From his Vantage point atop a coldsteel scaffold overlooking Sector Nine, Elashir watched the Helios Hotel rise like a monument to opulence and vanity. Gilded marble, glass like liquid fire, and twin golden spires framed the crown of the structure. The penthouse—50th floor—was cloaked in shimmering layers of energy. Not light. Not magic. But Flux, alive and dense. A presence embedded deep within its very structure.

  And at the center of it—chaos.

  A hum rippled in Elashir’s ears. Subtle at first. Then louder. Resonant. Echo Flux—his tether to vibration, presence, energy.

  Inside the Helios, Conrad had moved. Elijah responded. Lawrence and Harvey followed. Movement like thunder wrapped in glass.

  Elashir’s dark, embroidered robe caught the rising wind, the golden thread weaving old Mualim symbols along the hem. It shimmered faintly in the dying sunlight. He looked to be no older than sixty-five, his posture still regal, but his eyes… his eyes were centuries old—carved by memory, trial, and the weight of patterns he’d seen repeat across empires.

  And just as he focused—

  The Surge.

  Like a flood through his bones, his Echo Flux snapped taut. A rushing sound ripped through his inner ear—Kadir. Psycho Flux, like coiling smoke made from will alone, flooded the upper atmosphere around the penthouse.

  Not aggressive.

  But deliberate.

  A boundary.

  Kadir was letting him know: Do not enter.

  Elashir didn’t flinch.

  Instead, he exhaled slowly and let his voice slide into the Pulse—a whisper not through words, but through intention.

  ELASHIR (through the Pulse):

  “You’re blocking my reach. Did you expect I’d intervene?”

  KADIR (calm, firm):

  “You’ve never watched without judgment, Elashir. And I didn’t need an audience.”

  ELASHIR:

  “Then why allow me to observe at all? You could’ve snuffed me out completely.”

  Silence, broken only by the trembling hum of Echo Flux still tethered to the conflict inside the hotel. Conrad’s energy flared—sharp, ancient, monstrous. Elijah’s response came like compressed lightning. Lawrence followed—a methodical rhythm. Harvey’s heartbeat pulsed like an uncut blade.

  A war was underway, even as the two masters spoke.

  ELASHIR:

  “Do you remember Hezekiah?”

  A pause. Kadir didn’t respond immediately. Elashir didn’t need him to. The name alone carried weight. A thousand years worth.

  ELASHIR:

  “The Mualim thought him a gift. A half-blood who survived the Thirst. A miracle.”

  The memory painted itself across the skyline like ash on stone. Cities burning. Innocents screaming.

  ELASHIR (quietly):

  “We tried to train him. To harness him. But the Bhookh ki Bhookh was deeper than anything we had seen. And we lost control.”

  The Pulse remained still. But Kadir’s presence shifted. Listening.

  ELASHIR:

  “The Sanguin Antiquus believed they could shape him. We believed the same. He was used against the Vampires. They called him our blade.”

  His eyes turned cold.

  ELASHIR:

  “Until he became a Jazzar.”

  A blood berserker.

  ELASHIR (grim):

  “The City of Altard. 800 years ago. Five hundred dead. Daylight massacre. He walked in the sun. Fire didn’t stop him. Arguros slowed him, but didn’t kill. We needed three Grandmasters to put him down.”

  The Pulse darkened for a moment—its quiet echo matched the shift in the battle below. Conrad's aura surged again, venomous and ancient.

  KADIR (finally speaking):

  “Hezekiah couldn’t use Flux. Kyon can.”

  ELASHIR:

  “That’s precisely why I’m speaking. Kadir… this one is worse.”

  A beat. Then—

  KADIR:

  “He’s not awakened.”

  ELASHIR:

  “Yet.”

  Another pulse from above. Screams. Elijah roaring through a sonic burst. Lawrence’s voice cutting across steel. Harvey landing a blow that rattled glass across the block.

  ELASHIR:

  “You think Conrad hasn’t noticed? He’s not just fighting them to win. He’s testing them. Playing a long game. He wants the boy.”

  KADIR:

  “And you want to kill him before he even chooses.”

  ELASHIR (quiet, sharp):

  “The decisions you make and the choices you choose are a part of who you are.”

  That was not for argument. That was history.

  ELASHIR:

  “Hezekiah chose. And when he did, it cost hundreds. The Sanguin lost three elders. We lost five Mualim. Don’t romanticize stability, Kadir. You know better.”

  KADIR:

  “Kyon is not Hezekiah.”

  ELASHIR (cutting):

  “Yet you’ve surrounded him with warriors. Kept him close. Taught him control.”

  KADIR:

  “Because he needs a path.”

  ELASHIR:

  “Or a leash.”

  The wind grew sharper, colder. The tension in the Pulse rose.

  ELASHIR:

  What if he becomes a Jazzar? A half-vampire who doesn’t thirst... until he does. And when he does, there’s no stopping him. This time, though, with Psycho Flux. He already overwhelmed an Elder—over a thousand years old—using Vampire Compulsion and Psycho Flux combined, and he couldn’t even control it yet. Hezekiah had Compulsion, yes. But not Flux. Not Psycho Flux. He couldn’t bend the mind of an Elder, not like Kyon did. And Kyon’s just beginning.”

  He could sense Kadir’s hesitation.

  KADIR:

  “Then we make sure he chooses better.”

  ELASHIR:

  “Like we did with Hezekiah?”

  That silence said enough.

  ELASHIR (pressing):

  “He can walk in sunlight. He can survive Arguros steel. Fire only slows him. You think Conrad isn’t planning to sway him? Give him blood. Activate what’s dormant? You felt the boy’s nature.”

  Kadir didn’t answer.

  ELASHIR:

  “Do you think you can stop him… if he drinks?”

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  A pause.

  KADIR:

  “That’s not his path.”

  ELASHIR:

  “It wasn’t Hezekiah’s either.”

  The battle twisted. Echo trembled. Elijah screamed something guttural. One of them—Harvey?—was wounded.

  Elashir clenched his jaw.

  ELASHIR (softening, but stern):

  “We trained Hezekiah. We told ourselves he was the exception. We let our pride blind us. And when we lost control… we called it fate.”

  KADIR:

  “You think I’m blind?”

  ELASHIR:

  “I think you’re hopeful. And hope, Kadir, is a dangerous emotion when sharpened by desperation.”

  The Pulse thinned for a moment, as if Kadir’s energy leaned away—toward the battle. But Elashir pressed again.

  ELASHIR:

  “He’s more than anomaly. He’s a precedent we never wanted to face. A being born of contradiction. And Flux…”

  “…Flux will not forgive the wrong choice.”

  There was no response.

  Only the war happening in the penthouse.

  Only Conrad’s laughter rising, followed by the impact of Elijah’s fury crashing into marble.

  Then—finally—Kadir again:

  KADIR:

  “If he falls… I will do what must be done.”

  Elashir closed his eyes.

  ELASHIR:

  “Then let us pray that you never have to.”

  His Echo Flux flickered.

  He opened his eyes slowly.

  ELASHIR:

  “But what if Conrad wins?”

  There was silence. Not peace. Not the kind born of stillness or serenity, but something sharper—like the edge of a blade held too long in thought. The air between them cooled further, not by wind, but by the weight of consideration.

  Kadir did not answer.

  Elashir turned slightly, eyes still fixed on the golden penthouse that crowned the Helios Hotel across the skyline. Its silhouette stood regal against the deep velvet of the night. A throne, perhaps. Or a snare. Depending on who claimed it.

  ELASHIR:

  "That one..." he exhaled, slow and deliberate. “He's a problem.”

  A flicker of tension moved between them. It didn’t need words to explain itself. It was old. Worn smooth by repetition. The kind of tension only two veterans of hidden wars could carry between them.

  ELASHIR:

  “We don’t know if he belongs to the Mortiferi, or one of the families that sit at the vampire table. No seal. No scent. Not one of the registered names. But his technique... too refined to be some stray.”

  Still no response from Kadir.

  ELASHIR:

  “That’s what troubles me. Whoever he serves, they’ve kept him buried deep. And now he surfaces for him?”

  He didn’t need to say the name. Kyon's presence lingered thick in the unseen energies between them. An echo. A pulse. A question neither of them had answered fully.

  Elashir’s Echo Flux remained in its quiet hum, casting soft pulses that wove around them. There was no alarm in it. Just awareness. But even the Flux seemed hesitant to reach too close to the Hotel’s upper levels. The psychic silence coming from there wasn't emptiness—it was held.

  ELASHIR:

  “If Conrad takes him...”

  He trailed off, as if letting the weight of that possibility finish the sentence.

  ELASHIR:

  “Then he falls into the hands of a faction we can’t trace. Be it the Mortiferi, or some ancient line waiting to make its move. Either way, we lose him. And worse—we give them a weapon they didn’t earn.”

  A low breath escaped Kadir’s nose. Barely audible. But Elashir heard it. And he felt the wave of annoyance that followed it. Like heat pressing against the walls of reason.

  ELASHIR:

  “I know,” he said, finally turning to face the other man, whose gaze remained on the horizon. “You think I exaggerate. That I overcalculate. But tell me, brother... if this Conrad truly does serve the Mortiferi, would it not make sense that they act now? Quietly. Surgically. Before the council ever has to move officially?”

  Kadir’s eyes didn’t flinch. But Elashir saw something twitch in his jaw. A muscle moved. Thought. Discomfort.

  ELASHIR:

  “Mortiferi only step in when the laws of the Families no longer hold,” Elashir continued, voice low but certain. “So if this thing with Kyon threatens to break that balance—then yes, it makes sense they would send someone like Conrad. To retrieve. Or to eliminate.”

  A pause.

  ELASHIR:

  “But I doubt that’s what’s happening here. No... if he were Mortiferi, they would have announced his presence. They act within the law—even if it's the kind only they understand. No, this is something else. Which means—”

  He let the next line dangle.

  ELASHIR:

  “Which means he belongs to a house. A name that prefers to stay hidden. And they want Kyon for their own designs.”

  The words curled in the air between them like cold smoke. Kadir shifted slightly.

  Elashir pressed.

  ELASHIR:

  “And what do you think they’ll do if they get him? Study him? Shape him? You know better.”

  Still, Kadir did not speak. But Elashir could feel it now—tension gathering at the edges of him like storm clouds creeping in behind a mountain.

  ELASHIR:

  “They will break him. Mold him into something useful. A weapon. One that walks in sunlight. One that drinks from both wells.”

  Another long moment passed.

  Then—

  KADIR:

  “Then I’ll kill him before they can.”

  The words fell like a blade. Clean. Measured. Certain.

  Elashir blinked. He studied the man beside him, not for resolve—he knew it was there—but for what lay beneath it.

  ELASHIR:

  “And if you do?” he said softly. “If you strike Conrad, take him off the board—then at least the Council will know he’s not fallen into their enemies’ hands. That’s a play. A message.”

  Kadir didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The calculation had already begun.

  ELASHIR:

  “They’ll see it for what it is. A preventive strike. They won’t thank you for it. But they won’t move immediately either. Gives us room. Gives you room. And the boy—”

  He caught himself.

  ELASHIR:

  “Kyon—may still have a chance. With the right guidance.”

  Silence returned. Heavy. Intentional. But Elashir wasn’t done.

  ELASHIR:

  “Or you could do nothing. And let Conrad take him. And once they shape him into something unrecognizable, something unstoppable—then the Council won’t wait. The Mualim won’t wait. The Order won’t wait.”

  He looked again toward the golden penthouse, and his voice dipped into something colder.

  ELASHIR:

  “Better an enemy you can strike than a friend you must betray.”

  He waited.

  Kadir’s voice came at last, low and tempered by something that felt more like warning than agreement.

  KADIR:

  “I will not let him fall.”

  Elashir nodded.

  ELASHIR:

  “Then you know what must be done.”

  Kadir didn’t answer.

  He didn’t have to.

  Elashir finally turned toward Kadir, reading the quiet in the other man’s stillness. Then, gently, as if threading a needle through old wounds, he spoke again.

  ELASHIR:

  “You know the boy won’t remain hidden forever. Not from us. Not from them. The Mualim will come—if they decide he’s no longer a question worth asking.”

  Kadir’s expression didn’t shift, but the line at his brow deepened.

  KADIR:

  “They haven’t interfered yet.”

  ELASHIR:

  “Because I’ve held them back. I can’t do that much longer. You know how it works. When power starts to bloom in something... uncertain... they don’t wait. They watch. Then they act.”

  He stepped closer to the edge, eyes still on the illuminated crown of Helios, its windows gleaming like distant beacons against the night.

  ELASHIR:

  “I asked for patience. I’ll keep asking. As a favor to you. But you and I both know that sort of favor is on a clock. And it’s ticking.”

  Kadir’s jaw clenched.

  KADIR:

  “I’ve handled worse than eyes in the dark.”

  ELASHIR:

  “This isn’t eyes in the dark, Kadir. This is judgment, waiting to be justified. You know what it would take to tip that scale. One mistake. One fracture. One moment of power surging where it shouldn’t. You think they’ll let him explain?”

  Kadir didn’t answer immediately.

  KADIR:

  “They think he’s another Hezekiah.”

  ELASHIR:

  “No. They think he’s something worse.”

  His voice carried no fear, no flourish. Just fact. The kind that cuts deeper for how calmly it lands.

  ELASHIR:

  “Eight centuries ago, we nearly lost everything. You were there. You remember the signs. The power that came without shape, without control. The boy’s blood isn’t clean. Not by our standards. It doesn’t align with any known path. Not vampire. Not human. Something... adjacent. Hybrid, but volatile.”

  Kadir's hands tightened on the handle of his cane, still watching the battle happening right in front of him.

  ELASHIR:

  “He’s bending the rules, old friend. Bending the laws that kept balance in place. That kind of power doesn’t go unnoticed. And when the consequences come, they won’t come in whispers.”

  KADIR:

  “You think they’ll execute a child to prevent a possibility.”

  ELASHIR:

  “They’ve done worse for less.”

  Another pause. The wind tugged gently at the edges of their coats, a breeze thick with electric quiet.

  ELASHIR:

  “And you’re not the only one watching. We’ve already seen movement. Hunters. Interference. The Order of the Damn didn’t sit still when Hezekiah rose. They won’t now either.”

  Kadir turned to him fully now, eyes sharp.

  KADIR:

  “They’ve already begun.”

  ELASHIR:

  “Some of the hunters killed tonight were theirs.”

  A breath.

  ELASHIR:

  “They still bleed from what Hezekiah did. They’ll see Kyon as the same wound reopening. Half-vampire. Full vampire. Doesn’t matter. They’ve already drawn their line. And you know their leader. He won’t hesitate.”

  KADIR:

  “Obsessed. He always was.”

  ELASHIR:

  “Obsessed—and worse, zealous. You don’t want to know what he’ll do once he confirms what Kyon is. And once he makes the connection to you—”

  KADIR:

  “Then we’ll be hunted.”

  ELASHIR:

  “All of you. Argent Sword won’t be spared. They’ll brand your entire order collaborators. Sympathizers. That’s not scrutiny, Kadir. That’s extermination.”

  The night hummed around them. Neon filtered across the rooftop, bathing their silence in hues of gold and indigo.

  KADIR:

  “They’ve come for us before.”

  ELASHIR:

  “Not like this. Not with this much fear behind them. And you won’t just be protecting Kyon. You’ll be shielding every man and woman who bears your sigil. Every line of history your order has carried.”

  Kadir looked away again, not in avoidance—but in the gravity of the cost. His hand rested lightly on the polished curve of his cane, the worn wood familiar beneath his fingers, as though he were grounding himself in the steady rhythm of the past. Not drawing it—but remembering it.

  KADIR:

  “If I stand still, they’ll take him.”

  ELASHIR:

  “If you act, you start a war.”

  Kadir didn’t flinch.

  KADIR:

  “I’ve seen wars. Survived them.”

  ELASHIR:

  “This one won’t care who survives it.”

  A flicker passed between them. Not conflict—but knowing. The kind of knowing only old friends carry, sharpened by too many years of choices that always asked too much.

  ELASHIR:

  “So what will you choose?”

  Kadir didn’t answer. Not yet. The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was thinking. And the city below, unknowingly perched on the edge of something vast, continued glowing like nothing was wrong.

  But they knew better.