CHAPTER 12: HUNTED BY ASSASSIN’S

The atmosphere became tense. Kaelen slipped into the quiet corridors of House Valerius, Tiara shadowing his steps, the silence between them taut as a bowstring. They reached the Hall of Ash, where towering obsidian braziers burned with blue fire.

That’s where Dame Serenya found them.

"Skipping sleep again, little phantom?" she asked, leaning casually against a marble pillar, her armored gauntlets catching the light.

Kaelen stiffened. Serenya rarely addressed him without her usual veneer of contempt. Tonight, her tone was different , it was measured but almost sharp.

It was obvious she wants something or she wants to pass a message. Tiara glazed at her blankly waiting for what trouble she might want to stir.

"I thought you were supposed to be training in the upper terraces," she said, stepping closer. Her pale eyes glanced at Tiara but focused on him. "Instead, you’re wandering halls with wards humming around your bed. Do you think that’s... coincidence?"

Kaelen frowned. "If you know something, say it."

Their relationship has never been pleasant .

"I know too much," Serenya said, voice clipped. Then she leaned in, low enough that even Tiara had to strain to hear:

"Someone inside the Conclave leaked your survival to an external faction."

She teased them, her face grinned slowly in satisfaction.

She wanted their attention now she had really gotten it .

Tiara’s breath heightened. "Who..."

Serenya raised a gloved hand. "The Hollow Veil. Killers without banners. Assassins who don’t care for coins or crowns. They only believe in death, only contracts."

Kaelen’s gut twisted. He thought of the masked figure that had been spying at him and following him after the meeting with the council. The silent movements, the strike meant for his throat.

"They’ve already tried once."

"They’ll try again," Serenya said simply. "And next time, they won’t miss."

Kaelen studied her carefully, mistrust and gratitude at war in his expression. "Why warn me?"

Serenya smiled faintly, the curve of it cold.

"Because I hate wasted potential. And I want to see how far yours burns... before someone snuffs it out."

By dawn, the Conclave Tower roared with chaos.

The great chamber spiraled upward like a cathedral of crystal and stone, floating shards of runic glyphs orbiting the central dais. Around it, the high seats of the Houses glimmered with banners: Soltair, Marrowind, Valerius.

The discussion wasn’t civil, it was war disguised as words.

"Kaelen Valerius is an anomaly," snarled Archmagister Marrowind, his voice cracking like ice. "An unstable nexus tied to Aether itself. He should be contained as I had advised or better still to avoid future threats, eliminated!"

"Contained?" barked Lady Soltair, slamming her staff against the floor. "He is under my protection until the circumstances of his erasure are understood. You’ll not touch him."

From the Valerius seat, Lord Caelen Valerius, Kaelen’s uncle said nothing, but his silence was heavier than any argument. When he finally spoke, his voice was silk over steel:

"Kaelen is ours. His blood binds him to this House. We alone decide his fate."

But it was Archmage Venra, calm and quiet, who stilled the chamber.

"You’re all missing the point," she said, folding her hands. "Kaelen’s connection is... unnatural. The readings suggest he wasn’t merely born, he was crafted. Perhaps Lysandra forged more than bloodlines when she hid him."

Then a word slipped into the chamber like a blade.

"Aetherborn."

Whispers erupted, sharp and venomous. The label wasn’t a title , it was a curse. Aetherborns were unstable conduits, living vessels capable of breaking entire wards or collapsing ley-lines. The more they grew, the more threat they brought to the source.

Kaelen, listening from the shadowed gallery above, felt the weight of every gaze even though none met his own.

Later, in the silent archives of House Valerius, Tiara found him sitting at the long table of glass and steel, staring at the cracked spine of the Ember Ledger.

She placed something in front of him , a sealed, age-worn envelope marked with Sanctum runes.

"I found it hidden beneath the Ledger’s binding," she whispered. "It’s from Lysandra."

Kaelen’s breath stalled as he touched the seal. The parchment burned faintly beneath his fingertips, responding to his blood.

The letter resisted, locked by encrypted layers of glyphs neither of them could break yet. Only one line emerged, faintly glowing beneath the wards:

"If you are reading this, the Source has already stirred."

Kaelen’s chest tightened.

"The Source..." he whispered.

Tiara frowned. "What is it?"

He shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on the ink. "If I knew... she wouldn’t have hidden it from me."

But in his bones, he felt the weight of, a primordial force buried beneath Luminis, older than the Conclave, older than even the first Aether war.

And Lysandra... had been tied to it.

"There is no time to seek a bond but answers, you need to enhance your power , learn to draw out your power and fight. Remaining here isn’t good for your growth. We need to leave." Tiara advised.

Kaelen was reminded that a target was already placed on his head and those hunting him would stop at nothing till he was gone.

The night came heavy and cold. Kaelen sat with Tiara in his quarters, the letter that he barely read was between them, Echo softly humming at his side.

Then the wards shattered.

The first assassin burst through the western balcony, silent as shadow. Tiara’s blade was in her hand before Kaelen could blink, meeting steel with sparks. A second figure dropped from the rafters lodging at Kaelen. He ducked, quickly grabbing Echo as the construct flared with violent Aether pulses, forcing the masked killer back.

A third assassin came through the door, fast and precise, and Kaelen felt the intent to kill in the air like lightning before a storm. He caught their wrist mid-strike, Aether burning through his veins uncontrolled, and threw them into the wall hard enough to shatter stone.

One assassin fell beneath Tiara’s dagger. Another collapsed after Echo’s Aether pulse overloaded his runes. The third, mortally wounded, staggered close enough for Kaelen to see the pale eyes behind the mask.

With his last breath, he whispered:

"The Silent Seat sends regards."

And then he was gone.

Kaelen stood frozen, chest heaving, staring at the blood pooling on the floor.

The Silent Seat. The title belonged to one of the hidden masters within the Conclave. One of the three who ruled from behind the veil.

His mother’s council... had just sent killers for him.

Smoke still crawled along the ceiling of the west wing when the last body hit the floor.

"Hold!" Dame Serenya’s voice cracked like a whip. "No one enters, no one leaves. Wards move forward."

The sound of heavy steel rasped. Blue sigils kindled along the corridor. Echo stood over a fallen assassin, teeth sunk in black leather. Tiara wiped her blade on a torn sash and flicked gore to the flagstones.

Kaelen pressed a palm to the wall to steady his breathing. "He said it again," he told Serenya. "Before he died. ’The Silent Seat sends regards.’"

Calvess arrived at a tottering half-run, attendants flapping behind him like nervous birds. "Blasphemy. The Silent Seat is ceremonial. A myth within a myth."

"It signed the Ledger," Tiara snapped. "Ceremonial my ass"

Boots hammered. Lord Valerius strode out of the smoke, crimson robe unmarked. He took in the shattered ward-lattice, the bodies, the blood like spilled ink.

"What did you do?" His voice was glacial.

Kaelen lifted his chin. "I didn’t summon them."

"Someone did, and they found you." Valerius glanced at the assassin Echo still pinned. "Alive?"

Serenya nudged Echo’s flank with her knee. "Barely."

"Then we ask questions," Valerius said. "Bring him."

Echo growled but eased back. Two guards hauled the assassin upright. The mask was slick with blood. The man’s eyes were shock-pale, the kind that never remembered color.

Valerius faced him. "Name."

Silence.

Serenya rolled her wrist; a thin blade kissed the man’s ear. "You heard him."

The man’s breath rattled. "No names in the Hollow Veil."

Calvess stiffened. "Low-warren filth. Hired knives."

"Expensive knives," Tiara said. "Their wards slipped past yours."

Valerius’s eyes cut to her. "You think I don’t know that?"

Kaelen stepped forward. "Who hired you?"

The assassin’s gaze slid to Kaelen. "You already know."

"The Silent Seat," Kaelen said.

The man’s mouth twitched. "Regards."

Serenya drove the blade through his shoulder and pinned him to a beam. He screamed, cut short when her gloved hand covered his mouth.

"Payment channel?" she murmured. "Coin, vow, blood?"

"Coin," he gasped. "Marked with a lily and moons."

Calvess’s cone trembled. "A counterfeit."

Tiara stared at him. "Or you’re lying to yourself."

Valerius lifted one finger. The torches along the corridor leaned toward the assassin as if listening. "Frequency of your contact. When?"

"Hours before," he said. "Message left at the Black Niche."

Serenya shot Valerius a look. "Inside the inner rings. Too close."

"Which means an inside hand," Tiara said.

Valerius’s gaze slid back to Kaelen. "You bring knives to my doors and accuse my House of unlocking them."

"I bring truths," Kaelen said. "Even the ones you cut out of your book."

The assassin coughed blood that looked almost black in the ward-light. "Won’t matter," he whispered. "We’ll keep coming."

Serenya leaned close. "Not you."

The assassin smiled, teeth purpled by something he’d already swallowed. He convulsed once and sagged on her blade. The stink of bitter almonds burned the air.

Tiara swore. "Voidglass."