Eli should've gone home.
He should've listened to Celeste when she grabbed his wrist, whispering that the abandoned corridor behind the old library felt wrong. He should've ignored the pull in his chest — the cold itch under his collarbone that burned like frost every time he neared that place.
But he didn't.
Now the hall feels like a throat closing around him. Old stone walls hum with a whisper that only he can hear — like secrets pressed into mortar centuries ago.
Come closer, Veilblood.
He freezes. The voice isn't real — it can't be. He glances over his shoulder but the corridor is empty, the moonlight spilling through cracked windows like cold breath.
Something shifts behind him.
A shadow detaches from the wall — tall, graceful, wrong. A figure steps forward. Pale skin, black coat brushing the floor, eyes so dark they swallow the light.
Khyro Dravenhart stands there like a living statue. The vampire prince says nothing at first — he only studies Eli as if carving every heartbeat into memory.
"Y-You shouldn't be here," Eli whispers, voice brittle.
Khyro tilts his head, eyes glinting. "And yet… you came. Alone."
He closes the distance without a sound. Eli flinches back until the cold stone kisses his spine.
"Your friends can't protect you from what you carry." Khyro's voice is silk on steel. "The mark is waking. They will come for you — mortals, demons, the cult you pretend doesn't watch you every night."
Eli's throat dries. "What do you want from me?"
Khyro's gaze drifts to Eli's collarbone — the faint glow just beneath his skin, a secret carved in blood and bone.
"Everything," Khyro murmurs.
Then, the air changes — warm and heavy, like an exhale of flame.
A slow clap echoes down the hall. From the darkness behind Khyro, a smirk appears first — then the burning eyes, the lazy grin.
Zyren Dark Lucivar lounges against a cracked pillar, the moonlight dancing off his dark hair like firelight.
"Oh, come on, Your Royal Frostiness," Zyren drawls, voice dripping with mockery. "Terrifying the boy already? It's no fun if he breaks so soon."
Khyro's eyes narrow — a flicker of old hate.
"Leave, Lucivar."
Zyren only laughs — a sound that curls around Eli's ears like smoke. He pushes off the pillar, sauntering closer, boots crunching on broken stone.
Eli feels pinned between ice and fire — Khyro's cold presence at his throat, Zyren's heat at his side.
"Sweet Veilblood," Zyren purrs, brushing a stray lock from Eli's face with a gloved finger. "You have no idea what you're worth yet, do you?"
Eli's lips part but no sound comes. He can feel Khyro's fury burning a hole through Zyren's smug grin — but neither of them moves to leave.
Between them, he is nothing but soft mortal skin, thin bone, and the taste of ancient secrets.
And in that moment, Eli knows one thing for certain: he can't run from them anymore.
Eli's pulse thunders in his ears. He can feel Khyro's gaze pressing cold against his skin — a silent promise of protection twisted into chains. And Zyren's smirk is warm poison, seeping under his ribs, making it hard to breathe.
"You should go home," Khyro says, voice so low it's almost a growl. "This place feeds on your bloodline. The mark calls to every creature waiting for your pulse to slip."
Eli tries to speak but Zyren cuts in, tilting his head with a wolfish grin.
"Let him stay, Dravenhart. He wants to know the truth — don't you, Eli?"
Eli swallows. His back scrapes the stone behind him. "What truth?"
Zyren's eyes gleam red in the moonlight. He leans closer — so close Eli can see the faint trace of a black rune crawling up Zyren's neck, half-hidden under his collar. A sign of who he really is.
"That you're special, Veilblood," Zyren whispers, voice dipped in velvet sin. "You're the lock and the blade. Open you up — the world burns. Keep you shut — the world starves."
Khyro's hand moves before Eli even sees it. Fingers clamp around Zyren's wrist, yanking him away so sharply the air snaps. The vampire's eyes blaze with fury.
"You will not touch him."
Zyren just laughs, brushing off Khyro's iron grip like dust. "Or what? You'll bleed me here, in front of your precious boy? Go on then. Show him what you really are."
Eli's chest tightens — cold and hot all at once. His legs threaten to buckle but he holds himself up, nails digging into the stone at his back.
"Why me?" His voice cracks — too human for this nightmare. "Why does it have to be me?"
Khyro doesn't look at him — his eyes stay locked on Zyren, hatred like a storm. But his words fall soft, meant only for Eli's ears.
"Because you were born cursed," he says. "And now your blood is the only thing keeping this city from falling into flame."
Zyren steps closer again — a shadow in firelight. His grin softens, almost gentle, but the hunger behind it is older than any lie.
"So choose, Veilblood. Ice, or flame?" He brushes a fingertip under Eli's jaw, tracing the mark hidden by cloth and trembling skin. "Who do you want to devour you first?"
Eli's breath catches — not because he wants to answer, but because for one split heartbeat, he knows:
No matter who he chooses… he'll lose something he can never get back.
Somewhere deep in Eli's mind, a voice begs him to move — to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there trapped between two monsters who taste like promises and ruin.
But his legs won't listen.
Khyro's cold presence presses closer, shielding him from Zyren's heat but caging him all the same. Eli can feel the tension snapping between them — old hate, ancient vows, secrets so heavy they bruise the air.
"You're scaring him," Eli says hoarsely — but his voice sounds like someone else's.
Zyren laughs softly. "Am I, Veilblood? Or do you just like it when I whisper truths no one else dares say?"
He lifts his hand again, but Khyro's arm blocks him in an instant — gloved fingers curled around Zyren's wrist, veins pulsing blue under the vampire's skin.
"Touch him again," Khyro says, voice soft as winter snow, "and I will remind you why your father sealed you beneath that temple for half a century."
Zyren's eyes flicker — the smirk doesn't fade, but something older and sharper sparks underneath.
"Still clinging to old threats, Dravenhart?" Zyren purrs, leaning in until his breath brushes Eli's ear instead. "Tell him, then. Tell him what happens when the mark breaks."
Eli's chest heaves. "What mark? What does it do?"
Khyro doesn't answer right away — his stare locked on Zyren, the air thick with a cold that seeps into Eli's bones.
Then — soft, too soft — Khyro whispers without moving his lips:
"If your blood spills beneath the wrong moon, the Veil shatters. And every nightmare waiting behind it… walks free."
Eli shakes his head, a tiny broken gesture. "No. This is insane."
Zyren grins, leaning back just far enough to look Eli in the eye — his own eyes flickering like live coals.
"It is, sweet Veilblood. But so are you."
Before Eli can speak, Zyren's fingertips ghost across his throat — a touch like heat and hunger in one. Khyro yanks him away so fast the air splits — shoving Zyren against the wall with an inhuman snarl.
Eli flinches at the crack of stone. He should run. He wants to run.
But all he can do is stare — at Khyro's shadow wrapping around Zyren's throat like smoke, at Zyren's grin blooming wider even as his back scrapes brick and mortar.
Two monsters, one cage. And Eli is the lock that keeps them fighting instead of tearing the world apart.
And maybe… just maybe… a part of him wonders what would happen if he let them break him open.
The stone wall behind Zyren groans under Khyro's grip. For a heartbeat, the hallway hums with power — cold and ancient, crackling like winter lightning.
Zyren doesn't fight back. He just watches Eli — eyes bright with dark delight — like the tension is a game he's waited centuries to play.
"You can kill me now, Prince," Zyren says, voice soft, fangs glinting under the moonlight slicing through broken glass. "But the Veil won't care. It will still want him."
Khyro's jaw tightens. Eli can see it — the cold mask slipping for a flicker of rage and something else, something raw. A secret he doesn't say aloud.
Then Khyro releases him — a disgusted shove that cracks the old wall where Zyren's back hits. Dust rains down in lazy flakes. Zyren brushes a crumb from his shoulder, unfazed.
Eli's chest aches. He feels small, breakable — the corridor suddenly too cold for his bones. A tremor rattles down his arms as he forces himself to speak.
"Stop it," Eli says, voice shaking. "I'm not a prize — I'm not some... key or lock or whatever you both want me to be."
Khyro's eyes flick to him — so sharp they pin him in place. For a heartbeat, Eli swears he sees it: regret. A ghost of it, tucked behind centuries of stone.
"You are more than you know," Khyro says, low. "But denying it won't keep you safe."
Zyren hums a mocking tune, stepping away from the cracked wall. He circles Eli like a lazy wolf, boots tapping over shards of glass. Every step drips heat into the cold.
"You think the world cares what you want, Veilblood?" Zyren's grin is a blade. "It will take you apart piece by piece. I'm just offering you a sweeter way to bleed."
Eli's breath hitches. He glances at Khyro — the vampire's silence is heavier than any threat. Then Zyren leans in, so close Eli's lashes brush his cheek when he flinches.
"You can run back to your mortal toys," Zyren whispers, breath like fire on skin. "Pretend this mark doesn't hum under your flesh every time you dream of us."
His thumb trails a ghost of warmth under Eli's jaw — then vanishes.
"Sleep tight, sweet Veilblood."
Zyren's smile fades into shadow. He steps back — his laughter trailing behind him like embers on the wind as he melts into the dark.
Khyro stands there, staring at Eli — moonlight catching on the edge of a fang, the only hint of what monster lies beneath the princely mask.
"You should go home now," Khyro murmurs.
Eli wants to say something — anything to make sense of the cold knot in his chest. But the words die in his throat. So he turns, legs weak, footsteps echoing down the broken corridor.
Behind him, two predators stand frozen in the dark and Eli knows he's no longer just his own.