Chapter 77: The Blood Crown

The forest gave way to rolling hills as they fled, the terrain growing steeper with each labored step. Kael's breath came in ragged gasps, his vision swimming at the edges. The shard in his chest had grown heavier, its dark tendrils now creeping past his elbow, pulsing in time with the pounding in his skull.

Aurelia moved like a woman possessed, her cracked neck still weeping black ichor that stained the collar of her tunic. Every few steps she would glance back, her black eyes scanning the tree line for pursuers.

Lucian brought up the rear, his sword hand steady despite the growing tension in his shoulders. His crimson eyes kept flicking to Kael's corrupted arm, his expression unreadable.

"They're herding us," Aurelia muttered as they crested a hill.

Kael followed her gaze. The landscape ahead dipped into a narrow valley, its floor obscured by thick mist. On the opposite slope stood a crumbling stone structure—half fortress, half ruin—its jagged silhouette backlit by the setting sun.

"The sanctuary?" Kael asked.

Aurelia nodded once, sharp. "Last place left she can't see."

Lucian's grip tightened on his sword. "Then why are we only now going there?"

"Because nothing's free." Aurelia wiped absently at her neck, her fingers coming away slick with black. "Especially not there."

A howl cut through the twilight, closer than before. Kael turned in time to see shadows moving at the tree line—not just the puppets now, but something larger. Something with too many limbs and a mouth that split its face in half.

"Move," Lucian snarled.

They half-ran, half-slid down the steep incline, loose stones skittering beneath their boots. The mist swallowed them whole, damp and cold against Kael's feverish skin. For a few blessed moments, the world narrowed to the sound of their breathing and the crunch of gravel underfoot.

Then the ground leveled out, and the ruins loomed before them.

Up close, the structure was more intact than it had appeared—a fortress of weathered gray stone, its walls pockmarked with age but still standing. The arched entrance bore no door, only a yawning darkness that seemed to breathe outward.

Aurelia hesitated at the threshold, her fingers twitching toward her daggers. "Whatever happens in here," she said quietly, "don't draw blood."

Before Kael could ask, she stepped inside.

The interior was colder than it should have been, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and something faintly metallic. Moonlight filtered through cracks in the ceiling, painting silver streaks across the cracked flagstones.

And at the center of the chamber, waiting for them, stood a figure.

Kael's hand went to his dagger on instinct. The man—if it was a man—stood unnaturally still, his features obscured by a deep hood. His hands, pale as bleached bone, were clasped before him, the fingers too long, too jointed.

"Little shadow," the figure said, his voice like dry leaves rustling. "You've been gone too long."

Aurelia's shoulders tensed. "Had some errands."

The figure chuckled, stepping into a shaft of moonlight. The hood shadowed his face, but Kael caught glimpses of sharp cheekbones, a too-wide mouth. "And you brought guests." His head tilted toward Lucian. "Ah. The lost prince returns."

Lucian's sword point didn't waver. "I don't know you."

"No?" The figure's grin widened. "But you know the name your mother gave you. The one you buried with her corpse."

Kael saw the moment it hit—Lucian's slight stagger, the way his free hand twitched toward his chest as if struck.

"Vladimir," the figure whispered.

The name hung in the air like a curse.

Aurelia stepped between them. "Enough. We need sanctuary."

The figure sighed, his long fingers twining together. "And what will you give me for it, little shadow? You've nothing left to trade."

Kael's corrupted arm throbbed. "What does he want?"

The figure's attention snapped to him, and for the first time, Kael saw his eyes—pale gold and slit-pupiled like a cat's. "Ah. The vessel speaks." He drifted closer, his cloak whispering across the stones. "What I want is irrelevant. The question is—" His cold fingers brushed Kael's blackened forearm. "—what are you willing to lose?"

The shard in Kael's chest screamed.

Visions erupted behind his eyes:

—Aurelia kneeling before a throne of bone, a crown of shadows melting into her brow—

—Lucian—no, Vladimir—standing over a battlefield, his sword dripping black—

—The Original's laughter echoing through time itself—

Kael wrenched free with a gasp, his knees hitting stone. The figure loomed over him, his grin stretching impossibly wide.

"Sanctuary has a price, vessel. Always has." His golden eyes flicked to Lucian. "And I think you already know what it is."

A howl echoed outside the ruins, closer than ever.

Aurelia's daggers were in her hands before Kael could blink. "We don't have time for your games."

The figure sighed, stepping back. "Very well. The price is simple." He pointed one elongated finger at Lucian. "His true name. Spoken aloud. Given freely."

Silence.

Lucian's sword arm trembled. "Why?"

"Because names have power, prince." The figure's grin turned feral. "And yours has been buried too long."

Outside, something heavy slammed against the fortress walls. Dust rained from the ceiling as the howls multiplied, surrounding them.

Aurelia met Lucian's gaze. A silent conversation passed between them.

Finally, Lucian lowered his sword.

"My name," he said, each word heavy as a stone, "is Vladimir Tepes."

The moment the name left his lips, the torches along the walls flared to life, their flames burning an unnatural blue. The figure bowed deeply, his cloak pooling around him.

"Welcome home."