Chapter 22: Bloodlines in Bloom

The Ravencall Summit had cracked the kingdom open like a fault line splitting through ancient stone.

By dawn of the seventh day, messengers on swift-footed horses were riding in every direction, carrying signed copies of the Charter of Blades. Seals dripped with fresh wax, oaths carved into steel. The queen's agents were fleeing or dying. And the realm was watching.

But Caelan Seraphine had not yet tasted victory.

Not truly.

Because what the Council didn't know — what he had not spoken aloud even to Vale — was that the Charter was not only a political weapon.

It was bait.

The sun was pale when Caelan entered the southern wing of Ravencall's spire library.

Few came here. It was too old, too forgotten, the scrolls layered with time and soot. Shelves sagged under the weight of untouched dynasties. And in its center stood an iron-banded gate sealed by forgotten enchantments.

Only one sigil could open it: a bloodline crest of House Seraphine, burned in bone.

Caelan pressed his hand to the old stone plaque beside the gate.

He didn't know what he expected — rejection, pain, nothing at all — but the moment his skin met the carved emblem, the wall trembled.

Then, slowly, it opened.

Inside, dust danced like snowflakes caught in golden light. The chamber beyond was circular and lined with black marble shelves. Each one contained books, scrolls, and something stranger: bones, preserved in crystal vials and labeled by name and rank.

Ancestral memory. The hidden vault of the Seraphine family.

This was what the Charter had bought him — not power, not allies.

Access.

He walked past rows of names he barely recognized. Lords and rebels. Matriarchs and war-mages. One bore his mother's name: Seraphine Valen, Blood Seer.

He stopped.

His breath caught.

Her vial wasn't empty.

Inside was a single sliver of bone — so small it could've been a finger's knuckle — suspended in humming silver liquid. Beneath it, a line of runes etched in red said:

One truth kept. One lie buried. Ask and bleed.

Caelan swallowed.

He understood now.

This was how House Seraphine passed down memory — through blood-forged vision. You bled into the vial. You asked, and the bone answered.

A truth. And a lie.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

He took the dagger from his belt and, with a steady hand, slashed his palm.

"Why did you die?" he whispered.

The blood dripped into the vial.

The liquid ignited in blue flame.

And suddenly, the world ripped open.

He stood in a throne room, younger, watching through his mother's eyes.

She knelt before Queen Ariadne. Her arms bound. Her magic sealed.

The queen's voice, honey-smooth and monstrous: "You loved him, didn't you?"

Seraphine's voice: hoarse. "He was my husband."

"You dared breed with a shadowblood. You bore his child. That's treason, Seraphine."

"He was loyal. He died for you."

"He was a monster."

"No," Seraphine whispered. "He was my peace."

A snap.

The vision shattered.

Caelan stumbled backward, heart pounding.

His father — the one no one had named — was a shadowblood. A descendant of the forbidden line. One of the Nightborn.

No wonder the crown had erased him. No wonder Caelan's name had been wiped from the books.

He wasn't just a noble son.

He was the heir to something far older.

Vale found him hours later, still standing in the vault, hand wrapped in torn cloth.

"You should've told me you'd come here," Vale said quietly.

Caelan didn't turn. "I needed to see it alone."

"What did you learn?"

"…That the Queen was afraid of me before I was born."

He looked at Vale, eyes cold and clear.

"And she was right to be."

Back in the war council chamber, Lys delivered word of movement in the capital.

"Queen Ariadne has summoned the Blackguard," she said.

Silence.

Even Vale flinched.

The Blackguard weren't soldiers.

They were executioners.

Each one bound by oath to the royal bloodline. Each one touched by ancient magic and trained to kill kings, lords, and gods.

"She's sending them here?" Caelan asked.

"Not yet. They're gathering. Preparing. Something more… intricate is in motion."

Vale studied Lys. "And you know this how?"

Lys didn't blink.

"I used to be one of them."

The room exploded in noise.

Vale drew steel. The guards surged forward.

Caelan only raised a hand.

"Stop."

Lys removed one glove and placed her left hand palm-up on the war table.

A rune burned in her skin — black, writhing, shaped like a thorned circle.

"The mark of the Blackguard," Vale said, voice ice.

"I served once," Lys said. "Then I faked my death and swore new vows. To you."

"Why now?" Vale demanded.

"Because the queen is sending my replacement," Lys said. "And she'll kill everyone in this fortress if we don't stop her."

That night, the council reconvened in secret.

Caelan stood at the head of the table, flanked by Vale and Lys.

"The war has changed," he said. "This is no longer about borders or banners."

He turned over a map of the capital.

"It's about bloodlines. And what they're hiding."

He pointed to a shaded district within the palace.

"Here lies the crypt of kings. But according to Seraphine records, it's also the resting place of the first Nightborn — the origin of my father's line."

He looked each lord in the eye.

"I need to go there. And I need time."

Lord Corven narrowed her eyes. "What do you expect to find?"

"A weapon," Caelan said. "Or a truth sharp enough to kill the crown."

Two nights later, Caelan rode for the capital in disguise, cloaked in shadow and flame.

Beside him were Vale and Lys.

Behind him rode fifty of the best scouts from House Halren.

Their mission was simple: infiltrate the palace, reach the crypt, and uncover what Queen Ariadne had killed to bury.

What they found waiting beneath the city would break the past wide open.