Alaric walked through the Academy gates without looking back.
The guards didn't stop him.
The professors didn't try to talk him down.
Even Ravel just gave a slow nod as he disappeared into the mist-covered path beyond the outer wall.
It was late.
The streets were quiet.
But every shadow felt like it was watching him.
He kept walking.
---
The road to House Veyron wasn't long. Not by distance.
But by weight?
It felt like every step took him deeper into a grave.
He passed farmland first. Then tight hills. Then pine trees that rose high and silent, like old men too tired to warn him away.
He didn't bring a sword.
Didn't wear armor.
Just a simple black coat. And the coin they had left behind.
The one they used to threaten him.
---
Hours passed.
The forest opened onto a wide trail, and ahead stood a stone marker carved with the crest of House Veyron.
He paused.
The last time he crossed this line, he was still a child.
Back then, he thought "home" was something you were born into.
Now he knew better.
---
He stepped over.
And the ground lit up.
A circle hidden in the dirt flared red under his boots.
Alaric didn't jump.
Didn't panic.
He simply looked down.
"A welcome mat?"
He stepped back.
Vector Grip
— Yanked a loose stone from the trail and flung it at the glowing ring.
A column of flame burst upward from the circle.
It wasn't meant to kill.
It was meant to scare.
To make him feel watched.
To remind him whose land he'd entered.
---
Alaric kept walking.
Slow. Steady.
"Try harder," he muttered.
---
Further ahead, another path split off the main road.
Two men waited there.
They wore red cloaks. Veyron guards.
One held a spear. The other leaned against a tree, flipping a dagger in his hand.
They didn't look surprised to see him.
"Alaric Veyron," the first guard said. "Your father has been expecting you."
Alaric didn't stop walking.
"Good," he said. "I've been expecting him too."
The second guard laughed. "He said you'd be cocky."
"He's wrong," Alaric replied.
> "I'm just tired of pretending I'm not stronger than all of you."
---
The guards didn't stop him.
They walked beside him in silence, one on each side.
Their boots crunched against gravel. Their weapons stayed sheathed.
But their eyes kept drifting toward him like they were trying to figure out if he was dangerous—or if the rumors were just that.
They passed a rusted gate.
Then a cold fountain that hadn't flowed in years.
Then the manor came into view.
It wasn't beautiful. Not anymore.
Tall stone walls, twisted iron balconies, dark windows like empty eyes. Once, this was a seat of pride.
Now it looked like something trying too hard to look alive.
---
The guards brought him to the side entrance.
It opened with a creak. No words. No announcements.
Alaric stepped inside.
Everything smelled the same.
Dust. Candle wax. Old paper.
And something else.
> Magic. Not fresh. But strong. Layered deep beneath the walls.
He recognized it.
Not because he used it.
But because Seraphine never did.
---
They didn't lead him to the throne room.
They led him downstairs.
Through a narrow hallway behind the old wine cellar, past two locked gates and a stairwell lit by weak, flickering crystals.
They stopped at the final door.
It wasn't reinforced with steel.
It didn't need to be.
The door bled.
A thin line of red—barely visible—ran down from the top hinge.
Alaric said nothing.
He placed his hand flat against the wood.
Echo Sensory
— Reached into the material. Felt the fear trapped inside. The sadness. The weight.
Seraphine's presence was here.
Weak.
But steady.
Alive.
He didn't push the door open.
He waited.
Because behind him, the second guard was about to strike.
---
Precog Flash
— A half-second flash of the near future.
The spear came from the left. Fast. Straight to the ribs.
Alaric moved first.
Vector Burst
— He launched sideways with sudden force.
The spear missed.
Alaric grabbed the first guard's cloak mid-motion and twisted.
Vector Grip
— Slammed him into the stone wall before the second could blink.
The second raised his dagger—too late.
Neural Lock
— Froze his arms in mid-swing.
The dagger fell to the floor.
Alaric stood straight again, calm.
"Tell my father," he said.
"Next time he sends someone to attack me—"
> "Send three."
---
The cell door opened with a soft creak.
It wasn't locked anymore.
Not after Alaric made his point.
The room beyond was small. Bare stone walls. A single chair. No torches. Just a weak magic crystal in the ceiling that gave off a pale white glow.
In the corner, she sat.
Seraphine.
Hands bound. Ankles chained. Her eyes were half-open, unfocused.
But she was alive.
Alaric stepped in quietly.
He didn't run to her.
He didn't shout.
He knelt.
"Seraphine," he said gently.
She blinked slowly. Turned her head. Took a few seconds to really see him.
"...Alaric?"
Her voice was dry. Raspy.
He gave a short nod.
"You're late," she whispered, and even in her condition, managed a faint smirk.
Alaric exhaled. Almost smiled back.
"Would've been faster if your welcoming party wasn't so dramatic."
He reached for her wrist.
The chains looked normal.
But the air around them buzzed faintly.
Veil Pierce
— Revealed the truth: not just physical bindings. Mental ones. A low-level emotional spell woven into the cuffs.
A guilt loop.
It made the victim relive their worst moments over and over.
No wonder she looked empty.
---
Alaric placed his hand over the chains.
"Close your eyes," he said.
She didn't ask why.
She trusted him.
Perception Crush
— Collapsed the loop, shutting down the echo it fed on.
The chain links clattered to the floor.
She gasped—like breathing for the first time.
---
He caught her before she fell.
Held her steady.
"You shouldn't have come," she said softly.
"They wanted me to," he replied. "They thought this would break me."
"Will it?"
He paused.
Then helped her sit upright again.
"No," he said. "But it's going to break them."
---
At the doorway, someone clapped slowly.
A tall figure stepped into view, face shadowed by a hood.
"You always were the clever one," the voice said. Male. Confident. Cruel.
Alaric's eyes didn't move.
He whispered, "Stay here."
Then stood.
---
The man in the doorway stepped forward slowly.
Tall. Trim. Leather gloves. Hood drawn low to hide most of his face, but not the grin.
"I'm glad you came, Alaric," he said. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten your family."
Alaric didn't answer.
He stood between Seraphine and the intruder like a wall.
No shield. No blade.
Just himself.
And the weight in the air.
The man stopped a few paces away and let the silence stretch.
"You must have questions," he said. "Why her? Why now? Why so dramatic?"
Still, Alaric didn't speak.
"I could explain," the man continued, "but wouldn't it be faster if you just took it?"
Alaric blinked once.
That was a mistake.
A challenge.
A dare.
And so, he accepted.
Thought Loop
— Pinned the man's current thoughts into a holding pattern.
It wasn't violent. Not yet.
Just enough to freeze his mind where it stood.
The man stiffened. Eyes widened.
"Wh—"
Then Alaric took a step forward.
And reached out.
Mental Rewind
— Pulled the man's most recent memories to the surface.
The attack on Seraphine. The planning. The chain spell. The coin. The report to Malrik. The last command:
> "Delay him. Break him. If you can't… bleed him."
So that was it.
This wasn't about capturing Alaric.
It was about testing him.
Seeing how far he'd go.
How angry he'd get.
Whether he was ready.
---
Alaric let the loop go.
The man gasped and staggered back, holding his head.
"What did you—?!"
Alaric raised his hand.
Vector Crush
— Compressed the air around the man's torso, pinning him hard into the stone wall.
Not enough to kill.
Just enough to hurt.
"Tell my father," Alaric said coldly, "that if he wants to know how far I've come—"
> "He should stop sending cowards and come look me in the eyes."
The man didn't speak again.
Didn't move.
Alaric dropped him to the floor and turned back to Seraphine.
"Can you walk?"
She nodded. Barely.
He helped her up.
---
As they climbed the stairs back into the manor's upper halls, Seraphine leaned into his shoulder.
"You didn't used to be scary."
"I didn't used to need to be."
---
They reached the upper halls just before sunset.
The manor was quiet. Unnaturally so. The guards were gone. The halls that once echoed with bootsteps now felt like a place abandoned by sound.
Seraphine limped slightly, but she was steady.
"I can walk," she said under her breath.
"You're leaning on me."
"I'm making you look strong."
Alaric exhaled a soft laugh. "Then lean harder."
---
As they passed through the main corridor, a servant stepped out of a side door.
Not a fighter. Just an old man in gray, holding a folded note.
He didn't look at Alaric or Seraphine.
He simply bowed and extended the message.
"For you, sir," he said. "Direct from the head of House Veyron."
Alaric didn't take it.
"Read it."
The man blinked. "I… I was told not to—"
"Then give it here."
He snatched the note, broke the wax seal, and read aloud:
> To my son,
You've made your entrance. You've shown your fangs. But this house is not yet broken, and neither am I.
Come to the old throne hall by nightfall.
You may bring your sister.
Come as a guest, or come as a challenger.
Either way, I'll be waiting.
—M. Veyron
Alaric read it twice.
Then folded it neatly and slipped it into his coat.
Seraphine leaned her head slightly, watching his face.
"You're not walking into that alone."
"You're not walking into it at all."
She raised an eyebrow. "Try stopping me."
"I just carried you out of a blood cell."
"I can still throw fire."
He gave her a look.
She gave him the same one back.
Stalemate.
---
They stopped at the old guest room upstairs. One of the few places in the manor not wired with wards or traps.
Alaric helped Seraphine onto the bed.
He knelt beside her and said, "I'll go first."
She shook her head. "He wants you angry. Off balance."
"I'm not angry," Alaric said.
"I was tortured."
He met her eyes. "I'm still not angry."
"…Liar."
---
He stood slowly and turned to the door.
One last glance back.
Then down the hallway, where the walls grew darker and colder with each step.
Where his father waited.