The Bloodline’s Burden

The storm battered the keep, its howling winds pressing against the stone walls like a restless beast. Inside, Ravenglade was eerily quiet, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows down the corridors.

Seraphina followed Alistair through the winding halls, her mind far from the cold that seeped into her bones.

The sword. The visions.

His *brother.*

That revelation had shifted something in her understanding of Alistair. He had always been an enigma, but now, she could sense the weight of something unspoken pressing down on him.

And the way he had looked at her in that chamber—

She clenched her fingers.

The sword had called to her. She had felt its pulse, the whispered promise of something *forgotten.*

But Alistair had reacted differently.

He had not reached for it. Had not touched it.

He had *feared* it.

"Why do you keep it locked away?" she asked at last, her voice quiet against the hush of the halls.

Alistair did not stop walking. "Because it is dangerous."

Seraphina frowned. "A sword is only as dangerous as the one who wields it."

His jaw tightened. "Then consider why it called to you."

She stopped walking. "You think I'm dangerous?"

He halted, his shoulders rigid, as if he regretted saying the words aloud. Slowly, he turned to face her. His silver eyes held something unreadable.

"I think the sword remembers something," he said at last. "And I don't know if that should comfort you or terrify you."

Seraphina shivered, though not from the cold.

She didn't look away. "Then tell me what you do know."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Not tonight."

It was a dismissal.

And yet…

His voice held something else, something quieter.

Not avoidance.

Hesitation.

As if he wanted to tell her. As if *he couldn't.*

Seraphina exhaled slowly. Pushing him now would yield nothing. Not yet.

Without another word, she stepped past him and into her chamber.

The door closed behind her, sealing the conversation away.

But not the questions.

Never the questions.

---

The fire had long since burned low when Seraphina finally left her bed.

Sleep had not come, chased away by the storm raging both outside and within her thoughts.

She threw on her cloak, moving soundlessly to the door.

Answers would not come in dreams.

And Alistair was not the only keeper of secrets in this place.

---

The corridors of Ravenglade stretched out before her, empty in the dead of night. The torches had burned low, their light barely enough to cast a glow against the ancient stone.

She moved carefully, mindful of the creaking floorboards, the patterns of the guards.

She had spent enough time within these walls to know the keep's rhythms. And she knew where she needed to go.

Alistair's study.

She had glimpsed it before—a room lined with tomes and scrolls, ancient texts written in languages she could barely recognize.

If there were answers to be found, they would be there.

She reached the door and pressed her ear to the wood.

Silence.

Still, she hesitated only a moment before slipping inside.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle, its flame barely stirring in the still air. The scent of parchment and ink lingered, mingling with the faint trace of something metallic.

She stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the desk.

Books. Stacks of papers.

And there—

A leather-bound tome.

Seraphina reached for it, running her fingers over the embossed cover. The markings were familiar.

*The same runes that had shimmered on the blade.*

Her breath caught.

Slowly, she opened the book.

The pages were filled with old script, symbols that pulsed faintly under the candlelight. Some she recognized from the texts she had studied in the past—fragments of forgotten magic, histories buried in time.

But there was one name that stood out among the rest.

*Ronan Valcrest.*

She stared.

Alistair's brother.

She had expected as much, but seeing his name written in the same ink that detailed the sword's history sent a chill down her spine.

She traced the words, reading carefully.

*Last bearer of the Nightbane blade. Vanished beyond the Black Vale.*

The Black Vale.

Seraphina frowned. The name was familiar, but distant—a place spoken of in whispers, where the old magics still lingered.

She turned the page—

"You shouldn't be here."

The voice was low. Quiet.

But no less sharp.

Seraphina froze.

Slowly, she turned.

Alistair stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his silver eyes darker than before.

She did not miss the way his gaze flickered to the book in her hands.

Neither did she miss the way his fingers curled slightly, as if resisting the urge to snatch it away.

"You knew I wouldn't stop looking," she said, closing the tome.

Alistair exhaled through his nose, stepping further into the room. "You should have."

His voice was calm, but there was something beneath it.

Something like *warning.*

Seraphina held her ground. "Ronan was the last to wield the sword."

A flicker of something crossed his face, gone too quickly to name.

She pressed on. "And he disappeared beyond the Black Vale."

Alistair did not reply.

But the silence spoke for him.

Seraphina tightened her grip on the book. "Why do you fear the sword?"

Alistair finally moved, stepping closer. "Because I saw what it did to him."

The weight of his words settled between them.

Seraphina's pulse quickened. "The sword took him?"

Alistair's silver eyes met hers, something ancient lurking in their depths.

"No," he said. "He *chose* it."

She swallowed. "Then he's not dead."

Alistair's lips pressed into a thin line. "Not in the way you understand."

A gust of wind slammed against the window, rattling the panes.

Seraphina barely noticed.

She had set out for answers.

She had found something far worse.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.

Alistair looked away.

"Because knowing changes things," he said. "And you are already tangled in this more than you realize."

Seraphina's fingers tightened around the book.

She had known, from the moment she had touched the sword, that she had stepped onto a path from which she could not turn back.

Now, she understood just how deep that path ran.

She exhaled slowly, willing her heart to steady. "Then tell me the rest."

Alistair studied her for a long moment.

And then—

"You're certain you want to know?"

She nodded.

His gaze darkened.

"Then you should prepare yourself," he murmured. "Because the truth is not kind."

---