The citadel had never felt louder.
Not in shouts. Not in steel clashing against steel. But in whispers. They slithered through corridors, hissing Ethan's name like a curse, like a prayer. Every initiate he passed froze, eyes wide. Some bowed their heads as though in respect. Others spat at the floor when he was gone, pretending courage they didn't feel.
He was no longer invisible. He was a storm on the horizon.
Shadowfang padded close, golden mane flickering with restless fire. The wolf's eyes swept corners and shadows, ears twitching at every breath. Through their bond, Ethan felt unease pressing heavy. Predators were watching.
He didn't have to wait long to know why.
---
By dusk, Overseer Kael came. The man's massive frame filled the barrack doorway, his scarred face twisted in disdain.
"Veyra," Kael barked. "The Guild Master summons you."
Ethan tightened his grip on his cloak. "For what?"
"You returned from the forest alive," Kael sneered. "That alone demands answers. Move."
Ethan's gut coiled, but he said nothing. Shadowfang's growl followed him down the stone halls, though the wolf's paws were silent as ghosts.
---
The Master's chamber was no council hall. It was deeper, carved into the bones of the citadel itself. Walls of black stone arched high, etched with runes older than the Guild. In the center stood a dais, and upon it, the Guild Master waited—mask gleaming like the beak of carrion.
Six Overseers lined the edges of the room, their faces hidden in shadow. The air was thick, oppressive, alive with judgment.
Ethan stepped into the circle of light, Shadowfang at his side. The Master's gaze pinned him like a nail through flesh.
"You returned from the Hunt," the Master said, voice as smooth as oil.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "You sent me there to die."
A pause. Then the faintest tilt of the mask. "And yet you live. Curious."
Chains rattled faintly in the dark corners of the chamber, though none hung visibly. Ethan's wrist burned in answer, the faint glow hidden beneath his sleeve.
"You faced the bound beasts of the forest," the Master continued. "Abominations that devoured entire squads. Yet here you stand, unbroken. Tell me, Veyra—how?"
Ethan's mouth was dry. He could lie. Say it was Shadowfang, say it was luck, say anything but the truth. But the Overseers' eyes bore into him, and the chains under his skin pulsed as though demanding honesty.
"I don't know," he said hoarsely. "But the chains… they responded to me. They bent."
A ripple went through the Overseers, voices murmuring like crows disturbed. One hissed, "Impossible." Another growled, "Dangerous."
The Master raised a hand, and silence fell.
"Then it is true," he said softly. "The chains have chosen."
Ethan's heart pounded. "Chosen? Chosen for what?"
The Master descended from the dais, cloak whispering across stone. He stopped inches from Ethan, the mask's beak nearly touching his face.
"For burden. For power. For destiny." The voice was almost reverent. "The chains do not yield to weak flesh. They yield only to those strong enough to carry them. You are no longer merely an initiate, Ethan Veyra. You are a vessel."
The word struck like a blade. Vessel. Not man. Not hunter. Vessel.
Ethan forced himself to speak. "And if I refuse this… destiny?"
The Master tilted his head. "Then the chains will break you. As they have broken every vessel before you."
---
When the meeting ended, Ethan left with his blood colder than ice. Overseer Kael's eyes followed him, heavy with hatred. Another Overseer, the hooded woman with silver braids, whispered as he passed: "He won't last. None of them do."
None of them?
How many had come before him? How many had the chains "chosen," only to be consumed?
---
Back in the barracks, Lyra waited. She stood in the shadows, arms folded, eyes glinting.
"You spoke to the Master," she said flatly.
Ethan's chest tightened. "You knew."
"I suspected," she admitted. "Now I'm certain. They don't summon initiates to chambers like that unless they mean to shape—or shatter—them."
Her gaze flicked to Shadowfang, then back to him. "So. Vessel. How does it feel, carrying chains that want to eat you alive?"
He glared. "Like a death sentence."
"Good," she said. "You're not as blind as the others." She stepped closer, voice lowering. "Listen to me, Veyra. The chains don't just test you. They corrupt you. Every bearer before you became a monster—or a corpse. Do you understand? You think you can wield them. You can't. They'll wield you."
Her words were sharp, but her eyes carried something else—fear. Genuine.
"And yet you came here to warn me?" Ethan asked.
Lyra's jaw clenched. "Because if you fall, you won't fall alone. The chains don't stop with the vessel. They spread. They devour."
Silence stretched. Then Ethan spoke, quiet but steady. "So what do you suggest? Run?"
Lyra gave a humorless laugh. "There's no running from the Guild. Or from chains that have already marked you."
She leaned in, whispering close to his ear. "But there may be another path. A forbidden one. If you want to live—really live—you'll need to tear free from the Master's leash before it tightens."
Then she was gone, melting into the shadows as though she had never been there.
---
Sleep eluded Ethan. Dreams were chains again—always chains. They dragged across endless stone, rattling, binding, pulling him toward that throne of iron he had seen before.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
Shadowfang stood beside him, fangs bared, flames burning brighter than ever. Yet even the wolf was caught in links, golden fire dimming under their weight.
From the throne, a voice echoed—not the Master's. Deeper. Hungrier.
Vessel… heir… break or be broken.
Ethan woke with a start, breath ragged, wrist searing hot.
The brand glowed faintly, not just with light, but with the impression of links stretching outward—chains he could almost feel beyond the stone walls, anchoring into the citadel itself.
He wasn't carrying the chains.
They were carrying him.
---
At dawn, Overseer Kael returned. His smile was sharp as a blade.
"Veyra. The Master has decreed your next trial."
Ethan's stomach clenched. "Already?"
Kael's grin widened. "Power does not wait. Neither does death."
Behind him, two masked initiates hefted spears. The Overseer's eyes gleamed with malice.
"Tomorrow, you enter the Hollow Arena. Before all the Guild, you will prove whether the chains made you hunter… or prey."
Shadowfang growled, teeth flashing. Ethan's blood ran cold.
He had survived the pit. Survived the forest.
But the Hollow Arena was no trial of chains. It was bloodsport. A place where initiates were thrown against horrors for the amusement of the Guild. Few returned whole. Fewer returned at all.
And the Overseers weren't sending him there to prove strength.
They were sending him there to watch him bleed.
---
Chapter End.
---