The Council building hadn't changed in over a century. Soren supposed that was the point. Its marble pillars rose like white teeth into the dusk, the wards etched into the stone humming softly as twilight deepened, catching on the edge of night where he was strongest. He adjusted the cuffs of his coat, shadows curling at his heels like patient hounds, waiting.
A door opened down the long corridor, footsteps echoing against the cold floor. Soren didn't need to look up to know who it was. He could taste the chaos in the air, sharp and metallic, like lightning just before it struck.
"Always so punctual," Gideon Marek drawled, his boots silent despite the marble.
"You're late," Soren replied, lifting his gaze, eyes reflecting the torchlight like polished onyx.
Gideon smiled, lines barely creasing around eyes that were too sharp, too alive. Chaos magic flickered around him, slipping past the Council's wards as if they were paper.
"I prefer to arrive when the moment feels right," Gideon said, folding his arms. The tattoos on his forearms glowed faintly beneath his sleeves, pulsing in rhythm with the ley lines beneath the city.
Soren's shadows shifted, restless, as he studied the man who had once walked Whisperwind's halls, who had once stood where Soren stood now, before everything burned.
"This is a risk," Soren said flatly. "Meeting here."
Gideon tilted his head. "The Council's eyes are turned inward. They're blind to what matters."
"And what, exactly, is that?" Soren's fangs pressed lightly against his lower lip, a reminder of hunger and caution.
"Change." Gideon's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "A world that does not fear what it cannot control. A world where chaos is not caged but used to reshape the old order."
Soren's eyes narrowed. "This is about your daughter."
The chaos around Gideon brightened, a silent rumble in the air. "She will be powerful, Soren. More powerful than me. More powerful than you can imagine. And the Council will try to destroy her the moment they see what she truly is."
"She isn't even born yet," Soren snapped, a rare crack in his calm.
"She will be." Gideon's gaze was far away, as if he were already watching the future. "And when the time comes, she will need allies who understand what it means to hold darkness and light within the same hand."
Soren's shadows stilled, pressed flat against the marble, listening despite themselves.
Gideon stepped closer, close enough that Soren could see the fine cracks in the chaos sigils on his skin, like lightning scars. "You are old, Soren. You know the cycles of power. When the Council turns on her, as they turned on me, as they have turned on countless others before, you will have to choose."
"I choose Whisperwind," Soren said, voice cold as the stone around them.
"And Whisperwind will choose her." Gideon's eyes glinted, like a promise and a threat. "Remember this moment, vampire. The storm is coming. And when it does, your loyalty will be tested."
The ward's overhead flared once, a single, sharp pulse of light, and when Soren blinked, Gideon was gone, leaving only the scent of ozone and the quiet hum of chaos fading in the hall. Soren stood alone beneath the ancient arches of the Council's power, shadows rising around him, the weight of a promise—and a warning—echoing in the darkness.