The cistern erupted in a volcano of swears and panic.
"They fucking took her!" a scarred werewolf roared, slamming his fist against the wall. "The Shadow Hunters! They snatched Hope right out of our goddamn headquarters!"
All eyes, burning with suspicion and fear, locked onto Davina. Michael stalked towards her, his fangs bared, his grief twisting into fury. "This was your plan! This neat little suicide charge! Was this the fucking point? To deliver my daughter to them?"
"It wasn't a trap," Davina shot back, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "I don't know what that magic was, but it wasn't the Hunters. It was… something else. Something old and wrong."
"Bullshit!" Johan, Michael's brother, spat, stepping to his side. "We've cowered in these tunnels long enough! They have taken our princess! This is no longer a rebellion—this is a fucking war!"
"A war we can't fight, you idiot!" a witch yelled from the back. "The Aetherial Barrier is still up! We'd be roasted alive before we even saw the city gates!"
Michael let out a growl of pure frustration. "Then we will die pounding on their goddamn walls!"
"You won't have to," Davina said, her voice cutting through the noise.
A skeptical, hostile silence fell.
Johan let out a harsh laugh. "And how would you know, you little lapdog? You sleep in the Lion's den. You've been polishing the chains that bind us."
Davina's composure finally cracked, revealing a core of tempered steel. "I wasn't always an orphan begging for scraps." The words landed like a physical blow, stunning the crowd. "I was born in a noble house. A house that helped build those wards. I know the rituals. I know the backdoor the ancestors built for themselves."
Michael's eyes narrowed to slits. "What house?"
"That," she said, her tone final and icy, "is my business. The only business that matters now is that I am here, with you. And I am leading from the front."
She turned her back on their stunned faces and marched toward the exit. After a beat of hesitation, Johan let out a fierce battle cry. "You heard her! For Hope! For our future! Let's tear their fucking manor down!"
The rebels erupted, a wave of curses and fury, following the small, determined girl who led them into the darkness.
—-
The damp, rich scent of overturned earth filled the cold night air. Three mounds of fresh soil in the lonely cemetery suddenly trembled, then burst open. Macy was the first to claw her way out, coughing and spitting out dirt. Keith followed, his movements stiff and heavy. Dove emerged last, silent and grim, his form seeming both sharper and more hollow than before.
Macy looked down at the gaping, empty graves, then at her own filthy hands. A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat. "You know, I'll bet when Silas came back, he just... poofed into existence. Perfect hair, dramatic coat, not a speck of dirt. And here we are, crawling out of our own coffins like worms. He always did have a better sense of style."
Keith just stared into the middle distance, his face a stony mask. Dove said nothing, brushing at the soil on his trousers with a violent, precise energy.
"We have to move," Macy said, her forced cheer fading. "We have to warn someone. Corbin, the Council... anyone who will listen. Silas is back, and he's... not himself."
"Not himself?" Keith's voice was a low, gravelly rumble. "He unmade a man's soul, Macy. That's not a new outfit; it's a new species of nightmare."
Then Dove lifted his head, his eyes catching the moonlight with a faint, unnatural sheen. "Why me, Macy?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "When the ancestors did their little spell. Why did it pick me to be saved? Why was I the one cursed to become this... this monster?"
Macy flinched as if struck. "I... I couldn't choose, Dove. I couldn't pick which of you to save. I let the magic decide. It picked the soul with the strongest will to cling to its original form."
"A lot of good that did," Dove snarled. In a blur of motion that was there and gone in the space of a heartbeat, he vanished from where he stood. The air where he'd been snapped. Macy felt only a sudden gust of wind stirring her hair. She and Keith turned to see him already standing at the far iron gate of the cemetery, his back to them, a silhouette of pure speed and fury. He was just... there. Then, without a backward glance, he was gone into the darkness.
A small, wounded sound escaped Macy. She turned to Keith, her eyes glistening. "Is he ever going to forgive me?"
Keith looked from the empty space where Dove had vanished to Macy's devastated face. His shoulders slumped in resignation. "You managed to screw both of us over, Macy. He's a vampire, and I had to become the ancestors eyes and ears here" He let out a long, weary breath. "But... we're breathing. We're standing."
He then nudged her with his elbow, a grim, lopsided smirk on his face. "And hey, look on the bright side. If the world really is ending, we've got front-row seats. We'll get to see the whole 'King of Endings' show from the best spot in the house."
A beat of heavy silence hung between them. Then, a choked, wet giggle escaped Macy. It was followed by a dry, humorless chuckle from Keith. It wasn't joy, and it wasn't forgiveness. But in the cold, dark cemetery, surrounded by the evidence of their own deaths, it was a shared spark. They were alive, they were together, and they were walking straight into the apocalypse.
---
The Grand Hall was a glittering lie. Corbin sat slightly apart, swirling an expensive liquor in his glass, its warmth doing nothing to melt the ice in his veins. The world had a pleasant, fuzzy border.
"Pull yourself together," Celeste hissed, sweeping past him, her smile for the guests a razor blade. "This is your triumph. Act like it."
Before he could offer a slurred retort, the master of ceremonies chimed a glass. "My lords and ladies! The moment of honor! To confer the Medal of Supreme Valor upon the savior of our realm, General Corbin Livian!"
Corbin rose, a perfect, empty smile gracing his features. He moved to the dais through a sea of hollow applause. Edward Sayar beamed, holding the gaudy medal aloft.
"For his unwavering courage and steadfast dedication to our sacred cause…"
The massive, ornate doors of the hall exploded inwards.
Splinters rained down like confetti. Framed in the wreckage stood Michael and Davina, flanked by a horde of snarling, armed rebels.
Michael's voice, raw with power and a father's rage, shook the very foundations of the room.
"WHERE THE FUCK IS MY DAUGHTER?!"
The medal froze in mid-air. Every jeweled head swiveled from the rebels at the door to the petrified hero on the stage. The ceremony was over. The real battle had just crashed through the door.
The Grand Hall was a frozen painting of tension. Corbin stood, his medal forgotten on the dais, his eyes locked on Davina.
"Whose side are you on?" he demanded, his voice low and strained. "You stand with them, in my home, after everything?"
Davina didn't flinch. "I am loyal to the only thing that matters anymore. The greater good. Something you've clearly forgotten."
"Your 'greater good' ends with my daughter's life!" Michael roared, stepping forward, his form seeming to grow with his rage. "Tell me where she is, Livian, or I will tear this gilded cage apart with my bare hands!"
"You will do nothing, beast," Edward Sayar's voice cut through, cold and authoritative. With a flick of his wrist, a concussive wave of pure force slammed into Michael, hurling the vampire lord across the room to crash against the far wall.
"You fools," Davina spat, her voice rising as she gestured to the shattered main door. "Do you hear that? That isn't just a raiding party. It's an army. An army that has nothing left to lose. Thanks to me nothing holding them back."
As if on cue, the sounds of the rebellion intensified—snarls, war cries, and the sizzling impact of magic against the manor's outer shields.
The Council moved with practiced, cruel efficiency. Ciro was at Corbin's side in an instant, a steadying, restraining presence. Seline Dubois and Alistor Raid stepped forward, their hands clenched into fists as they conjured a shimmering, solid wall of energy, reinforcing the main entrance against the onslaught.
Solomon Johnson pointed a finger at Michael, who was struggling to his feet. A visible stream of reddish energy—Michael's own vampiric power—siphoned out of him and into Solomon, causing the vampire to cry out and stagger, his strength rapidly depleting.
But it was Esther Kane who moved with the most chilling purpose. She floated towards Davina, her eyes burning with cold fire. "I knew your family. I was there when the Ancestry Coven shunned your mother for her radical, weak-hearted notions. I knew that taint would show in you eventually." Her hand shot out, and an invisible force lifted Davina by the throat, choking the air from her. "You are a weed that should have been plucked long ago. I say we kill her now and let the ancestors decide her punishment in the next life."
"I agree," Edward said, his voice flat. "A fitting end for a traitor."
"NO!" Corbin shouted, struggling against Ciro's iron grip. Celeste placed a firm hand on his other arm, her nails digging into his bicep.
"Stop this, Corbin," she hissed. "If you interfere, you will be branded a traitor alongside her. You will lose everything. Is that what you want?"
He watched, helpless, as Davina's kicks grew weaker, her face turning blue. Her eyes, wide with fear and defiance, found his just before they fluttered shut, and she went limp in Esther's magical grasp.
Outside, the rebellion raged. They could hear the claws of werewolves scrabbling against the magical barrier, the faint pops of rogue siphoners trying to drain the ward, the explosive thumps of weaver-crafted potions detonating harmlessly against the unyielding wall. But nothing, nothing, could get through.
Inside, all was lost. The Council stood united and ruthless. Davina was defeated. Corbin was a prisoner of his own title. And the hope that had stormed through the doors lay strangled and broken on the floor.
As if on cue, the world broke.
A concussive wave of pure chaos energy burst through the ceiling, raining marble and splinters down on the Grand Hall. The force threw everyone—nobles, council, guards—to the floor in a tangle of silk and shock. In the center of the devastation, he landed with the grace of a falling star, the very air crackling around him.
Silas paid the groaning aristocracy no mind. He knelt, sweeping Davina's limp form into his arms with a terrifying gentleness, covering her with his magnificent, feathered golden cape.
"Really, Esther? Strangling children?" he tutted, his voice a melodic, mocking symphony. "So uncivilized."
He turned, his void-black eyes scanning the room with detached amusement, and strode toward the shattered doors. "Do stand back, darlings," he called to the stunned rebels, his tone light and conversational. He gently handed Davina to a shocked Johan.
An injured Michael stumbled forward, his expression a mix of rage and utter confusion. Silas gave him a brilliant, wicked grin. "Michael, if you wanted my attention, you only had to ask. Though, really, you're barely older than your own daughter. A tad inappropriate, don't you think?" He paused, snapping his fingers as if remembering. "Ah, right. Hope. Calm your fangs, Papa Wolf. She's perfectly safe. I put her in charge of my pets."
As the rebels, soothed by his impossible authority, retreated slightly, Silas turned back to face the hall. It was nearly empty, the smarter guests having fled. Only the Council, the Livians, a few brave nobles, and a wall of guards remained.
"Oh, the nostalgia," Silas sighed, a hand on his heart. "The whole family, reunited. It brings a tear to my eye. Not really."
"Silas?" Corbin's voice was a raw whisper, his face a canvas of pure shock. "Is it… really you?"
"In the glorious, resurrected flesh, brother dearest," Silas replied with a theatrical bow. Corbin took an involuntary step forward, but Ciro's hand was instantly on his arm, a subtle, firm restraint.
Silas's eyes sparkled. "Oh, and the boyfriend's jealous! Don't worry, I'm not here to steal him. I saw quite enough in the Ancestry, thank you. Speaking of which," he said, pointing a lazy finger at Esther, "I did redecorate. Destroyed about half of it. It was dreadfully grey."
"Liar!" Esther shrieked.
Silas laughed, and the very chandeliers flickered and dimmed. "Am I?"
"Enough!" Celeste cried, her composure in tatters. "Stop these games! What do you want?"
"What do I want?" Silas echoed, placing a thoughtful finger on his chin. "From you? A heartfelt apology? A welcoming embrace? Aren't you happy to see your son alive, Mother?" When she looked away, his smile turned razor-sharp. "Ah, that's right. 'That son died.' Mother of the century, everyone."
"You know," Corbin breathed, the truth dawning. "You know we remember."
"And it changes nothing," Silas said, his voice dropping to a perfect, chilling mimicry of Celeste's own words from their confrontation.
"What do you want?!" Edward boomed, struggling to his feet. "How are you even alive?!"
"I got better," Silas quipped with a shrug.
Edward, appalled, hurled a lance of searing white magic. Silas didn't even blink. He caught the spell in his palm, examined it like a curious insect, and flicked it back, sending Edward sprawling again.
"Guards! Seize him!" Alistor Raid yelled.
The guards surged forward. Silas sighed, as if dealing with a minor annoyance. "Forma mutare, vespertilio!" he chanted playfully, wiggling his fingers. One by one, the guards began to scream as their bones cracked and shrinked, their armor clattering to the floor as they were transformed into a flock of squeaking, disoriented bats. "Do mind the wings, boys. Transformations are so painfully awkward."
"You never killed before!" Corbin shouted, horrified.
"People change, brother!" Silas replied, his cheer undimmed. "Especially when they've died twice." To emphasize the point, he simply pointed his right hand at a guard on his flank. There was a wet, tearing sound, and the man's heart ripped from his chest, hovering in the air for a moment before Silas let it drop. The remaining guards froze in terror.
With a cry of pure fury, Celeste launched herself at him, a dagger of solidified moonlight in her hand. Silas didn't move. He simply raised his hand, and she was lifted into the air, choking, her feet kicking.
"Corbin, control your animals," Silas said, his voice cold. But as Celeste's face began to turn blue, a sudden, searing pain lanced through Silas's own chest, a terrible physical pain and agony as if he was dying tooWith a grunt of surprise and annoyance, he released her, and she fell gasping to the floor he told himself he would get to the bottom of the pain later.
Enraged, Corbin finally broke free and attacked, a torrent of cosmic energy flying from his hands. What followed was less a fight and more a brutal demonstration. Silas deflected Corbin's spells with casual flicks of his wrist, each parry sending Corbin stumbling backward, his own power turned against him.
Suddenly, Esther's body went rigid, her eyes glowing white. A chorus of ancient voices poured from her lips. "One soul, two bodies, a choice the heavens never made…"
Corbin paused, listening, the words striking a chord.
Silas rolled his void-black eyes. "Bored now." He made a scissor-like motion with his fingers. "Scindo."
Esther's head toppled from her shoulders, the prophecy dying on her lips.
Pandemonium. The remaining council members, Seline, Alistor, and Solomon, combined their power, not against Silas, but against the foundations of the manor itself. The building groaned, and the walls began to crumble, creating a thick, obscuring dust cloud and with that they took a distraught Edward and with the remaining nobles and guards portaled out of there.
"Corbin, now!" Ciro yelled, his own portal already swirling to life. Corbin stared at Silas through the falling debris as Ciro pulled a coughing Celeste toward the exit.
"I will ry not to miss the next dinner party!" Silas called after them with a wave. "I'll send a raven! Or a bat!"
Then, they were gone. The grand Livian manor was a collapsing tomb. In the rubble, Silas saw a worn-down, bleeding Corbin struggling to stand.
"You know," Silas mused, advancing with little effort as he casually deflected Corbin's weak spells, "when I first came here, I was happy. It was all a lie, of course. But this? This power? This is the most genuinely happy I've ever been."
Corbin picked himself up, his body screaming in protest. "So… you've chosen a side."
Silas laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. "I have no sides but my own, traitorous brother. You chose a wrong one. All sides not mine are wrong." He spotted a massive, precariously balanced pillar of stone wobbling directly above Corbin. "Well, this has been a riot. I'll surely attend your funeral."
He blasted the pillar with a final, casual wave of magic, sending it crashing down. As his laughter echoed across the land, he teleported away in a swirl of gold and shadow.
But before the stone could crush Corbin, a blur of super-speed shot through the ruins. Dove landed amidst the rubble, holding a dazed Corbin in his arms, the fallen pillar shattered where Corbin had just been standing.
As Corbin gasped for breath, leaning against his cousin, a magically amplified voice boomed across the kingdom, echoing from every crystal and stone. It was Edward Sayar.
"People of Aetheria! Hear me! The Shadow Prince has returned! He wields the power of demons themselves! He is chaos incarnate! Fear him! Fear Silas Livian!"