The silence was a thick, heavy thing, settling over the mortuary like dust on a coffin lid. Veylen stood at the center of it, arms folded, gaze fixed on a point in the wall only he could see. The air still crackled with the brittle aftermath of their argument.
Thae, perched on the stairs, was a portrait of contained fury—a storm held in a glass. Zhada, still sprawled on the chair, looked like she was a hair's breadth from igniting it.
Veylen let them stew. He knew the feeling. The raw frustration of a world that refused to be clean. He had spent his life making things orderly—the blood trade, the dead, the chaos of his own power. But a war, he knew, was nothing but a series of broken rules.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and even. "The Alignment of the Light may have been honest in their intentions. But I don't care about intentions. I care about actions. They sent a weapon to find out what I am. They have no right to ask for my help."
"They're not wrong, Vey," Zhada said, her voice rough. "They are trying to stop a war. The way I see it, we have two enemies: the Choir, and the ones who don't have the guts to kill the Choir. You've taught me to know the difference."
"I also taught you to think," Veylen replied without looking at her. "Not to rush in like a hungry hound."
"Better than standing here listening to prophecies!" she snapped. "They're talking about Lilith, Vey. Lilith. The kind of name you hear in whispers and folk tales. If she's real, then all the blood, all the contracts, all the alliances... it doesn't matter. It's just a game you've been playing with the wrong pieces."
Thae stood up slowly, her quiet presence silencing Zhada's fire. "The sigil I saw in the tower... the one that matched the mark on my skin. It was your family's. It was old. Older than my studies can account for. The Choir is using magic that was once yours, or meant to be."
Veylen's jaw tightened. "My grandfather called it the Compacted Core. A technique to condense power in your blood over a lifetime. It's supposed to stay hidden. Safe. For emergencies. The Scroll I found... it details the process."
Thae took a step toward him. "Why did he seal it from you, Veylen? What's the truth? This isn't just about a broken deal with vampires. This is personal. This is family."
"I don't have family," he said coldly. The words were a wall, but Thae pressed against it.
"He lied to you. He knew this was coming. He sealed your power, but he didn't give you the key."
Veylen turned, his eyes piercing through the shadows. "I am the key. My blood. That's what the old man said."
Zhada rose to her feet, her hands flexing. "So you're a power source for an ancient god? That's… a problem."
"A problem they're trying to exploit," Veylen corrected. "Both of them. The Choir wants to use my blood to awaken her. The Alignment wants to use my blood to kill her. I won't be a pawn for either side." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small vial of Thae's blood. He held it up, watching the light catch its surface. "But they've underestimated me. They've given me all the information I need."
He looked at Thae. "You found the source of the rot. The Sigil Tower. And you, Zhada, gave me a voice from the Choir." He looked at the bound woman on the chair, still slumbering. "I've been in the shadows too long. It's time to light a match. I'm going to use the Alignment as a distraction while we hit the heart of the Red Choir. We'll find their main Sigil Tower and shut it down. Permanently."
"How?" Thae asked.
"Blood is our language," he said. "Theirs and mine. They communicate with it. They fight with it. We'll just be more fluent."
He turned and strode toward the back of the study, where a door led to his sanctum. "We leave tonight. No plans. No warning. We're going to put a hole in their choir so big, they won't be able to sing their way out of it."
"And if the Alignment gets in our way?" Zhada asked, a slow grin spreading across her face.
Veylen's lips curled in a cool, predatory smile. "Then they'll just have to deal with the music."