Judith wore a deep crimson gown with silver embroidery. Her hair was pinned up in court fashion. But her eyes—Blake knew those eyes.
For a second, they softened. Almost smiled.
Then she caught herself. Straightened her posture. Looked away.
Blake's breath caught in his throat. "Judith…?"
She didn't respond.
"What's going on?" he hissed, staring at Rollo. "What did you do?"
Rollo simply raised a brow. "You left her behind, Blake. I simply… picked up the pieces."
"You filthy coward," Blake snarled. "You hide behind chains, blood, and titles—but deep down, you're just a monster playing king in a broken castle."
The guards stepped forward, but Rollo held up a hand. Calm. Letting the words roll off like dust from his cloak.
Darius scoffed. "You don't have the right to raise your voice in the presence of nobility."
Blake turned to him, lip curling. "And you don't have the right to speak while your leash is still showing."
Darius narrowed his eyes. "Watch your mouth, rat."
"Or what?" Blake growled. "You'll tell daddy on me?"
The room grew tense.
"You're pathetic," Blake continued. "A dressed-up puppet with red eyes and a silver spoon."
"ENOUGH," Rollo snapped.
The guards moved in and grabbed Blake, pinning his arms back.
Rollo stood and stepped toward him, eyes hard.
"Tell me about the Black Halo."
Blake didn't answer.
Rollo struck him across the face.
"Where are they hiding?"
Silence.
Another punch. This one to the gut.
"Who leads them now? Who's supplying them?"
Blake spat blood onto the floor.
"You can keep hitting me," he said coldly, "but you'll never break me."
Rollo scowled. "Loyalty is a heavy burden, Blake. And it won't save you from death."
Blake coughed, chuckled darkly.
"You wouldn't understand loyalty. You've never had real friends. Just pawns. Tools. People who fear you. You think fear is strength?"
He glared into Rollo's eyes.
"I'd rather die with scars than live with chains."
Judith looked away—but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Faint. Proud.
But the torture continued. Beatings. Interrogation. All day. Blake was whipped, punched, and shocked with Felix's devices. Darius sat and watched with a calm smirk. Like it was sport. Judith stood motionless. Not allowed to speak.
As the sun set, Blake's body trembled on the floor of the room, blood pooling beneath him. Rollo crouched beside him.
"Your execution is scheduled the day after tomorrow," he said softly. "The people will watch. They'll cheer. And then they'll forget you ever existed."
He stood and walked away. The guards followed. The door closed behind them.
Blake was left in the darkness. Breathing shallowly and barely moving. His vision blurred. His thoughts scattered. Then one bitter whisper passed his lips:
"…Was this all I was meant to be?"
And silence answered him.
The sun rose over Tempest Manor, but the air was already thick with tension.
At the gates, the caravan had arrived—oxen-drawn wagons filled with crates of supplies, food, barrels, weaponry, silks, spices. Dozens of merchants bustled through the courtyards under guard supervision, unloading goods for the estate's quarterly restock.
This was the window. The moment Caelum had waited for.
He moved quickly through the manor halls, cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. Every footstep was measured. Every breath a countdown.
He reached the interrogation chamber.
Two elite guards stood posted at the door.
"I need entry. Now."
One of them stepped forward. "No one enters without Rollo's command."
Caelum's jaw tensed. "He left no orders for today."
"We were instructed not to let anyone in—even you, my lord."
A sharp breath.
Then a voice behind them:
"Then maybe you'll listen to me."
Judith.
She appeared from the hallway like a ghost in crimson silk. Her presence made both guards stand straighter, uncertain.
"I demand you open this door."
"My lady, we were given—"
"Do I look like I care what Rollo ordered?" Judith hissed.
Still, the guards didn't budge. Caelum's eyes flicked to the courtyard window. He saw the last caravan wagon pulling toward the gates. Time snapped in half. He turned and ran. Judith called after him, but he didn't look back. He sprinted through the manor, past startled servants, through winding staircases, until he reached the outer wall of the interrogation wing.
Without hesitation, he climbed the stone siding, using ledges and narrow windows as footholds.
Faster. Faster.
Reaching the upper floor, he found a narrow ledge and moved across it, risking death with every step. Finally, he reached a window that was cracked open. He slipped inside. And there, on the blood-stained stone floor—Blake. Limp. Barely breathing. His shirt torn, his body covered in bruises and gashes.
"Blake!" Caelum dropped to his knees beside him. "Come on, wake up—dammit, wake up!"
No response. He shook him, slapped his face lightly, pressed a hand to his chest. Still nothing. Then—a breath. Weak. Barely audible. Blake's eyes fluttered open, hazy and bloodshot.
"You're… late," he croaked.
Caelum let out a shaky breath. "You're alive."
Blake blinked slowly. "Caravan?"
Caelum hesitated.
He looked toward the window.
It was gone.
Blake sat up with effort, breathing ragged. He saw the look in Caelum's eyes and understood.
"You tried," Blake said softly. "That's more than anyone ever has."
Caelum's voice was raw. "I failed you."
"No," Blake said. "You gave me hope."
A moment passed between them. Heavy with emotion, neither could voice. Then Blake placed a weak hand on his brother's arm.
"Save Mirai. That's what matters now."
Caelum nodded.
He stood up. No time to waste. The gates creaked open as Caelum arrived, cloak billowing, expression hard. The local guards bowed quickly. "Lord Caelum, we weren't expecting you."
"New orders from Rollo," Caelum said coldly. "Specimen transfer. Now."
The guards exchanged glances, but didn't question him.
"She's sedated and stable. No incidents."
They led him to a secure chamber where Mirai lay on a table, unconscious, faint breathing the only sign of life. Her arms were restrained. A metal collar had been clamped around her neck. Caelum felt sick just looking at it.
"I'll take her from here."
The guards unshackled her and handed her over without resistance. Caelum carried her through the halls, out the gate, and into the open fields. The forest wind howled through the entrance of the old teleportation cave. Inside, Malrek stood waiting. He didn't turn when Caelum entered, Mirai in his arms.
Caelum laid her gently on the stone floor.
"She's safe," he said. "Sedated but unharmed."
Malrek looked down at her, then turned to Caelum, mask as still as death.
"And Blake?"
Caelum swallowed.
"He… might not make it. The execution is scheduled for tomorrow."
A long silence.
Then Malrek nodded once. "You've done enough, Caelum. Go home."
"I can stay—"
"No," Malrek said firmly. "You've played your part. Now let me play mine."
He knelt by Mirai, opened a black portal behind him—crackling, humming, cold as a void.
Caelum looked at him one last time.
"I trust you."
"You should," Malrek said, lifting Mirai gently.
Then he vanished into the rift.
And Caelum was left alone in the cave. Tired and worried.
After a long moment, he turned and walked home, the first light of stars blinking through the canopy above.