The chamber felt smaller with Severin Dros inside it. The man carried no visible weapon, yet every word that left his mouth had the weight of steel. Rayon gestured to the table, and a bottle of dark red wine was uncorked with a flick of his strings. Two glasses slid across the surface, stopping neatly before them.
Severin's eyes darted to the strings, studying the precision. Instead of fear, he looked impressed.
"You wield them like extensions of thought," he said, almost in admiration. "A Forsaken true to the marrow. No wasted motion."
Rayon smirked, filling both glasses. "Careful, Severin. Praise tastes sweet, but it always has poison tucked beneath the tongue."
They clinked their glasses lightly. Neither drank right away. The silence between them was intentional, calculated. Two predators circling, testing who would blink first.
Severin finally broke the quiet. "The Association is tightening its leash. Your massacre shattered their pride. Flee-on-sight orders? That's unprecedented. But you know what it really means, don't you?"
Rayon leaned forward, strings idly swaying behind him like a curtain of shadows. "That they can't control me," he said flatly.
"Exactly," Severin replied, lips curling. "And men they cannot control… they call monsters. But you and I?" He raised his glass, finally taking a sip. "We know monsters are simply men with the will to do what others won't."
Rayon's grin widened. "Now we're speaking the same language."
A Game of Questions
Severin set his glass down, fingers tracing the rim. "Tell me, Rayon—what is it you truly want? The palace, the underworld, the Association's throat between your hands… these are steps, not destinations. What's at the top of your staircase?"
Rayon studied him. Most men asked for fear or for gain. Severin asked for vision. That made him dangerous.
"I don't climb stairs," Rayon said at last. "I cut them down and build my own tower. Step by step, corpse by corpse." He sipped his wine, dark eyes never leaving Severin's. "And when it stands tall enough, the world won't be able to look anywhere without seeing me."
A low chuckle escaped Severin. "Ambitious. Almost suicidal."
"Almost," Rayon corrected with a sharp smile.
Severin leaned back, expression sharpening. "Then perhaps you'll find me useful. I command an organization beyond this city's walls—The Black Maw. We don't bow to crowns or Hunters. We hunt what they can't, we bend what they won't, and we profit where others burn."
Rayon's strings stirred at the name. The lieutenants listening outside shifted nervously; The Black Maw was not just an underworld rumor. They were said to stretch across kingdoms, feeding on chaos like vultures on corpses.
Rayon tilted his head. "So, you've come to feed on my chaos?"
Severin's smile deepened. "No, Rayon. I've come to see if you'll help me spread it."
They locked eyes again—one man born from shadows, the other wielding them like coin. Neither blinked. Neither yielded. Yet, beneath their words, there was a rare spark: not trust, not friendship, but recognition.
Two men who saw the world not as it was… but as it could be under their hand.