The streets of Valemont never truly slept. Even in the thin hours of the night, when the moonlight bled through fog and lanterns burned low, the city hummed—an undercurrent of danger threaded with temptation.
Lucien Dravienne stood at the balcony of his estate, a glass of crimson in hand. Not wine, not quite blood—something mixed in between. His gaze was fixed on the marshlands in the distance, where the will-o'-wisps flickered like restless souls.
"Your mind wanders tonight," came a voice behind him.
Cassien leaned against the doorway, half in shadow, his golden eyes reflecting the moon. Though they shared blood, Lucien often thought of him as both kin and threat—a living reminder of their father's sins and ambitions.
Lucien turned slowly. "The Versiera move again. Their whispers ride the wind. Nyra Vale grows bolder."
Cassien smirked faintly. "And you sound afraid."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "Caution is not fear. You'd do well to learn the difference, hybrid."
The word was sharp, deliberate. Cassien's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, but he masked it with a shrug. "You're quick to remind me of what I am, but perhaps you've forgotten what you're not. Father is gone. The throne isn't yours simply because you sit nearest to it."
Silence stretched between them, thick as the mist.
Then, as if conjured by the tension, a raven struck the balcony rail. Its feathers glistened with unnatural sheen, and its eyes glowed faint amber. Lucien extended a hand, and the bird cawed before releasing a scroll bound with black wax.
He broke it open with a fang. His eyes scanned, then narrowed.
Cassien tilted his head. "Bad news?"
Lucien ignored the question, folding the scroll into his coat. "The witches stir. They gather at the ruins in Belvoir."
"And you think Nyra's behind it?" Cassien pressed.
Lucien's silence was answer enough.
Cassien pushed off the doorway, stepping into the light. "Then let me handle it. You sit here scheming in shadows while Valemont bleeds. Perhaps it's time the city saw who truly protects it."
Lucien laughed, low and cold. "You protect no one, brother. You burn too hot. And flames that burn too hot… destroy everything they touch."
Cassien's eyes flashed—hybrid fire, dangerous and alive. "Better fire than rot."
Before Lucien could reply, the raven burst into ash, scattering across the balcony like a dark omen. The night wind carried the ashes upward, toward the marshlands, where whispers rose and a storm gathered.
Neither brother spoke again.
For in Valemont, silence was more dangerous than words.