447: The Forbidden Scroll

Location: Sanctum of Echoes, Beneath Vatican Black

The air thickened as the scroll unraveled before Damien, its parchment glistening with ethereal ink. Words shimmered in crimson, as though written in lifeblood. The Scribe stepped back, silent now, watching the heir of House Kane come to terms with a legacy darker than war and deeper than prophecy.

Damien's eyes scanned the ancient script.

> "Born not of one realm, but woven from two—

From fire and shadow, a child who breaks through.

The blood of conquerors, the breath of flame,

Shall rise in time to cleanse the name.

Betrayed at birth, concealed in lies,

He shall awaken when the old blood cries."

He swallowed hard. "This isn't a prophecy about me. This is a confession."

The Scribe nodded. "Your father's lineage was never just that of a global magnate. The Kane bloodline is the last surviving tether to the Ancient Order—keepers of balance. What they did to protect that lineage… it broke the oath."

Nora stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "What did they do?"

The Scribe pointed at the scroll. "They sacrificed the twin."

Damien froze. "What twin?"

Lazarus tensed. "No one told you."

The torches flickered violently.

"You were born with a brother," the Scribe said slowly. "Identical in face. But unlike you, his aura was pure shadow. The Order feared him, feared that two heirs born of the Flame and the Void would tear the world apart. So they chose—only one could live."

Nora gasped. "They killed an innocent child?"

"No," the Scribe murmured. "They tried to. But the child lived… barely. He was taken. Hidden by the remnants of the Void Circle. And now—he returns."

Damien felt the world tilt. His breath turned to fire in his lungs.

"You're telling me my brother is alive? That I've had a twin all this time and no one—no one—told me?"

"He doesn't call himself Kane," the Scribe said. "He goes by another name now. A name feared in the underworld. In whispers, they call him… Dominus."

Damien staggered back. That name.

He had heard it once, in a darkened room in Dubai, from the lips of a dying arms dealer. "Dominus is the ghost of vengeance," the man had whispered. "Not a man. A weapon."

Now it all made sense.

The mysterious attacks. The sabotage. The voices haunting his dreams.

They weren't premonitions.

They were memories—shared blood calling across a chasm of pain and rage.

"I have to find him," Damien said, voice low and burning. "Before he finds me."

"No," Lazarus warned. "If you go to him unprepared, he'll consume you. He's had a lifetime to master his darkness. You've barely scratched the surface of your light."

Damien's fists trembled. "Then I'll master it. I'll forge it in war if I have to. Because if I don't stop him—he won't just take my legacy. He'll burn the world down to reclaim what was stolen."

The chamber shook as if acknowledging the vow.

The Flame pulsed within Damien once more.

War was coming.

But it wasn't between good and evil.

It was between blood.