hunger alike.
Recognition brushed his mind like a phantom. He knew those eyes. Not from this life, perhaps, but from somewhere older. Somewhere buried.
"Interesting," Kaelith murmured, his lips curving into something dark. "The valley does not open for liars. And yet you arrive at my door claiming me as your purpose."
The stranger's gaze did not waver. "Not claiming. Declaring. You were always meant for me."
The words dug under his skin, igniting an ache he despised. Always meant. As if the chains of destiny, long since rusted, had been reforged to bind him again. He could almost hear the laughter of the old bloodlines, the cruel jest of angels and demons both.
For a moment, Kaelith considered ending it here—tearing this insolent figure apart, silencing the dangerous certainty of their voice. His shadows quivered, awaiting his command.
But instead, he laughed. Low, sharp, dangerous. "If that is true, stranger, then you will not mind proving it. Sit with me, and let us see if fate's bride is as bold as her words."
He gestured to the long banquet table at the center of the hall. Once meant for kings and nobles, now it sat abandoned, draped in dust and shadows. With a flick of his hand, the candles flared to life, bathing the hall in trembling golden light.
The stranger obeyed, moving with a composure that unsettled him further. No fear. No hesitation. Only purpose.
Kaelith followed, his eyes never leaving them. The storm outside raged, but here in the manor, another storm was brewing—one he sensed would not be weathered so easily.
For the first time in centuries, he was not the hunter alone.