Page 5

At the top of the winding staircase, I find Brinda standing by the open balcony doors. The night wind stirs her hair, and torchlight casts shifting patterns across her face. She’s studying the dark horizon, arms folded across her chest.

“You took your time,” she murmurs without turning around. Her voice is as icy as the wind that slips through the balcony arch.

“I was seeing to the tribute,” I reply, stopping a few steps behind her. “Valeria.”

Brinda shifts her head, just enough for me to see the faint curve of her cheek.

“Yes, the intriguing one.” She steps onto the balcony, beckoning me with a glance.

I join her, stepping outside into the crisp air.

The high vantage point reveals the wide courtyard below and the looming structure of the outer walls.

Beyond that, a stretch of plains and forests veiled in moonlight.

“She doesn’t behave like a typical offering,” I state.

“No,” Brinda agrees. “Her aura resonates differently, and I sense a potential I can’t fully name. She’s guarded, but that could be fear. Or something else.”

I lean against the balustrade, wings shifting to accommodate. “You suspect she may be more than human?”

Brinda’s silver hair catches the moonlight, giving it an ethereal sheen. She exhales slowly. “I’m not certain yet. But something about her blood intrigues me. If I’m right, we might gain an asset that changes everything. Our House has ambitions. You know that, Vaelorian.”

A wave of memory sweeps through me, those lessons in strategy, those endless nights where I studied the rise and fall of kingdoms. We’ve always aimed higher than any other Vrakken clan. “You want me to use her.”

A quiet laugh slips from her. “Use her, test her, see if she might be shaped into a blade for our cause. If she disappoints you, discard her. If she proves valuable...” She trails off, but the meaning is clear.

I cast my gaze over the fortress grounds. Below us, a guard patrols along the ramparts, torch bobbing like a will-o’-the-wisp in the dark. “She’s clearly motivated to survive. That can be molded.”

Brinda moves closer, eyes glimmering. “Precisely. We must see if she has the aptitude. If so, she’ll become part of our long-term plan: infiltration, espionage—anything to weaken the dark elves’ hold on the surface and further House Draeven’s dominion.”

Her words resonate with that old mantra: “Power isn’t given; it’s seized.” She has her sights set on more than just petty alliances. Perhaps she aims to dethrone the dark elves altogether, maybe even topple the illusions of peace that keep the other races docile.

A faint smirk curves my lips. “I’ll oversee her training personally.”

My mother’s gaze drifts over me, a hint of pride mingling with her usual reserved manner. “I trust you’ll do more than that. Don’t be afraid to push her. Humans can endure surprising trials, especially if properly motivated. And if my suspicions hold true, she won’t be just human.”

I tip my head in agreement. A subtle tension flutters in my chest—an unexpected anticipation for the challenge. Valeria might be the key to rewriting our House’s future. Or she could be a stepping stone to something even greater.

Brinda holds my arm, the weight of centuries of expectation pressed in that simple gesture. “Do what must be done. Our House stands on the cusp of a new era. We cannot falter.”

I incline my head. “I won’t fail.”

Leaving her on the balcony, I descend the spiral staircase to the fortress’s central hall, passing ancient tapestries that depict Vrakken legends.

One particularly large tapestry shows the First, our progenitor, wings spread wide under a blood moon.

I briefly let my eyes linger on it. The rumors claim the First vanished into myth, or perhaps rose beyond the realm of mortality.

Whichever it is, House Draeven was among the earliest lines she Founded.

That legacy flows in my veins, fueling my sense of purpose.

I head toward the west wing, curious to see if Valeria has settled in.

My boots echo against the floor, the emptiness of the corridor amplifying every footstep.

A lone torch flickers by a heavy door. I can sense her presence beyond it, a faint shift in the air that hints at her heightened heartbeat.

The Vrakken attendant stands guard. He nods respectfully. “She’s inside. Quiet, though I heard movement a short while ago.”

I consider stepping in to check on her, but decide against it. I don’t want her to think I hover like some predator waiting to pounce. Better to let her stew in uncertainty tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll present the plan.

Instead, I move to a narrow window at the corridor’s end, looking out across the courtyard. The moon casts everything in a pale glow, and the silence of the fortress settles around me. My mother’s words swirl in my mind: “If she’s more than human, she’ll be worth all the risk.”

I wonder if Valeria realizes just how precarious her situation is.

She’s balanced on the edge of a blade—one misstep, and I’d cast her aside, no matter the intrigue.

House Draeven does not suffer liabilities.

But I can’t ignore the faint spark of fascination that ignited when I first saw her.

She’s no ordinary tribute, and that alone stirs my curiosity.

I recall the way she looked at me, wary but unyielding. Humans typically wilt under a Vrakken’s scrutiny, especially one of my lineage. She didn’t. That could be recklessness, or it could be the hallmark of a cunning survivor.

A slow exhalation leaves my lungs. Despite our stoic culture, the romance of a challenge—of shaping something new—thrums in my veins.

I learned from an early age that forging alliances or forging blades both require precision.

And if Valeria can become the weapon we need, I might find the path to seizing the power my mother and I crave.

Walking away from the window, I make my way toward my personal chambers.

As I traverse the winding corridors, I pass a large mirror framed in twisted wrought iron.

My reflection stares back: tall, with lean muscle, my black hair a stark curtain around a face so pale it borders on luminescent.

My eyes remain as dark as ink, the near absence of irises marking me as a pureblood Vrakken.

It’s a face designed to unnerve, to remind prey of ancient nightmares.

The expression that gazes back at me isn’t entirely detached.

There’s a glimmer of anticipation in my eyes, a subtle shift of my lips that betrays a guarded sense of excitement.

Normally, tributes mean nothing to me—just resources to be used or discarded.

But this one... she might prove the key to unraveling the dark elves’ hold, or at least granting House Draeven a decisive advantage.

Snorting softly, I continue down the corridor and enter my chamber.

It’s spacious, with soaring ceilings to accommodate my wings, and decorated in subdued luxury: black drapery, plush rugs, a large bed carved from obsidian wood.

Tucked against one wall, a tall bookshelf houses tomes on war strategy, accounts of old battles, treatises on ancient magic.

On a table by the window rests a half-written scroll—my ongoing notes regarding the dark elf city’s vulnerabilities and the rumors of an underground insurgency.

I shed my leather jacket, letting my wings expand slightly in the dim candlelight. The tension in my body eases a fraction. Sometimes, the demands of maintaining an air of unflinching composure weigh on me. Not that I would ever admit it aloud.

Crossing to the bed, I sit at its edge, unfastening the buckles on my boots.

My mind drifts back to Valeria’s face, the determined set of her jaw.

The way her voice never quavered, even when fear laced her words.

I picture that fleeting moment of connection, when her eyes met mine and I glimpsed something raw and alive.

I allow a small smile. She’s intriguing, no doubt.

Perhaps I’ll enjoy this more than I expected.

Because while humans might be fragile, they possess a remarkable capacity to cling to hope—sometimes enough to challenge their betters.

If harnessed properly, that hope can become a blade aimed precisely where one’s enemies are most vulnerable.

And in the realm of Protheka, power isn’t given; it’s seized. If Valeria can help me seize it, I will make sure she tastes a life beyond mere servitude. Not freedom, exactly—she’ll always be at risk in this savage world—but a purpose she can cling to.

With a sigh, I lie back, staring at the vaulted ceiling. The candlelight dances across the stone, shadows forming abstract shapes of wings and fangs. Tonight, House Draeven has acquired more than a tribute. We’ve possibly acquired a weapon in the making.

I close my eyes, letting the hum of distant magic and the faint echo of wind lull me.

Tomorrow, the real test begins. I don’t have any intention of failing my mother, nor do I plan on losing this intriguing new piece to the cruelty of the dark elves.

My ambitions stretch far, and I suspect Valeria’s future is entangled with mine more than either of us realize.

I am Vaelorian Draeven. The words echo in me with quiet certainty as I drift into a light, vigilant rest. And power—true power—will be ours if we have the nerve to seize it.