The kitchen had fallen into a quiet stillness, the kind that made every breath feel intentional. Sunlight stretched across the table in long golden strips, warming the wood where Morlith sat with both hands folded neatly before him. His posture was as composed as a king before council, though there was still a lingering softness in his gaze—a remnant from the moment in the garden when he had allowed himself to say the words, I do not wish to leave.
Kieran set a steaming mug down in front of him. "It's just tea," he said gently. "Herbal. Should be easy on your system."
Morlith lifted the cup with graceful caution, as though unsure if the object would vanish if he held it too firmly. He raised it to his lips and took a slow sip—then blinked once in surprise.
"It is warm," he said.
Kieran's brow raised, amused. "Yeah, that's sort of the point of tea."
Morlith looked genuinely thoughtful. "Warmth is not a quality I remember in morning draughts. They were oft biting. Bitter."
"You had medieval coffee?"
"We had boiled herbs that tasted of misery and repentance," Morlith said flatly.
Kieran snorted, choking on his own tea. "Okay. First lesson of today: stop saying 'thee,' 'thou,' 'thy,' and all that stuff. You need to sound like a modern person."
Morlith set his cup down carefully. "This speech is the proper form," he argued. "The tongue of nobility."
"Yeah, well," Kieran said, "now it's the tongue of theater kids and people doing historical reenactments in fields next to turkey leg stands."
Morlith blinked. "I recognized none of those words."
Kieran laughed softly and scooted his chair closer. His knee brushed Morlith's under the table. Morlith stilled at the contact but did not move away.
"Okay," Kieran said, "let's try this. Say: You are safe here."
Morlith sat straighter. He was not used to repeating another's words like a student. Still, he inclined his head once. "You... are... safe here."
"Good," Kieran nodded. "Now drop the pause. You're talking too slowly, like you're reciting scripture."
Morlith scowled with regal dignity. "I do not recite—"
"Try again."
This time Morlith exhaled through his nose. "You are safe here."
Kieran smiled. "Better. Now say: I am safe here."
Morlith hesitated.
The sunlight shifted across his face, catching in his hazel eyes. Something unreadable flickered there.
When he spoke, the words were quieter.
"I am... safe here."
Kieran's breath caught. The moment stretched between them, silent and fragile, as though the house itself paused to listen.
Then Morlith cleared his throat and straightened sharply, retreating behind dignity. "This manner of speech is inelegant. It lacks weight."
"Language doesn't need weight," Kieran said gently. "It needs connection."
Morlith looked at him with a strange expression. "Connection?"
Kieran nodded. "People don't talk to impress anymore. They talk to be understood."
Morlith's gaze dropped to the table, thoughtful—as if that idea alone was something new. Then, slowly, he tried again.
"You... speak true."
A smile pulled at Kieran's lips. "Close. 'You're right' sounds more natural."
Morlith attempted the phrase. "You're... right."
He said it stiffly, as if the words themselves were a concession.
Kieran leaned in slightly, elbows on the table. "Now say: Thank you... for helping me."
Morlith's jaw clenched. Pride and vulnerability warred in the lines of his face.
"Thank you... for helping me," he said, and though his tone was controlled, there was a tremor beneath—faint, but real.
"Good," Kieran said softly.
Morlith looked down at his hands. "It is strange to speak softness with so few words."
"That's what makes it powerful," Kieran said. "There's no titles to hide behind."
Morlith looked up sharply—as though Kieran had seen too much in him at once.
Kieran's voice softened further. "Try this one: I trust you."
Morlith's eyes narrowed. "Too far."
Kieran smirked. "Okay. Fair."
But the words still hung between them.
Silence followed—but not uncomfortable. More like a held breath.
Then, without warning, Morlith's hand trembled.
The motion was small—barely perceptible—but Kieran's eyes snapped to it at once.
"Morlith—?"
"It is nothing," Morlith said, pulling back slightly.
"That's the second time you've said that," Kieran replied, voice low. "And both times you looked like you were fighting gravity."
Morlith inhaled slowly, steadying himself. "The seal sustained me," he admitted. "Like a river sealed beneath ice. Freed, the river runs dry. My strength wanes."
Kieran's heartbeat quickened. "How long until—"
"I do not know," Morlith interrupted. "But I will not drink from mortals."
His eyes hardened as he said it. There was fear in them—fear not of weakness, but of what he might become.
"I wouldn't ask you to," Kieran said immediately.
"Yes," Morlith murmured, eyes narrowing in study. "You would not."
Something in his tone made Kieran freeze.
Morlith straightened. "You did not find me by accident."
The words were spoken calmly. Not angry. Not accusing. Only certain.
Kieran drew a breath. "Morlith—"
"You sought me."
Kieran swallowed. "Yes."
"You lie still about your purpose."
A long, stretched silence filled the room.
The old magic in the estate seemed to hum in the walls, as though waking.
Kieran lowered his eyes. "Then ask," he said quietly. "Ask what it is you want to know."
Morlith rose smoothly, the remnants of power gliding beneath his skin. Even weakened, he carried the gravity of something that had once been worshiped—or feared.
He stepped toward Kieran.
The air seemed to thicken.
"If you betray me," Morlith said, voice dropping to a low, resonant timbre that stirred the air itself, "I will unmake you. I shall strip thy soul . I shall drink of your spirit until not even your name lingers upon the wind. I will use your screams as energy for centuries."
Kieran did not move.
His heart pounded—but his eyes held steady.
"I won't betray you," he said softly.
The room exhaled.
Morlith watched him a moment longer, then... stepped back.
He sat down.
Quietly.
As if nothing had happened.
"Continue the lesson," he said.
Kieran blinked once. Twice. Then let out a shaky exhale that turned into a laugh.
"Okay," he said, sitting across from him again. "Lesson two. Modern people don't usually threaten to consume someone's soul during conversation."
Morlith lifted his chin. "Then modern people should speak more clearly."
Kieran found himself smiling despite the threat still echoing in his bones.
He picked up his mug.
Morlith lifted his.
They drank in silence.
And a new, unspoken truth settled between them.
Morlith knew Kieran's secret.
Kieran knew Morlith suspected him.
And despite that...
Neither moved away.
Neither wished to.
The quiet between them stretched long at the table. Morlith sat poised, still as stone, his hazel eyes studying Kieran with a depth that stripped the air of ease. Morning light softened the edges of the kitchen, but tension had begun to coil through the room—slow, deliberate, waiting.
Kieran's hand curled around his mug. His heartbeat was steady at first… but each passing moment made it grow louder in his own ears.
"You're hiding something," Morlith said, voice calm, not accusing—simply factual. "Your tongue bends truth as though it were clay. So bend it no longer."
Kieran swallowed and set the mug down. His hands were trembling, though he forced them to still. He stood very slowly.
Morlith's gaze followed him, unreadable.
Kieran drew a breath and braced his hands flat on the table, knuckles white.
"My name," he said softly, "is not just Kieran."
Silence answered.
Kieran raised his head.
"I am Kieran of the Fallowridge bloodline."
The air shattered.
Morlith's pupils dilated, expanding into glowing rings of molten gold and crimson, like twin eclipses consuming his irises. A low resonance growled through the room—the house itself reacting, the magic in the walls remembering ancient war.
Without rising from his chair, Morlith's power ignited.
A violent red aura exploded from him in a silent wave. The candles flickered. The lights trembled.
Kieran was ripped off his feet and slammed against the wall with rage of crimson red. The drywall shuddered. A framed photo crashed to the floor.
Morlith stood slowly, every movement precise, kingly, terrifying.
His voice when he spoke was no longer human.
"Fallowridge. Hunter. Devourer of my kin. You dare bring me beneath your roof? You dare speak to me as equal—when your very name is poison carved into the graves of my kin?"
Kieran struggled to breathe, rage of crimson red crushing his chest. He gasped, tears springing to his eyes—not from fear of death, but from sheer physical agony and heartbreak.
"M-Morlith—" he choked out, voice barely a rasp.
Morlith's aura pulsed.
A ring of red flame ignited around them—burning not the world, but burning the air itself.
"For centuries I slept," Morlith whispered, power vibrating the walls, "but still I remember the taste of my people's screams as the Fallowridge tore them from this world. Your blood is oath-bound to kill me. Your ancestors swore it in holy places. And now you bring me here and expect me to believe you mean no harm?"
Kieran clawed at the invisible force. His eyes blurred, tears sliding down his cheeks.
"I—left them," he gasped. "I left."
Morlith's eyes gleamed brighter, the gold and crimson swirling, unstable.
"Why should I believe you?"
Kieran's legs kicked weakly against the wall; his breath came uneven, broken.
"I left them," he cried, tears falling in earnest now. "I refused the oath! I abandoned the Fallowridge. I have no family but this house—and I hate what it stands for!"
The force tightened.
Kieran's eyes squeezed shut, voice ragged and cracked.
"I found you—before they did—because I knew they would come! I knew they would destroy you if the seal ever broke! I wanted to save you—because someone in our line had to stop the cycle!"
Morlith stood motionless—but his aura wavered.
His eyes flickered—gold weakening, crimson receding.
Still, his voice came like the strike of a blade:
"You have two minutes before I devour your soul. Speak wisely."
Kieran dropped to his knees as the hold vanished—collapsing forward, bracing a hand on the floor as he gasped for air.
Morlith did not move. The flames still circled him, power still ready to strike.
Kieran looked up through tears, chest heaving.
"I live alone because I rejected them," he whispered. "They branded me a traitor. I've been hiding ever since."
His voice broke.
"I found you on purpose. Not to kill you—but to protect you. Because if they freed you first… they wouldn't have shown mercy."
Silence.
The flames began to flicker, then dim.
Morlith's aura pulled inward, red mist drawing back into his skin like a breath undone.
His eyes—still glowing—locked onto Kieran's.
Slowly, the light faded to hazel.
Morlith stepped forward—one step, then another—until he stood over Kieran. Shadows moved across his face, not of anger, but of judgment… and something more difficult to name.
He extended a hand.
Kieran stared at it—not quite believing.
His breath trembled as he reached up and took it.
Morlith pulled him gently to his feet.
"I shall not kill you," Morlith said quietly.
Blood rushed in Kieran's ears.
"But know this," Morlith continued, his voice soft but edged with steel. "Your name is a curse in my memory. Your bloodline—my sworn enemy. So I shall watch you, Kieran Fallowridge. And if you raise blade or lie of harm…"
His gaze softened—just a fraction.
"I shall devour your soul and its far worse than Hell itself."
Kieran swallowed, voice hoarse. "Then I will spend every breath proving you will never need to."
Morlith released his hand.
The molten glow was gone from his eyes.
A line had been drawn.
Not between enemies.
But between destiny.