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Without hesitation, Nicabar wrapped protective arms around Rosselyn and Amice, steering them firmly down the winding path. Amice sobbed, her anguish hanging heavy on Davina’s heart.

As they were led away, the fortress guards slid the massive bolt aside with a rasping grind, unlocking the gate. They planted their palms against the black iron and pushed, muscles straining as the gate creaked and groaned open. Beyond lay a broad apron of curved stairs that rose toward the dark maw of the fortress.

Once Broderick, Davina, and Veronique crossed the threshold, the iron doors slammed shut behind them, the bolt crashing home with a final, ominous clang. The sound echoed like a death knell, sealing them inside.

The guards flanked them, boots thudding against stone as they led the trio through a dim, narrow foyer. Broderick’s grip on Davina’s waist tightened, steadying her faltering steps. Veronique trailed close behind, her limp pronounced, yet determination deepened the shadows on her face.

They reached another set of doors—twenty feet tall, forged from dark wood veined with steel. The guards shoved them open, revealing a cavernous chamber beyond.

Colossal columns loomed like ancient sentinels, iron bands coiled around their bases like shackles. A crimson carpet bled down the center of the hall, guiding them to a raised dais where a black marble table waited. They carefully advanced.

Behind the table sat three men, each as unnervingly beautiful as they were ageless. Though their faces bore the unlinedcountenance of youth, their eyes betrayed centuries of dominion.

Davina tightened her grip on Broderick’s arm as the three Elders fixed their unyielding stares upon them. They looked no older than five-and-twenty, yet their eyes burned with the weight of centuries—a fierce blend of wisdom and judgment that sent shivers down her spine.

Broderick bowed respectfully. “Elder Ammon,” he intoned, his voice steady as he nodded toward the bronzed man on the left. “Elder Rasheed,” he continued, his gaze shifting to the dark-skinned figure in the center. “And Elder Mikhail,” he said, gesturing toward the fair-skinned man on the right.

“MacDougal.” Rasheed’s voice, smooth and laced with thinly veiled contempt. “What is this? You bring not one, but two blood slaves before us?” His words hung in the air, heavy with accusation.

Ammon leaned in, his dark eyes digging deep into Broderick’s soul. “Did you not learn from your own past, MacDougal? Those in this state are not here by choice, and yet you have brought them to our sanctuary?”

Straightening his stance, Broderick’s tone remained firm but laced with respectful defiance. “I understand your concerns. I did no’ bring them here tae be transformed. They are here tae receive the cure from the Army of Light.”

Veronique, standing unsteadily beside Broderick, snapped her head toward him. “I don’t want the cure. I want to become Vamsyrian,” she declared, her voice trembling with raw honesty.

Ammon’s brow furrowed, and he exchanged knowing, troubled looks with Rasheed and Mikhail. “And who is to blame for their current state?” he demanded.

Broderick hesitated, his jaw clenching before the truth spilledout. “Angus Campbell.”

A collective groan escaped the Elders, their frustration echoing in the room. Mikhail leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples as if trying to ease a longstanding ache. “After decades of this senseless feud, why have you and this Campbell not ended it yet?”

With measured resolve, Broderick replied slowly, “Our feud exists because we are brothers.”

A heavy silence fell, charged with stunned disbelief.

Ammon’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “Brothers? Why did you never confide this in us?”

“I only just discovered it myself,” Broderick admitted, his voice soft with regret.

Davina’s gaze shifted between the Elders, a swirl of confusion and deep unease settling over her. There was something about this revelation that unsettled them deeply, but she couldn’t understand why.

Mikhail’s attention snapped to Veronique. “And who here shall vouch for your transformation? Who will take responsibility for you?”

Veronique blinked, her confusion evident. “I—I don’t understand.”

Mikhail’s impatience strained his voice. “A Vamsyrian must willingly take you under their wing. So, who will it be?”

Her eyes pleaded desperately as they flitted toward Broderick. “Mon cœur?”

His face set into a hard line. “Nay. I willnae do it. I told ye this.”

“You are willing to let me die?” she whimpered, her voice cracking under the weight of betrayal.

“I brought ye here tae be cured,” he stated firmly, his wordslaced with finality. “Ye’ll remain mortal.”

Veronique’s features contorted with searing rage. “You would favorheroverme?” she shrieked, her trembling finger accusingly pointing at Davina. “She’s weak. I deserve a stronger bond with you!”

The Elders exchanged weary, disappointed glances before Rasheed sighed deeply. “Broderick, you are better matched with Veronique. She is strong, determined—”