Page 39

Chief Styles Sawyer

Zorion

Zorion ran his hand over the smooth fabric of the hunter green martial arts jacket.

The air in their bedroom still held the heat from their bath. His muscles felt loose and languid after their first chance of true intimacy and connection outside captivity.

Valor was adjusting the folds of his hood for him, affection radiating in his bright eyes.

“There,” Valor murmured. “Perfect.”

A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment. It was the same attendant from earlier, still dressed in his elegant attire.

He bowed slightly. “My masters await you in the dining hall.”

With Valor close beside him, they followed the attendant through the grand doors of the Order’s fortress.

The interior was a stunning fusion of ancient and modern beauty.

Torches were lit along the stone walls, casting shadows against the engraved pillars. The scent of burning incense mixed with the cool salt air drifting in from the open archways.

But for him, with his heightened hearing, the entire structure was alive with sound.

Zorion could hear the faint crackling of fire from within the walls, the hushed whisper of wind flowing through the hallways, and the steady beat of Valor’s heart.

The attendant stopped before a set of doors at least fifteen feet tall, and with a reverent bow, pushed the doors open.

The great dining hall was aglow with lanterns. The walls were decorated with intricate carvings depicting ancient battles, warriors with flowing robes steering bronze chariots led by large stallions. They wielded weapons of old not automatic firearms—longbows, daggers, hammers, and swords.

At the long table, Jo stood alongside her formidable brother and his cherished, who both exuded an effortless presence of power.

Surrounding them were six older men—Zorion assumed they were elders—all dressed in flowing linen robes.

They all had stark white hair either braided down their backs or tied in high knots and had the appearance of warriors aged into wisdom, each with an unmistakable air of nobility.

Men wearing gold-and-purple silk garments with wide sashes stood behind the older men’s seats like personal attendants.

Jo gestured for them to come inside.

He and Valor stopped near the two remaining seats and awaited further instruction.

“I am the veiled herald of Master Shen Wei, the Silent Thunder.” The man pulled out the high-backed chair and the elder sat. “We welcome you.”

The next one came forward in the exact same manner.

“I am the veiled herald of Master Lao Heng, Guardian of the Hidden Path.” He also pulled out a chair and allowed the elder man to sit. “We welcome you.”

An introduction was done for the remaining three, before Lion and Omega gave slight bows and sat at the head of the table.

He and Valor followed suit and bowed before sitting.

Jo stared at them, then smiled as if proud. She looked stunning in her long black silk dress, with a sheer veil resting over her black hair.

Now Zorion understood why she was called Sleek Panther.

Jo stood at the last seat on the elders’ side, and after everyone was seated, she announced, “Masters, I present to you, Zorion and Valor.”

Zorion and Valor slowly lowered their hoods.

A murmur of quiet approval circulated through the gathered masters, their aged faces reflecting curiosity and admiration.

Zorion shifted his gaze to Lion and Omega, finally seeing them without the shroud of shadows.

Lion’s name suited him. It wasn’t only his battle skill that earned it—it was his gorgeous appearance.

His hood had concealed his long golden mane—untouched by a single strand of gray—cascading past his broad shoulders. His high cheekbones and fair skin, smooth and unblemished, could’ve belonged to a model.

But his eyes struck Zorion the most, a shade of molten gold, glistening like beams of sunlight reflecting off a predator’s gaze. They held an intensity that was neither cool nor warm but measured, as if weighing everything before him with the wisdom of a king.

Then there was Omega.

Where Lion was regal strength, Omega was a threat of cunningness. His light-gray eyes shone with deadly intelligence.

His sleek black hair, unlike Lion’s wild mane, was tied back. He looked both relaxed and poised for action at any moment, like a desert viper buried beneath sand.

Their glasses were filled with water and their goblets with wine.

No one spoke as they all seemed to stare at him and Valor with equal parts fascination and confusion.

Zorion assumed it was warranted. If someone had told him he was dining with a man with the combined DNA of a raptor, he’d stare too.

As they settled in, dozens of servers came in from side doors and began laying out an elaborate feast before them.

Lion’s tone was authoritative but kind. “Eat, brothers. I’m sure you are famished.”

There were platters of roasted venison and wild boar with crispy skin, set alongside grilled fish smothered in a foreign herb that made Zorion’s mouth water.

He held back his smirk as he watched Valor dig into the thick cuts of beef with gusto and then scoop a spoonful of spiced rice on top of some leafy greens. He had just enough room on his platter for the two pieces of freshly baked bread he added.

The first few moments passed with a quiet appreciation of the meal. It was only after the first bites were taken and the initial hunger eased that the awkwardness in the room shifted into something peaceful.

When their plates were empty and stomachs full, Lion stood and commanded the room before he even began to speak.

“Masters, these men are unlike any who’ve ever graced our Order. They are more than flesh and bone. They are a rare breed. Beasts that are wild and untamed, yet majestic. Their blood, their very essence, is intertwined with that of great predators—Zorion, bound to the black hawk, and Valor, fused with the jungle puma.”

Zorion didn’t know if those were compliments or not, but the way the elders nodded, maybe they were.

“Zorion.” Lion gazed at him. “Phantom of the night skies, a swift death from above.”

Valor squeezed then caressed his leg beneath the table as if telling him he approved of the description.

“And Valor, the brave man most worthy. The unseen stalker and king of the hunt.”

Hushed murmurs were exchanged from man to man, the elders saying nothing but watching with calculating eyes, their fingers interlaced before them.

Valor, always direct, set his cup down and asked, “What will our lives be like here?”

Lion wiped his mouth with a linen cloth before he met their gazes. “Your lives will be unlike anything you could’ve imagined. Here, you will be unmade and remade anew. You will learn to walk unseen, to strike without warning, to understand the weight of a life before it is taken.”

Lion set his cutlery down after a measured pause. “You will endure pain, hunger, and exhaustion far beyond what an ordinary human could withstand. Your blood, your very nature, will be both your strength and your burden.”

Omega narrowed his storm-gray eyes, challenging and sinister. “The question is not what your lives will be, Valor, but if you are strong enough to truly embrace it.”

A hush fell over the table.

The words settled like stone, heavy and solid.

Zorion curled his fingers around Valor’s hand where it still rested on his thigh.

Since he’d woken in the Ravens facility, he’d doubted his purpose, his future. But here, in this age-old place, surrounded by men whose very breath whispered of honor and legend, he felt certain of what lay ahead.

Glory.