By the time Kael and Veyra reached the obsidian gates of House Vire, the sun had dipped low into a smoldering horizon. Duskar Cradle cast long shadows like the fingers of sleeping titans.

  The grand manor loomed—sharp gothic towers laced with gold-veined bonewood and glowing crimson glass. Gargoyle effigies lined the gates, and mana lanterns flickered along the path like bloodfire wicks.

  Kael barely stepped onto the first stair when—

  “Kael!”

  His mother’s voice thundered from the upper balcony like a divine war horn.

  He froze mid-step.

  Veyra, of course, waved happily. “Hello, Lady Vire!”

  The doors flew open.

  Lady Vire—tall, graceful, with spiraling horns and flowing robes adorned with ember-threaded sigils—descended the stairs as though she floated.

  “Oh, my precious boy has returned from the dead!” she cried. “And you brought her!”

  Kael’s eyes shut. “…Here we go.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Lady Vire all but pounced on Veyra, hands cupping the girl’s face. “Look at this beautiful creature! A fine huntress! Wonderful bone structure! You would make such strong, terrifying children together!”

  Kael groaned, already turning to walk away.

  Veyra winked at him over his mother’s shoulder. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

  “Stop helping,” Kael muttered.

  Dinner was a blur of roasted wyrm, obsidian wine, and relentless teasing.

  Even his father—usually stoic as a tombstone—had the audacity to smirk while Kael was interrogated over whether Veyra slept in his bed or just in his thoughts.

  Later, after Veyra excused herself to wander the manor’s atrium, Kael finally cornered his parents in the study—an arcane-lit room lined with preserved relics, hunting trophies, and tomes wrapped in soulthread bindings.

  “I need to ask something,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

  His mother folded her arms, eyeing him with curiosity.

  “Do we know anyone in the lower world?” Kael asked. “Someone who could help get us into a town. Someone trustworthy.”

  Both parents exchanged a glance.

  His father spoke first. “There’s a retired blade-sister I once fought beside. Thessa Ironmane. Half-orc. Runs caravans out of Hollowbarrow, a frontier town near the southern range. She owes me blood and coin.”

  “She’s rough,” Lady Vire added, “but she hates slavers and liars. If you’re trying to plant roots, she’s the one who’ll help you survive down there.”

  Kael nodded slowly. “Good. Then I’ll need her name and route schedule.”

  His mother narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  He hesitated.

  Then smirked.

  “Because Veyra wants to start a guild. And she’s not going without a chaperone.”

  Outside, Veyra stood beneath the starlit dome of the garden, watching glowing lilies drift in an enchanted stream. She didn’t hear Kael approach, didn’t see the plan already forming behind his golden eyes.

  He didn’t need to tell her yet.

  She would find out on the way down.