The Dravienne estate sat in silence that night. The chandelier lights were dimmed, the long corridors shadowed, and yet the air itself seemed to hum with anticipation. Every corner of Valemont whispered the same rumor: Evander Dravienne's death was no accident.
Lucien sat in his father's study, a glass of untouched wine at his side. The oak desk was covered in parchments, maps, and letters—evidence of alliances forged and debts owed. He leaned back in the leather chair, staring at the empty seat where Evander once ruled over them all. The firelight flickered across his sharp features, but his expression was unreadable.
The door creaked open. Cassien stepped inside, shadows clinging to him like a cloak. His hybrid aura—half wolf, half vampire—always seemed to disrupt the calm of any room he entered.
"You're brooding," Cassien said, leaning against the wall with folded arms. "That's not like you."
Lucien gave him a cold glance. "And you've been reckless again. I can smell the blood on you."
Cassien smirked, unrepentant. "Wolves don't exactly shake hands when they meet. They test strength. Consider it… diplomacy."
"Diplomacy doesn't leave corpses in alleys," Lucien shot back, his voice low but sharp.
The tension simmered, as it always did between them. Brothers bound by blood, divided by legacy.
Before the silence could fracture into argument, a soft knock came at the door. Kira slipped in, her raven hair cascading over her shoulder, her eyes sharp as glass. She bowed her head slightly to Lucien before glancing at Cassien.
"The witches are stirring," she said quietly. "Frida Morgan has summoned the Amber Conduit. They believe Evander's death has… unbalanced the Veil."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "The witches will seize any excuse to pry at our weaknesses."
"Perhaps," Kira said, her gaze flicking to Cassien. "But whispers of prophecy have begun again. They speak of a hybrid who will tear Valemont apart or bind it forever."
Cassien laughed bitterly. "Of course. Whenever chaos looms, suddenly I'm the prophecy."
Kira's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Well, you do have a talent for chaos."
Lucien stood, his presence filling the room like a storm barely held at bay. "Prophecy or not, we cannot allow the factions to dictate our fate. Witches plot, wolves bite, humans sharpen their silver—and every eye in this city is on us."
His gaze landed on Cassien, piercing. "So if you truly are the prophecy, brother… then you'd better decide whether you'll save this city—or burn it."
The flames in the hearth roared higher as if stirred by his words. Outside, the night howled—an omen carried on the wind.
The game had begun.