Luther moved through the ancient halls like a shadow woven into the stone itself. The deeper he walked, the quieter the castle grew, until even the torches seemed afraid to burn too loud. This wing was restricted—only a handful of guards stationed here, the kind who didn't need armor or weapons to tear an intruder apart. They stood still as statues as he passed, bowing faintly in recognition but never speaking.

He walked through three archways, down a long, curved corridor carved into dark marble, then stopped at a pair of towering doors marked with old runes—doors that only opened inward, controlled from within.

Before he could knock, the runes glowed a soft red.

The doors slid open on their own.

Inside, the chamber was dim—red candles lit the corners, shadows stretching long across the floor. Thick curtains draped the walls, swallowing sound. A faint scent of old incense lingered in the air.

Luther stepped inside and closed the doors behind him.

"Lord Eryndor," he called softly. "I was told you wished to see me."

The bed in the back of the chamber was massive, carved from obsidian and softened by dark sheets. Eryndor lay there, partially propped up, pale hair spilling over his shoulders. His eyes—bright, sharp, ancient—opened the moment Luther spoke.

"Yes," Eryndor said. "Tell me about Xavier. Has he awakened?"

"He woke up yesterday," Luther replied.

Eryndor's gaze sharpened. "And where is he now?"

"He… left the castle today."

A beat of stillness passed—long enough to reveal Eryndor's irritation without a single word spoken. He shifted slightly on the bed, fingers tapping once against the sheet.

"I had hoped," Eryndor said, "that you would inform me the moment he regained consciousness."

Luther bowed his head. "I did not wish to disturb your rest."

Eryndor gave a quiet, humorless huff. "Do not insult me, Luther. I may be old, but I am not blind. You did not want me to meet him."

Luther straightened, expression steady. "That is not true, my lord."

Eryndor's eyes narrowed. "You forget that I have known you since before you were in your father's testicles. I know every tone you hide your lies behind."

Luther stiffened—not enough to be disrespectful, but enough to show Eryndor had struck the truth dead center.

But he still answered, firm, without cracking.

"My lord, I assure you. I do not lie. I had no such intention."

Eryndor's lips twitched, almost amused, but not quite. He leaned back, studying Luther with a predator's patience.

"Oh, Luther," he murmured. "You are loyal. Fiercely so. But do not pretend your loyalty does not make you… cautious."

Eryndor let Luther's silence hang for a moment before shifting slightly on the bed, the red candlelight sliding across the sharp lines of his face.

"How was his condition?" Eryndor asked. "Any side effects? Anything… unstable?"

Luther shook his head. "Nothing. No defects. No changes. He woke up, acted like a monkey as usual, and walked out of the castle like nothing happened." He paused. "Even though he had a vampire awakening, he's still fully human. No fangs. No blood-thirst. No shifts. Nothing in his body changed."

A faint spark flickered in Eryndor's eyes—not surprise, but interest.

"Xavier's body is… unusual," Eryndor murmured. "A layered constitution. Something dormant, buried deep. Something even your senses can't read yet."

Luther's jaw tightened. "My lord… only my closest aides and a few elders know we used the Orbs of Infinity on him. If the rest of the council finds out, they'll go mad. I'm not ready to deal with their shouting and their politics. I am tired of their bickering and nonsensical arguments."

Eryndor waved a hand like the noise of the council was beneath him. "Let them scream. Let them debate. In the end, once Xavier becomes what the prophecy foretold, they will kneel. They will fall silent."

"With all due respect," Luther said, voice firm, "I don't think Xavier is that person. He's reckless. Immature. He's not fit to lead anyone, let alone rule."

Eryndor smiled faintly, the kind of smile that held centuries of patience. "Time will tell, Luther. Help him. Guide him. As much as you can."

Luther didn't answer.

Because he had no intention of helping Xavier with anything.

He bowed instead. "Rest, my lord. I will take my leave."

Luther had barely turned toward the doors when Eryndor's voice cut through the chamber again—soft, but firm enough to stop him mid-step.

"Luther."

He paused, spine straightening before he looked back.

Eryndor lifted a hand. "Before you go… meet your brother. Inform him of Eleanor's engagement ceremony."

Luther's expression froze.

"My lord," he said slowly, "you know he hates humans more than anything that breathes. That hatred is why you locked him in the lower prison for a decade. Because he kept killing them. Because he refused to 'control himself'".

"And if I go to him," Luther continued, "and tell him Eleanor is to be engaged to a human—Lucas Blackwood, no less—someone from the line that presumably funded wars against our kind…"

A small, bitter laugh escaped him. "He'll go berserk. He'll tear the place apart."

Eryndor's gaze sharpened. "It is still your duty to inform him."

He leaned forward, studying Luther with an old, tired disappointment. "And if you're so afraid of your own brother… perhaps you are the one walking the wrong path."

Luther didn't react, but the stillness in him became absolute.

Eryndor watched him with mild amusement. "Composed, as always, Luther. But tell me something…"

A faint smirk crossed his lips. "Wouldn't Xavier be a better choice for Eleanor? They care for each other. They love each other."

Luther gave no answer.

He simply bowed once—stiffer this time—and walked out, closing the heavy doors behind him without a single word.

Eryndor watched the empty space he left behind, the faint trace of a smile touching his lips.

"Ah, Luther… still the same as ever," he murmured.

When he was alone again, Eryndor leaned back, eyes half-closed, and let out a long, quiet sigh.

"Luther…" he whispered to the empty room. "Once, you believed in destiny more fiercely than anyone. Once, you were the one who carried hope like a blade. Now look at you."

His gaze drifted to the ceiling, lost in thoughts older than the castle itself.

"Fear has made you small," he murmured. "And the boy… the boy may be the one thing that forces you to face what you've been running from all this time."

The candles flickered as if reacting to his words.

And Eryndor closed his eyes, sinking into the darkness of his own restless past.