Cale took a breath. Then another. He let the words come slowly, halting at first.
He told Aleric about the marketplace. The girl who asked for help. The port. The ship.
The drugs.
The wooden house.
The guards.
The girl who fought beside him. The boy who spoke like a noble. The others who screamed in the dark.
And the red-haired woman — the one who lit the world on fire.
Aleric listened without interruption. Only his eyes moved, sharp and deep with unspoken thought.
When Cale finished, silence settled over the room like dust.
"Ime island was supposed to be safe," Aleric said, more to himself than Cale. "Shielded. Remote. That's why your family stayed there."
Cale looked up. "How did they even find me?"
Aleric met his gaze. "You awakened."
Cale's stomach turned.
"Those with eyes for power can feel it. Especially those tied to Vorraks." His tone dropped, colder. "And Emilia is deeply tied."
Cale exhaled through his teeth. "So this is all because I'm Veyrathi."
"Partly. And partly because you're something they can't control."
Cale didn't respond.
Aleric stood slowly. Walked to the window.
"You weren't supposed to know yet. Not this soon."
Cale clenched his fists. "So what now?"
Aleric turned.
"Now?" He stepped forward. "Now we make sure they never find you again."
Cale shifted in his seat, fidgeting with the hem of the coat Aleric had given him. The silence between them was no longer cold, but heavy with thoughts.
Then he looked up, eyes suddenly hopeful.
"Oh—while you were searching for me, did you… happen to see a golden-haired boy?" he asked. "Kind of always smiling? Surrounded by too many kids for someone his age?"
Aleric's mouth twitched — the closest thing he gave to a smile.
"Yes. I did."
Cale straightened.
"Last I heard, he was safe in his family's manor. Quite a presence, that one. Commanded a dozen panicked children without raising his voice. The moment he reached Rabir, he informed the local magistrate. The guards swept the town within hours."
Cale's chest tightened — this time not from pain, but something else. Relief.
Aleric continued, "He didn't mention you by name, but he left a full report with the guards. I believe his name was Regan."
Cale almost laughed. "Smart kid."
Aleric gave a faint nod. "Very."
There was a short pause.
Then Cale's tone dipped again.
"What about… Rosanna?"
He searched Aleric's face. "She was the reason I even made it out. Brown hair, pixie cut, sharp mouth. Fought like hell."
Aleric's expression grew still. "I'm afraid I haven't heard of her. Not directly. You say her name is Rosanna?"
Cale nodded quickly.
"I'll look into it," Aleric promised. "If she survived — and it sounds like she's the kind who would — she'll surface."
"She has to," Cale said, almost to himself. "I told her I'd be back with backup. And then I blacked out like an idiot."
"You'll see her again," Aleric said, calm but certain. "And you won't be alone next time."
Cale met his gaze, and for the first time since waking, he allowed himself to believe it.
"…Thanks."
A pause.
Then another thought hit him — sharp and electric.
"Um, Aleric sir…"
"Yes?"
"Do you also know anything about Seren and Finn?" he asked. "My friends. From Ime. They… we used to always hang out after school. Seren and Finn—" He stopped himself. "Well. They were taken along with me."
Aleric folded his hands together, thinking.
Then he looked toward the fire.
"Now that you mention it…"
He stood and walked to a polished cabinet, withdrawing a thick leather folder. From within, he pulled a sealed parchment and skimmed it quickly.
"There was a commotion reported. A few days before I found you."
Cale held his breath.
"A surge of elemental power was detected in the outskirts of Port Hane. Authorities claimed it was an accidental release — a girl who hadn't manifested before."
He paused.
"Yes," he said. "Seren."
Cale sat back in stunned silence.
"She's… she's one of them?"
"She's powerful," Aleric said. "And very much alive."
________________
The castle was a grave that remembered its dead.
It stood crooked on the cliffside, wind tearing at the shattered battlements, rain carving black streaks down its stone. No birds nested here. No plants grew. Only fog and silence and the slow rot of forgotten history.
And tonight, inside its hollowed bones, three figures knelt on the cold stone floor.
Emilia's palms were pressed to the ground. Her gloves had been removed.
To her left and right were the twins — Vynn and Vael.
They knelt with perfect stillness, hands folded, heads bowed. Their long black coats pooled like oil around them. Vynn was humming under his breath — an off-tune lullaby. Vael's mouth curled into a soft, unnatural smile. He hadn't blinked in several minutes.
And above them — on what remained of the second floor, half collapsed from time and storm — sat him.
Their master.
The head of the Hollow Creed.
He sat in a high-backed chair, legs crossed, elbows resting lightly on the armrests. In his hands was a book — old, leather-bound, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges.
He had not said a word.
Not since they entered.
Not since they knelt.
Not for hours.
The only sound in the castle was the wind outside and the soft turn of a page.
Emilia's heart beat like a drum.
Her knees ached. Her shoulders burned from holding position too long. She could feel sweat trailing down her back, soaking into her elegant crimson coat.
She didn't dare wipe it.
He hadn't looked at them once.
Vynn shifted slightly. A nervous tic — barely perceptible. But Vael glanced at him sharply and mouthed a single word: Still.
Vynn went back to humming.
Emilia clenched her jaw.
Her mind raced. Did he know? Of course he knew. He always knew. The failure. The boy. The escape. The Veyrathi.
Why isn't he speaking? Why doesn't he just—
The final page turned.
Silence.
Then—
The book closed with a soft, deliberate snap.
Every muscle in Emilia's body tensed.
Now.
The man did not rise.
He didn't need to.
He simply looked up.
And for the first time, his eyes found them.
Aleric Veylan's crimson gaze had been sharp. Cold.
But this man's eyes were just empty.
Not void. Not cruel. Just... still. Like a lake with no bottom. Like a pit that didn't echo.
Vynn swallowed hard.
Vael blinked once.
Emilia tried not to tremble.
The man's voice, when it came, was velvet over steel.
"I trust," he said slowly, "that one of you… has a reason."
Just one sentence.
But the cold in the room tripled.
No one moved.
Not yet.
Not until he gave permission.
Not a twitch. Not a breath too loud.
The man above them stared in silence, waiting.
And Emilia, with sweat pooling at the base of her spine and her heart climbing up her throat, knew she had to speak first.
She bowed lower, forehead nearly to the ground.
"Y-yes, my lord," she stammered. "I was i-in charge."
Her voice echoed against the cold stone.
"But I… I was not aware the Veyrathi had been placed in my portion."
Behind her, she could feel Vynn and Vael tense. But neither said a word.
They knew.
The man above did not reply at once.
Then — softly:
"Yes. I specifically asked your division to sweep Ime island after the surge was reported. The Vorrak that was killed there… under whose command was that?"
A pause.
Then Vynn cleared his throat, his voice smaller than usual. "It was mine, my lord."
"And?"
Vynn swallowed. "We didn't know which child the power belonged to. So we took the ones who exhibited the highest possible variance during the pre-seed scan."
"'Suspectable,'" the man repeated flatly.
"Yes, my lord."
He shifted slightly in his chair, placing the book down beside him with careful precision.
"And in your little sweep, you not only failed to identify the Veyrathi correctly… but also let an elementalist slip through your fingers."
The words fell like knives.
A beat of silence.
Then all three — Emilia, Vynn, Vael — spoke over one another.
"Yes, my lord—" "Of course, we were aware—" "It won't happen again—"
The man didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"Because of your recklessness," he said, "we've had to accelerate our plans across three sectors. I've had to send emissaries into regions we weren't ready to activate. The kingdom's watchdogs are circling. Our channels are compromised."
He leaned forward slightly.
"A very big trouble… for me."
The weight of those last two words was enough to suck the air from the room.
And Emilia… Emilia felt it like a noose tightening.
But she raised her head.
She was not without cards.
"My lord," she said quickly, "I believe I may still be of use."
His gaze flicked toward her — the first real acknowledgement since his rebuke.
"I've seen the boy," she said. "Up close. I know how he moves. How his magic stirs. He's not stable yet. But he's real. A living Veyrathi."
No response.
So she pressed on.
"And I know how to lure him. They're the best seeds, aren't they?" Her voice was steadier now. "Veyrathi are the rarest blood. The purest sacrifice. If you grant me another chance, I will bring the boy to you."
He studied her.
The moment stretched.
Then, finally—
"I will look forward to your results."
Emilia exhaled shakily. "Thank you, my lord."
She dared not look up.
Neither did the twins.
But behind them — far back in the room, chained to the wall, slumped and unconscious — was Rosanna.
Ropes cut into her wrists. Dried blood streaked her cheek.
She didn't stir.
But when she woke… she would remember.