The chopper's blades sliced through the night one final time before fading into silence, leaving only the heavy breath of magic in the air.
Caveen stepped down onto the moss-carpeted grounds of the ancient Landon estate in Santossa. A chill snaked down his spine.
The place felt alive.
Thick with old enchantments, the kind that whispered in your ear and watched you from the shadows. Ivy strangled the towering stone archways, and solemn-faced gargoyles perched above, their mouths frozen mid-scream. Along the cobbled path, enchanted torches flickered to life one by one, casting a soft, golden glow that barely warmed the cold, eerie atmosphere.
A guard motioned silently, and Caveen followed him through the moonlit garden.
And there—under the massive Elandra Tree, the very soul of the Landon family—stood Carl.
The towering tree pulsed with ancient power, its bark shimmering faintly beneath moonlight. Carved into the trunk were glowing runes, names of the past—each one alive, each one earned. The tree did not lie. It only ever marked what was true.
Carl didn't speak.
He simply lifted a hand and pointed.
Caveen stepped closer, and his breath caught in his throat.
There it was. Fresh. Glowing. Unmistakable.
CAVEEN — A BRANCH EXTENDED
Below it, a hollow had opened in the bark, pulsing with a soft silvery-green light. The tree's mark of a new generation. A child.
His child.
"What the hell…" Caveen's voice was barely a whisper. "That's… impossible."
Carl's eyes didn't waver. His tone cut like ice. "The Elandra only marks true conception. You fathered a child, Caveen. There's no room for doubt."
"I—I haven't—" Caveen took a shaky step back. "I haven't been with anyone. I'd know if—"
"Would you?" Carl snapped, stepping forward. His aura surged, a barely contained storm beneath his skin. "You should know. This isn't just some noble scandal. Our bloodline births power. Raw. Untamed. If the woman isn't prepared—if she's not protected—the child will tear her apart from the inside."
The weight of his words slammed into the silence like a stone dropped in still water.
Caveen's mind reeled. His heart thundered against his ribs. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
"I don't remember ever being with someone," he muttered, voice hollow. "I mean—I would never—"
"Are you sure?" came a gentle voice from behind.
Caveen turned sharply.
Maika.
She stepped from the mansion's shadows, her cloak trailing like mist behind her. Her gaze locked onto his—calm, but sharp. Piercing.
"Caveen," she said softly, "has there ever been a time… where you woke up and something felt wrong? Your memories… fuzzy? Hours unaccounted for?"
His breath hitched.
Something flickered in his mind.
"I…" His brows furrowed. "There was one night. Weeks ago. I was tired after a double shift. Went to a bar. Had a few drinks. Alone."
The taste of bitter scotch coated his tongue again, like a ghost.
"There was music… laughter. And then nothing. I blacked out." His voice shook now. "I woke up in my bed the next morning. Clothes on. No bruises. No pain. I thought—I thought I just passed out from drinking too much…"
Maika stepped closer, gaze narrowing. "Were you wearing your bracelet?"
Caveen nodded, puzzled. "Of course. I always wear it in the city. It suppresses my aura. Keeps the Elites off my scent."
Maika's face turned grim. "Then your magic was cloaked that night. You were completely vulnerable. That's how she did it."
"She?" Caveen repeated, the word sharp with dread. "Who is she?"
But deep down, a cold shiver slithered through him.
Somewhere in his soul, he already knew—
Someone had found him in that darkness.
And they hadn't come in peace.