The docks of Veyrantis never slept. Towering cranes swung over endless stacks of steel containers, and the sea wind carried the scent of salt, oil, and danger.
Tonight, however, something was different. The air was too sharp, the shadows too restless.
Aresha Lilith Silas stood at the edge of Pier Nine, her silver hair tied back beneath a black cloak. She wasn't here as Patriarch tonight. She wasn't here to terrify politicians or silence her grandfather's scheming whispers.
She was here as the master of Nine Cloud Abyssal, overseeing a secret exchange of weapons shipments meant to cripple the International Alliance's growing navy.
Her eyes narrowed. Something was off.
Her instincts—honed from fire and blood—screamed.
The attack came swift. Explosions split the silence, throwing containers like toys. Gunfire cracked across the pier. IA agents swarmed out of the shadows, their insignia hidden but their intent unmistakable.
Aresha's cloak whipped behind her as she moved like a blade, her body faster than sight. One strike, two, three—the first wave fell before they understood who they were facing.
But then—
A child's scream cut through the chaos.
Her head snapped toward the burning warehouse at the far end of the pier. Through the haze of smoke and fire, she saw them—two small figures trapped behind a collapsing metal beam.
A boy, frozen in shock, silver hair gleaming under the flames. A little girl, wild-eyed, tugging at him with all her might, her voice breaking from shouting for help.
Silver hair.
Her pulse faltered. For one split second, the poison in her veins writhed.
And then she was moving.
The beam collapsed with a shriek of steel. Her gloved hand shot out, catching its weight, muscles screaming, poison burning under her skin. With her other arm she swept the children close, pulling them free as the warehouse came crashing down.
The girl clung to her neck instantly, eyes wide, lips trembling—"Mama…"
Aresha froze. The word struck deeper than any blade.
She looked down. The boy's calm gaze met hers. Too calm, too familiar. It was like staring into a reflection of the child she once was—the same silence, the same storm caged behind young eyes.
Her throat tightened, but she shoved it down. Emotions were weakness. She could not afford weakness.
"Run," she ordered coldly, setting them on their feet.
But Saleena didn't let go. Small arms tightened around her neck as if the girl had known her all her life.
"Mama, don't leave!"
For a terrifying instant, Aresha wanted to hold her tighter. Wanted to sink into that tiny warmth that had been denied her as a child.
But then—
"ARES—HA!"
A voice roared across the flames.
Tall, broad-shouldered, eyes like storms—Darius Nyx Vale strode into the chaos, flanked by his guards. His gaze locked on her instantly, on his children clinging to the silver-haired devil the world feared most.
For the first time in years, Aresha's control slipped.
His eyes narrowed, fury sharp enough to tear the air. "Put them down."
The world seemed to still—the fire crackled, the waves crashed, but everything hung in the silence between them.
Two monsters, two rulers of empires—meeting for the first time.
And between them, the children who carried both their blood.