The Bloodline Protocol (Part 1)
Rain fell like static.
We burst out of the stairwell and into a city that was no longer behaving like a city.
Every streetlight flickered between white and violet.
Cars sat motionless in the intersection, engines humming but drivers frozen mid-blink.
Somewhere far off, an ambulance siren looped on an endless breath.
Damian leaned against the concrete wall, blood seeping through his sleeve. His eyes were still silver, the afterglow of the Core reflected there. He looked half-human, half-lightning.
I touched his shoulder. "You're bleeding again."
"It's nothing." His voice was shredded silk.
"You said that the last five times you almost died."
He managed a grin. "And yet, statistically, I'm still ahead."
But the humor didn't hide the tremor in his hands. The bond between us pulsed under my skin like a second heartbeat. Each time it thudded, he winced. Each time it paused, I felt the world tilt.
Something inside me—no, inside us—was feeding.
> You see? the Core's voice purred from somewhere behind my ribs. Balance demands tribute.
"Aria." Damian's tone snapped me back. "We can't stay here. The cameras are blind, but that won't last."
We moved through the alley, rain soaking our clothes, steam rising from the manholes. The air smelled electric, like a storm trapped under glass. At every puddle, my reflection lagged half a second behind me, watching with eyes too bright.
By the time we reached the safe zone—an abandoned tram tunnel under the river—Damian's steps were uneven. He tried to hide it, but I felt the drag through the bond. He was burning himself out to keep me stable.
"Sit," I said.
He did, too tired to argue.
The space was lit by the failing glow of an emergency lamp. The sound of dripping water echoed like a heartbeat. I crouched in front of him, wiping blood from his temple with the edge of my sleeve.
"You saved me," I said quietly.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not. Just… aware of the math. You keep giving pieces of yourself away."
His fingers brushed my wrist, light as thought. "And you keep pretending you're not afraid of what's growing inside you."
The lamp flickered. For a split second, the tunnel wasn't empty. Shapes moved in the dark—echoes of people that weren't there. When the light steadied, they were gone, but the air remembered them.
"What's happening to the city?" I whispered.
"The Core's energy is still cycling," he said. "It's tied to you now. Wherever you go, it follows."
I swallowed. "So this is my fault."
"It's your inheritance."
He meant it to soothe. It didn't. The word inheritance tasted like rust.
Then the hum in my chest shifted. A pattern—a code—rose under my skin, glowing faintly along the veins of my forearm. Lines, curves, sigils. I stared as they rearranged into words that weren't written in any language I knew.
> BLOODLINE PROTOCOL — ACTIVE.
The lamp popped, plunging us into half-darkness.
Damian caught my hand. "What is that?"
"I don't know." But I did. Somewhere, buried in childhood memory, my mother's voice whispered: If it ever wakes, don't fight it. Read it.
The symbols pulsed again, casting pale light between us.
> Find the Heart-Key. Break the Chain.
"The Heart-Key?" I breathed.
Damian's jaw tightened. "That's impossible. It was destroyed with the first dynasty."
"Maybe not." I looked up at him. "Maybe it's me."
Before he could answer, the ground shook. A low vibration rolled through the tunnel—the sound of metal stretching where metal shouldn't. Our reflections shimmered in the puddles, moving independently now, mouths forming words we couldn't hear.
Then every reflection spoke at once, voices layered and distant.
> "Aria Blake, blood of the Silver Dynasty. The Core remembers its host."
The lights flared, searing white. I stumbled, grabbing Damian's arm. His pulse stuttered under my fingers.
He pulled me close, mouth near my ear. "Listen to me. If it tries to pull you back, fight it."
The reflections rippled. Water climbed the walls like a reversed waterfall, turning the tunnel into a mirrored corridor. In every surface, I saw myself—older, younger, furious, serene—all whispering the same word:
> Return.
The bond burned between us, brighter than pain. Damian's breath caught. "It's draining me," he gasped.
I tightened my grip. "Then take it back."
"That's not how bonds work."
"Then we rewrite the rules."
For one heartbeat, the air was alive with the sound of electricity and rain. Then the Core's energy flared from my hands, wrapping around him. I felt everything—his exhaustion, his fear, the stubborn warmth that refused to yield. The power wanted to devour that light.
> Let go, the Core whispered. Consume him. Complete the circuit.
Instead, I moved closer until our foreheads touched. His breath brushed my skin, sharp and human.
"Stay with me," I said.
"Always."
The light faltered. For a moment the tunnel smelled of ozone and salt tears. The reflections screamed without sound and shattered like glass. The Core retreated, furious and silent.
Damian sagged against me, still breathing, still here.
Outside, the city went eerily still. Every sound cut out at once—the rain, the sirens, the hum. Then, through the dead air, a voice slid from every broken speaker and water-filled mirror, smooth and familiar.
> "Now you see what you inherited, child."
Evelyn.
I turned toward the sound. Every puddle in the tunnel showed her face, serene, smiling.
"You can't kill what you've already become," she said. "You and the city share a pulse now. The Bloodline Protocol has only just begun."
The reflections rippled again. My own image smiled back at me—but it wasn't my smile.