Reveal

The fire crackled softly in the grand study, casting long shadows across the walls. A man with silver hair sat in a high-backed chair, his piercing eyes fixed on the flames. Opposite him, cloaked in black, another figure leaned forward, his voice low but firm.

"Why not make him your heir?" the man in black asked, his gaze unwavering. "Erchid, I mean. He has all the qualities needed to take over after you. He's more qualified than Eric. And we both know he's not just some random brat you took in—he's your biological son."

The silver-haired man—The Conductor—exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around his glass.

"You loved Frances," the man in black continued. "And he was her child. You only went looking for him after finding out she had been killed. And we both know your wife did it. If she had found the boy, she would've killed him too."

The Conductor's expression darkened.

"Erchid has it all—the strength, the leadership, the ability to make the hard choices. He deserves the title."

A long silence hung between them before the Conductor finally spoke. "I can't make Erchid my heir. He might be my firstborn, but he's still illegitimate. Eric has been raised as heir since birth. No one would accept Erchid taking his place."

The man in black sighed. "You're right. But when you die, you know she'll try to get him killed."

The Conductor's voice was quieter now, almost resigned. "I know, my friend. I know you'll keep him safe."

A figure hidden in the shadows held his breath, heart pounding as he listened.

"Father…" he whispered.

Then something pulled him back—

Erchid's eyes shot open.

The ceiling above him was cracked, moss creeping through the rotting wood. Dust filled the air, carrying the scent of decay and time forgotten. His body ached—a dull, persistent pain radiating from his abdomen. When he tried to move, agony flared up, and a groan escaped his lips.

A soft gasp.

At the window, a golden-haired figure sat, her head resting against the sill, fast asleep. Vanessa.

His groan had woken her. She blinked rapidly, as if unsure she was truly awake. Then her eyes locked onto him, wide with shock, glistening with unshed tears.

"You're… finally awake," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Erchid swallowed, his throat dry. "Me…?"

He tried to sit up, but pain lanced through him. His torso was wrapped in thick bandages, the fabric stained with remnants of dried blood.

"How long… have I been unconscious?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Vanessa hesitated before answering. "A month."

His eyes widened. "A month?"

She nodded, stepping closer. "What happened to you, Erchid? How did you get injured? And don't lie to me."

Silence stretched between them. He looked away, unwilling—or unable—to answer.

Vanessa sighed. "It's fine if you don't want to tell me now. But I'll wait for the day you do."

Her voice wavered. "When I was treating you… I saw your scars. So many of them. I don't know what kind of life you've lived, but at this rate… you're going to get yourself killed." She clenched her fists. "And I don't think I can bear to see your lifeless body again."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent yet heavy with emotion.

Erchid watched her, something unfamiliar stirring within him. Someone—truly, desperately—cared for him.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. "I'm sorry for making you worry, Vanessa. I promise… I'll tell you everything."

For now, that was all he could give.

And for now, she accepted it.

Days passed.

Rain poured steadily outside, a rhythmic drumming against the worn wooden roof. A chill clung to the air, but inside the dimly lit room, the fire crackled faintly, casting flickering shadows. 

Erchid sat by the window, his back to Vanessa, the distance between them feeling heavier than the silence that filled the space. His mind felt foggy, memories slipping through his grasp like water through open fingers. 

Then, finally, he spoke. 

"My mind is a mess," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't remember much from when I was young. I can't even remember what my mother looked like." 

Vanessa glanced at him, startled by the rawness in his voice, but she remained quiet, letting him continue. 

"We were poor. Some nights, we barely ate. She'd come back late, covered in bruises. I never asked what happened to her." He exhaled sharply. "But I knew. Even as a child, I knew." 

His fingers curled into fists. "She sold her body so I could live. And then, one night… she never came back." 

The rain seemed to fall harder, the weight of his words sinking into the air between them. 

"That was when everything changed," he murmured. "I had to survive. I stole. Lived on the streets. Learned that you couldn't trust anyone. I ended up with a group of thieves, stealing whatever we could and selling it for scraps." 

He swallowed, his throat dry. 

"When I was eight, I tried to steal food. The store owner caught me—an innocent man, really. He grabbed me, lifted me off the ground. I panicked, pulled out a knife, and slashed his eye. He lashed out, grabbed a shard of broken glass, and stabbed me in the neck." 

Vanessa sucked in a breath, horror flashing across her face. 

"Out of instinct… I drove my knife into his skull." 

A heavy silence stretched between them. Erchid's voice was eerily calm, but his shoulders trembled. "I lay there in the rain, bleeding out beside the man I had just killed. I thought it was over. That my life would end there, in the filth, in the cold." 

He exhaled slowly. "But then he came. The Conductor. He found me at death's door and pulled me into his world." 

Vanessa's breath hitched. "The Conductor… you mean the Conductor? The ruthless King of the Underworld?" 

A bitter smirk tugged at Erchid's lips. "Yes. The man even the royal family didn't dare cross." His fingers traced the old scar on his neck. "I didn't know the truth at first. He raised me, trained me. Taught me how to kill. He always said, 'Life has no mercy. So take it before it takes you. And I believed him." 

Vanessa remained silent, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress. 

"I killed for him. Out of loyalty. Out of desperation. I thought if I did enough, I'd earn his approval. His recognition. By the time I was fifteen, I had gained the title " Mystique, the faceless assassin." His voice dropped lower. "It was around that time I overheard him speaking to his friend. That's when I found out the truth. He was my father." 

Vanessa's lips parted, but no words came out. 

"He never told me. Never once called me his son. And his wife—the woman he married—she was the one who had my mother killed. She wanted me dead too, but he found me first. When he died, his closest friend kept his promise. He took me away, hid me, made sure she wouldn't get to me." 

A long pause. 

"I had nothing left. Nothing but the skills he gave me. So I opened a tavern. And I kept killing. Because it was all I knew." His voice faltered. "But now… something's different." 

He turned slightly, his gaze finally meeting Vanessa's. 

"You changed something in me, Vanessa. I don't even know what's happening to me anymore." 

Before he could say more, Vanessa moved. 

She crossed the room in an instant, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Her warmth seeped into his body, grounding him, pulling him away from the abyss. 

"You're not alone anymore," she whispered. "You don't have to carry this by yourself, Erchid." 

For a moment, he didn't move. He wasn't sure how to react to something so… gentle. But when Vanessa pulled away and stood before him, her eyes filled with something he couldn't quite name, he felt a strange sense of relief. 

"I know it wasn't easy for you to say all of that," she said softly. 

Erchid got to his feet, his eyes locked onto hers. The storm outside raged on, but between them, something quieter, something deeper, stirred. 

Vanessa hesitated, as if wanting to say something more. "I… I also have something to—" 

She didn't get to finish. 

Gently, Erchid reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "You don't have to force yourself. Tell me when you're ready." 

His hand trailed down from her cheek, along her shoulder, until it rested on her waist. The space between them disappeared, their breaths mingling, hearts pounding. 

There was no hesitation as they drew closer. No uncertainty. 

Then, finally, he kissed her. 

The storm outside howled, wind slamming against the windows, but inside, the air was thick—charged with something far more dangerous than lightning.

Erchid's hand trailed down Vanessa's back, his fingers burning a path over her skin, slow and deliberate. The moment their lips met, it wasn't a gentle exchange—it was raw, hungry, filled with every unspoken word between them.

Vanessa's breath hitched as his grip tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him, her body molding against his as if she belonged there. She did. His lips left hers only to find the sensitive curve of her throat, his breath hot, his tongue flicking against her skin before his teeth grazed over her pulse.

A shiver ran through her, her fingers gripping his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin.

Erchid groaned at the sharp bite of pain, his hands moving lower, fingers tracing the fabric of her dress before finding the laces. One by one, he undid them, each loosened string another barrier falling between them. The dress slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her waist before sliding down completely, leaving her bare beneath his gaze.

His breath came uneven now, his hands moving over her skin as if memorizing every inch. His scars were stories of his survival, but her softness—the warmth beneath his touch—was something he had never known.

And then, his hands moved higher, over the curve of her waist, fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path until they found her breasts. His palms covered them fully, his thumbs grazing over the sensitive peaks, teasing, coaxing a quiet gasp from her lips.

Vanessa trembled under his touch, her head tipping back as pleasure curled through her, sharp and unexpected. His grip tightened slightly, kneading, exploring, his mouth following, lips brushing against her collarbone before trailing lower, his tongue flicking over her skin in slow, torturous strokes.

"Erchid," she breathed, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He looked up at her through heavy-lidded eyes, dark with hunger, his breath warm against her heated skin. "You're beautiful," he murmured, voice rough, almost reverent.

Vanessa reached for him, fingers trembling yet determined as she worked his garment loose. She wanted to see him—not just the assassin, not just the legend whispered in the dark—but the man beneath. As the fabric dropped away, she took him in, eyes tracing the hard lines of his body, the scars that told his past, the strength carved into every muscle.

She reached out, fingers ghosting over the deepest scar across his chest.

Erchid caught her wrist, his grip firm yet hesitant. "Vanessa…"

She met his gaze, unafraid, unwavering. "I want to know all of you."

His restraint snapped.

In one swift motion, he pulled her against him, his body pressing her down onto the bed, skin against skin, heat against heat. Their breaths tangled, heavy and desperate. His hands roamed lower, teasing, tracing, discovering.

Vanessa gasped as his lips moved down her body, slow, torturous, igniting something deep within her that she had never felt before. She arched beneath him, her body surrendering, welcoming.

Erchid's hands gripped her thighs, parting them with the same possessive certainty with which he took lives—but this time, there was no death in his touch, only devotion.

The storm outside raged, but inside, there was only fire. And when they finally gave in, when they finally became one, it wasn't just passion—it was the claiming of something neither had realized they were missing.

Each touch, each kiss, each ragged breath spoke of something deeper. Something dangerous.

Because for the first time, Erchid wasn't just taking—he was giving.

And Vanessa?

She was willing to take all of him.