Chapter 4

" Darling,the weather seems perfectly divine,I would love a walk around the gardens, at least to inspect it before the Earl and his party arrive"

" Very well"

The garden stretched out in perfect symmetry, a testament to wealth and power. Roses climbed trellises in neat rows, their blooms heavy with scent, while manicured hedges bordered marble pathways. A gentle breeze carried the soft murmur of fountains, the sunlight dancing on their rippling surfaces.

Lord Edgar strolled leisurely down the path, his silken robes flowing with each step. His cane tapped rhythmically against the stones, a mere accessory to his commanding presence. Beside him, Lady Mildred trailed her gloved fingers across a bed of lavender, her head tilted as though deep in thought. The air was heavy with the smell of blooming flowers and the occasional call of a songbird.

A few steps behind, Caed trailed, carrying a pitcher and moving at a sedate pace whilst they talked covertly amongst themselves, seeming to forget his existence as they conversed. But his mind churned, far removed from the serenity of the scene. The letters—they were all he could think about. He'd found the last one underneath an unfinished scroll on his uncle's mahogany table, unable to make heads or tail from what little he could glimpse in the dying light last night, its contents as cryptic as ever. Why the secrecy? who else knew of him? And how much did they know? He could still see the sharp, angular script in his mind: "The child is the key, Are you prepared to pay?"

As his Uncle and Aunt continued walking, resolve steadying in his heart he knew with certainty that he must make haste to understand their scheme before it cost him his live.

His uncle's booming laugh jolted him back to the present. Caed glanced up to see Uncle Edgar gesturing towards the tulip beds, entirely oblivious to his nephew's inner turmoil. Lady Mildred had turned her serene gaze to Caed, her smile faint, deadly, as if she could sense the unease he desperately tried to mask and basked in his agony.

As they meandered further into the garden, Lady Mildred slowed her pace, allowing Uncle Edgar to move ahead, his booming voice carrying as he admired a cluster of rare orchids. She lingered near a stone bench adorned with ivy, her delicate fingers tracing the intricate carvings. With an inviting glance, she beckoned Caed closer, her smile sharp beneath the guise of gentility.

"You've been awfully quiet today, Caed" she remarked, her tone as smooth as honey yet laced with an undercurrent of malicious intent "Surely a young boy such as yourself has more interesting thoughts than flowers and fountains. Or perhaps... letters?"

Caed stiffened but managed to keep his expression neutral. "Letters, Aunt Mildred?" he echoed, feigning innocence. "I'm not sure I follow."

Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, you do follow, foolish demon spawn. Don't insult me with pretense—it's such a tiresome game when the stakes are this deliciously high."

He swallowed hard, his fingers curling against the fabric of his thinning coat. "I truly don't know what you mean," he said, his voice steady, though the words felt fragile on his tongue, a slight tremor in his voice.

Lady Mildred tilted her head, her golden hair catching the sunlight, as if she were a creature spun from light and shadow. "You're a clever lad, Caed, so I'll give you a hint. Look where the vines gather, the connection thickest, where the light dares not reach. Secrets often find themselves hidden in such places... waiting to be uncovered."

Her gaze lingered on him, watching the flicker of recognition in his eyes with barely concealed delight. "But do be careful," she added, her voice almost playful now. "The truth has sharp edges. It cuts, even as it reveals."

"Why tell me this?" he asked quietly, unable to mask the suspicion in his tone.

She laughed, soft and musical, though it carried no warmth. "Because chaos, my stupid boy, is the spice of life. And nothing is more amusing than watching the pieces of a game shift unexpectedly. Besides," she added, her smile curving wickedly, "your uncle does so hate surprises."

Before he could respond, she straightened, her demeanor effortlessly transforming into one of practiced elegance. "Now, shall we catch up with Lord Edgar? He does get so lonely among his flowers." And with that, she swept forward, leaving Cael rooted to the spot, his mind racing with her cryptic words and the unmistakable malice in her eyes.

Lord Edgar's hearty laugh echoed through the garden just as Caed's foot snagged on the uneven stone path. He stumbled, arms flailing to keep balance, and landed awkwardly against a rose trellis, pitcher broken and digging into his palms. Thorns bit into his skin, and he hissed in pain. Lady Mildred gasped, though her eyes gleamed with barely suppressed amusement.

"Careful, I don't need my gown getting bled on," she said, disgust evident in her voice "One must tread lightly where nature keeps its secrets."

The slight commotion had drawn Lord Edgar's attention, and he strode back toward them, his booming voice full of false paternal warmth. "Goodness, boy! A bit of clumsiness won't kill you. Perhaps you'd best return to the house and clean up." He clapped Caed on the shoulder, far too firmly, before turning back to Lady Mildred and holding out his arm for her "Shall we continue?"

Caed bowed his head, murmuring an excuse, and picking up the large pieces of the broken pitcher, left the pair to their conversation. His heart raced as he made his way to the manor, but not from the sting of the shards . Lady Mildred's words haunted him: "Where the vines gather thickest, where the light dares not reach."

The bedchamber was shrouded in silence when he arrived, its heavy oak door creaking slightly as he pushed it open. Shadows pooled in the corners, and the scent of aged wood and faint incense lingered in the air. His uncle's room was a fortress of wealth—ornate tapestries covered the walls, and a grand canopy bed loomed in the center, its velvet drapes drawn tight like the curtains of a stage.

He moved swiftly, his steps muted on the plush rugs. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any place the magical plants vines might have infiltrated. It wasn't until he reached the far corner, near the towering armoire, that he saw it—a patch of creeping green vines weaving through a crack in the stone wall. They twisted upward, disappearing into the darkness behind the furniture.

With a grunt, Cael pushed the armoire aside, revealing a hidden alcove where the vines curled in tangled knots. His breath caught as he crouched, his fingers brushing the cool stone. There, tucked in a recess, he found a wooden box, its surface smooth but worn with age. The latch gave way easily, and the lid creaked as it opened.

Inside were letters—dozens of them, their parchment yellowed and edges frayed. The scent of ink and wax filled his nose as he lifted the first one, his hands trembling. The handwriting was unmistakable—his uncle's sharp, deliberate strokes.

The words hit him like a blow to the chest.

"I found him in the forest beyond the mountains, still mourning her. The vermin's dragon form though gigantic made useless in his grief, using the concoction of the Ashthorn made it simple. The strike was swift. My blade sang through his heart before he could even roar."

Caed's vision blurred as he read further, the details becoming more gruesome. His father's death had not occurred in battle but rather in tolerated murder—it had been a cold-blooded execution. Worse still, his uncle had desecrated the remains, scattering them to deny him peace in death.

Another letter spoke of the Crown's involvement: "The Hand agrees. The boy will serve his purpose. He need not know the truth until the gateway is ours. Magical creatures must be eradicated, their realm destroyed before they rise again."

He flipped through more letters, his horror deepening. Plans for war. Strategies for genocide. Accounts of atrocities already committed in secret, beings like him ofixed raced chased down and slaughtered. Each word painted a darker picture, and the weight of the betrayal threatened to crush him.

The final letter was addressed to Lord Edgar himself.

"Your nephew will lead us to the gateway. The bloodline is the key. Ensure he remains loyal, or ensure he does not live to see the dawn of our conquest."

The box slipped from his hands, its contents scattering across the stone floor. His breath heaving, tears clouding his vision.

Caed stood still in the dimly lit room, the setting sun streaming faint light through the windows. His body ached from hours of grueling labor in the fields, his mind weighed down by the endless whispers of his harsh torture and repeated words of worthlessness. He heard the heavy thud of boots on the creaky stairs and remaining still as his emotions roared and twirled .His heart raced as his uncle's voice boomed below, his aunt's voice almost placating as they drew nearer to the room

The door to the room burst open, the hinges shrieking in protest. Standing in the doorway was his uncle, towering and broad, his face twisted in fury. In his hand gleamed the silvery edge of a deadly longsword, the surface catching the faint light from the sunlight streaming into the room. Behind him, Caed's aunt leaned against the doorframe, a cruel, satisfied smile curling her lips.

"He's gone too far this time," his uncle spat, stepping closer, his sword raised. "Sheltering that... thing. You think you can hide what you are, boy?"

Caed pressed himself against the wall, his breathing quick and shallow. "You lied , you always lie, always cruel, you beat me and torture me and treat me worse than vermin, you use your words and your hands and the w...whips" he said slowly, anger colouring his words and something hot, bitter and strange surging in his veins.

His aunt laughed softly, the sound dripping with malice. "Oh, you know exactly what you are, Caed. The abomination. The shame your mother brought upon our family." She pushed her husband forward, her smile growing more sinister. "End it. Before he becomes something worse."

The heat inside Caed surged, no longer a flicker but a roaring inferno. His fear melted away, replaced by a seething, all-consuming rage. His uncle lunged, swinging the blade toward him, but Caed's hand shot up, catching the steel with his bare palm.

The sword didn't cut.

Cael stared at his hand in shock as his skin began to shift, darkening and hardening into shimmering scales. The heat in his body erupted, flowing outward as his spine arched, and his bones twisted painfully. His scream turned guttural as horns erupted from either side of his head, curving upward like the crescent moon. His fingers elongated, the nails thickening into razor-sharp claws.

The room seemed to shrink around him as his body expanded, his shoulders broadening, his breath steaming in the freezing air. His uncle stumbled backward, the sword falling from his grip, his face pale with terror.

"What… demon spawn so you accept your filthy nature?" he roared, his voice rising.

Caed's glowing golden eyes locked onto him, blazing with fury and pain. "What you've always feared," he growled, his voice deeper and laced with a draconic rumble.

His aunt screamed, her devious smile replaced by abject horror. She scrambled toward the door, but Caed's claws dug into the wooden floor, splintering it as he stepped forward. "You pushed me," he snarled, his voice a mix of human anguish and beastly wrath. "You made me this."

The air in the room grew unbearably hot, the faint scent of smoke wafting through the air as Caed's body trembled under the weight of his transformation. He clenched his fists, his claws digging into his palms as he fought the urge to lose himself entirely.

For a moment, the rage threatened to consume him, to swallow him whole. But as his uncle glowered and his aunt paled, Caed turned his gaze inward, wrestling with the chaos. His draconic instincts roared for in pain and anger, unable to wrestle with years of pain, it spilled out.

Caed pressed himself against the wall, his breathing uneven. His chest burned with a strange heat that he didn't understand, a pressure building and growing by the second. "I didn't- I don't-" he stammered, but the words caught in his throat.

The pressure inside him exploded. His roar tore through the air, shaking the walls, and with it came fire- unstoppable, searing, and wild. Flames burst from his mouth in a blinding torrent, engulfing the room in an instant.

His uncle screamed, the fire swallowing his sword hand and searing his flesh. The blade fell to the floor with a clang as his uncle stumbled back, his arm blackened and useless. His aunt shrieked, throwing herself to the ground as the flames licked across her face, leaving one side horribly burned and disfigured.

The room filled with the acrid stench of charred wood and flesh. Smoke billowed around Caed, choking him as the fire subsided. He stared at the wreckage in horror-his uncle writhing on the ground, clutching his mangled arm, and his aunt crawling toward the door, her once-pristine face now a mask of agony.

"I..." Caed whispered, his voice trembling. His hands were shaking, his vision blurred by tears. "I didn't mean to-"

But the damage was done. The heat still swirled inside him, but now it was joined by terror and fear. Unable to think, unable to breathe, Caed turned and ran.

He bolted past their broken forms, down the narrow staircase, and out into the cold night air. The forest somehow accepting him and covering his passage.