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A hush falls between us. I glance at his face, searching for any sign of doubt or regret. His features remain carved from stone, but I recall the earlier flicker of tension in his posture when he watched me train.

I break the silence. “Is everything all right? You seem... concerned.”

He exhales, shifting his weight. “I have a great deal riding on this mission, Valeria. Onyou. Every step is a gamble. I’d be foolish not to be concerned.”

A mixture of pride and apprehension tightens my chest. “I won’t let you down,” I whisper, and realize I almost mean it.

His gaze locks on mine. The corridor feels suddenly too small, the space between us charged like a coming storm. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he murmurs.

My breath catches. “I can’t promise perfection, but I’ll promise to try.”

A moment passes—something heavy and unspoken hovering like a ghost. Then he steps away, pushing open the library doors. “Come. Let’s plan,” he says, voice clipped.

I follow him inside, determined to prove myself.I’d rather risk death than remain powerless.The phrase burns in my mind. If that risk involves unraveling the dark elves’ secrets—and standing at Vaelorian’s side, no matter how precarious—then so be it.

As I enter the warm glow of the library, the scent of parchment and leather welcomes me, a promise of knowledge that could save my life. The tension between Vaelorian and me crackles like a live wire, each breath charged with possibility and danger. And through it all, I wonder just how deep his cold eyes go—and if I’m ready to follow that depth to its darkest reaches.

6

VAELORIAN

I’m waiting in the library’s far corner when I hear Valeria’s footsteps echo off the polished stone floor. Shadows flicker across rows of towering shelves, each crammed with well-worn tomes and scrolls. A single chandelier of wrought iron dangles overhead, casting long rays of candlelight that illuminate dust motes dancing in the air.

It’s well past sundown. House Draeven’s halls have quieted somewhat, though faint murmurs of guards patrolling still echo through the fortress. In here, the hush is nearly absolute—punctuated only by the occasional rustle of pages or the soft intake of breath from the few individuals who frequent the library at this hour. Most Vrakken prefer more direct pursuits than reading, but for me, knowledge is a potent weapon.

Valeria steps into view between two shelves, and I immediately notice the fatigue weighting her movements. She tries to hide it—arching her spine, lifting her chin—but I’ve observed her enough to see the subtle droop in her shoulders. Helrath trained her hard tonight, and the strain lingers. Still, she moves toward me with that stubborn determination I’ve grown to expect.

I close the tome I’ve been perusing, an aged text detailing historical alliances between dark elves and certain orc factions—and set it aside. “You’re late,” I say quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence around us.

She lets out a slow breath. “Yes, I had to wash off the dirt from Helrath’s ‘lesson’ before coming.”

I allow a small, wry smile. “I’m sure he was gentle.”

Her responding snort says otherwise. Despite her fatigue, there’s a spark in her eyes—part exasperation, part pride that she survived yet another session without quitting. That spark has become oddly reassuring.

“Let’s sit.” I gesture to a nearby table tucked into an alcove, partially hidden behind a shelf of atlases. I’ve set out additional candles, ensuring enough light to read the spread of documents waiting for us.

She follows me, carefully pulling back a high-backed wooden chair. When she settles, she exhales again, as if grateful to be off her feet. I take the seat opposite, bracing my forearms on the table’s smooth surface.

Between us rests a sheaf of parchment with notes I’ve compiled—intelligence from a variety of sources. Some are transcripts of overheard conversations, others the results of minor infiltration attempts. Pieces of the puzzle.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, keeping my tone measured. “We need to refine your knowledge of dark elf power structures before we plan your next step.”

She nods, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flick to the notes, then back to me. “You mentioned earlier there’s a particular noble who’s recently caught your attention?”

I tap a finger against the parchment. “His name is Lord Xathien Mierond. He wasn’t as prominent a few years ago—one of many ‘lesser’ noble houses jockeying for status. Butrumors suggest he’s made powerful allies within the monarchy, primarily through alliances with the warrior caste.”

Valeria’s gaze sharpens. “Miou caste. They run most of the dark elf armies, right?”

I dip my chin in agreement. “Yes, and if the monarchy trusts him, he could gain access to troves of resources, arcane artifacts. Potentially a threat to House Draeven if he chooses to turn that newfound power against us. I have reason to believe he’s dabbling in something more experimental—blood-infused magic, maybe—but I need proof.”

Her posture shifts in a way that suggests apprehension. “Blood-infused magic. I’ve heard the dark elves talk about it before, though they only spoke in hushed whispers. It’s not exactly standard sorcery.”

“Exactly. Even the dark elves know it’s risky, borderline heretical. But some individuals, especially the unscrupulous ones, can’t resist the lure of forbidden power. That’s why you’re invaluable in this. You can move among them with less suspicion than a fellow Vrakken.”

She purses her lips together, studying the notes. In the flickering candlelight, I notice the faint bruise on her jaw—another souvenir from Helrath. A twinge of protectiveness flares in my chest, surprising me.She needs that training to survive,I remind myself.You can’t shield her from everything.

Valeria sighs. “So the plan is for me to confirm whether Xathien is truly pursuing blood-infused magic?”