Vengeance Through Passion

Lord Blackwell, draped in the rich, dark robes that signified his status, entered the grand chamber with an air of unhurried authority. The council was already seated, their voices quieting as his heavy footsteps echoed against the stone floor. It was his meeting, after all, and though he was the last to arrive—save for his brother, of course—none dared to begin without him.

The hall itself was an opulent display of Fire Clan power. Towering stone walls were adorned with ancient banners, their flames embroidered in deep crimson and gold. A long table stretched across the room, polished to a reflective sheen, with chairs lining both sides. Each seat was occupied by the most powerful lords and rulers of the Fire Clan, their expressions varying between grave concern and thinly veiled frustration.

Blackwell’s face remained calm as he strode to the head of the table, where a large, intricately carved chair awaited him. With a barely perceptible nod, he took his place, his cold, steely gaze sweeping over the assembly before finally settling on Ravenscar, who walked toward the near end, swirling a goblet in hand, his robe carelessly draped over his bare chest, and now lounged in his chair, seemingly indifferent to the importance of the meeting.

“I assume we all know why we have gathered here,” Blackwell said, his voice deep and commanding. The room fell utterly silent, every ruler and official now focused solely on him. He let the pause hang for a moment, ensuring he had their full attention.

“More knights need to be dispatched around the borders and the city gates,” he continued, his tone clipped, leaving no room for argument. “The abductions have increased, and we must tighten security if we are to keep the Fire Clan lands safe.”

Before he could elaborate further, a man seated halfway down the table—one of the lesser lords, his face flushed with anger—interjected loudly. “Hell! Those kidnappers are nothing but thieves from Zephyriion. Why waste our resources sending more knights? The issue doesn’t even concern us directly.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Another lord spoke up, his voice sharp. “He’s right. Our knight numbers are already low. Too many have been dispatched to investigate the case of the missing Yazaki and the issue of State of Emergency. If we want to maintain our forces, we’ll have to increase taxes.”

The room buzzed with heated discussion, the lords voicing their concerns in a low hum. But Lord Blackwell merely raised a hand, and the noise died instantly.

“Hm, very well,” he said coolly. “You are free to increase taxes in your own states if you wish. But do not forget—those steps are controlled by Eolara. This council must follow the proper channels.” His eyes glinted with restrained impatience. “Back to the matter at hand. A total of forty-four women have gone missing since the last new year. It is quite an alarming number.”

Before he could continue, a sharp scream pierced the air, echoing faintly from somewhere beyond the chamber walls. The assembled lords froze, and the room fell into uneasy silence. All eyes turned toward Ravenscar, who was grinning, his sharp, wolfish smile spreading wider.

“Must be one of the ladies in my chambers,” he said with a careless chuckle. “They must be getting busy without me.” His voice oozed arrogance as he stood, stretching his arms as though the meeting had been little more than a tiresome diversion.

The rest of the council sat in awkward silence, some casting disgusted glances in his direction. Even Blackwell’s typically impassive expression darkened for a brief moment, though he quickly composed himself.

“The rest of the topics have been addressed as needed,” Ravenscar continued, running a hand through his dark hair. “As for security, I’ll dispatch guards from my citadel to join the Field of Arms.” He clapped his hands together, the movement causing his already loose robe to slip down further, revealing more of his bare body than anyone cared to see. A collective groan of disapproval rose from the lords, and one or two visibly recoiled.

Oblivious to the wave of distaste, Ravenscar continued. “My brother here,” he gestured lazily toward Blackwell, “will handle the rest.” His words seemed more a dismissal than an actual statement of responsibility.

Blackwell remained silent, his jaw clenched slightly as he observed the scene unravel. He had long since grown tired of his brother’s antics, but in this moment, he couldn’t afford to let Ravenscar’s behavior detract from the seriousness of the situation.

Ravenscar, meanwhile, grabbed his goblet and took a large sip. Almost immediately, he spat the milky contents out with a look of disdain.

“It’s gone cold,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned on his heel, not bothering to acknowledge the council any further, and strode out of the room, leaving the goblet on the table as if the meeting hadn’t concerned him in the slightest.

Once the doors had closed behind him, the room fell into an awkward silence. Blackwell straightened in his chair, his sharp gaze now fixed on the council members. “We will continue this discussion without further distractions,” he said, his voice cold. “The security of the realm is not up for debate.”

***

Somewhere in Xylaris

It was a sight to remember, and not in a good way.

Aricia stood there, staring in disbelief at the state of the room. It wasn’t the half-naked man lounging casually on the bed that caught her attention, but rather the utter chaos of the surroundings. Clothes were strewn across the floor, papers and books were scattered haphazardly, and there was an odd smell lingering in the air—something between smoke and old wood.

Her gaze flickered nervously to the man in the bed, the very same man she had encountered in the market. At the time, she had no idea he was connected to the Fire Clan, let alone a member of the Blackwell family. But now, the realization hit her like a punch in the gut. The silver-haired man before her, was Caelric’s brother. Brothers. Which meant both of them were Fire Clan descendants.

'Flying monkeys', she thought, feeling her stomach churn at the thought.

A quiet gasp escaped her lips as the truth set in. She had once been engaged to one of these two Blackwell brothers—formally, at least—before the Great Chaos had disrupted everything. And now, here she was, standing in the same room as both of them.

“Who is this lost sparrow?” Vincent’s voice broke the silence. His eyes met hers with a glint of recognition, though his expression remained oddly neutral. Aricia blinked, her breath catching in her throat. He knew exactly who she was, yet he acted as though she were a stranger.

“Lost?... What?” she managed to stammer, confusion flooding her mind. Why was he pretending not to know her? Had he really forgotten her?

Vincent didn’t respond immediately, his attention drifting lazily toward Caelric, who had sauntered in after her, seemingly unconcerned by the commotion.

“I don’t know what is going on here,” Caelric said with a raised eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice. He casually picked up a plate of nuts from a nearby table and popped a few into his mouth. “I only heard someone scream, and it sounded like a lady’s distress, so naturally, I came to rescue her from... you.”

Vincent rubbed his temples, a gesture that suggested he wasn’t exactly thrilled by his brother’s presence. “I'm obviously the one that needs rescuing,” he muttered, his voice low as he shifted in bed. The duvet covering him slipped slightly, revealing more of his bare chest. Aricia’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Wait!” she yelped, throwing her hands over her eyes and backing away hurriedly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “It doesn’t have to be this way!” Her voice was high-pitched with panic as she turned and made a break for the window, half-jogging across the room in desperation.

Caelric glanced over at her mid-chew, his face a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. “What... are you insane?” he asked, his words muffled by the food still in his mouth.

Aricia reached the window but stopped dead in her tracks, realizing just how high up the room was. She gulped, her plan to escape foiled by sheer practicality. Jumping would certainly end badly.

'Oh, I think I am going mad,' she thought, her heart pounding wildly. 'I need to get out of here before I completely lose my mind.'

Vincent, meanwhile, had begun to rise from the bed, his long silver hair falling loosely over his bare shoulders as he reached for a robe. Aricia, still covering her eyes, heard the fabric rustling and risked a peek just to make sure he wasn’t about to reveal more than she was ready for. Thankfully, he draped the robe over himself before stretching lazily, like a cat who had just awoken from a deep nap.

“When you’re done with your little melodrama,” Vincent drawled, his voice laced with boredom, “can you please leave? That includes you, Richard.”

Caelric shot him a smirk, clearly used to his brother’s gruff demeanor. “It’s Caelric Blackwell the Third,” he corrected with mock gravity, crossing his arms as if to demand respect. “Address me properly.”

Without missing a beat, Vincent grabbed a nearby pillow and hurled it with impressive accuracy. The soft projectile hit Caelric square in the chest, knocking him off balance. He staggered backward, landing with a dramatic thud on the floor, much to Aricia’s silent amusement.

The gods, however, seemed determined to make things worse for her, as Arthur, the eldest of the Wainwright, chose that moment to walk into the room. His soft blue eyes scanned the chaotic scene before settling on Aricia, and his brows furrowed slightly in confusion.

“You?” he said, his tone surprised but not unkind. “But you’re not supposed to be... here. Or within these walls at all.”

Aricia’s jaw dropped, utterly mortified. This was not how she had imagined her day going. She shook her head, trying to shake off the growing sense of dread that crept up her spine. “I— I’m not supposed to be here,” she stammered, “but Lady Nyphera sent me. It’s... complicated.” She pointed desperately toward Caelric, who was still picking himself up off the floor. “I swear on him I was just delivering something!”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking over to Caelric, who shrugged nonchalantly as he continued snacking.

“Told you he wasn't a fan of rule-breakers,” Caelric said softly, his voice calm but stern.

Arthur glanced at Aricia again, and his eyes softened slightly.

Vincent had already disappeared into the adjoining chamber, leaving only a trail of exasperation in his wake. His exit seemed to draw the conversation to an awkward lull, with Arthur still eyeing Aricia with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval.

“You’ll have to leave the premises,” Arthur said finally, his tone firm. He gestured toward the door, signaling that this particular fiasco was over. Aricia nodded quickly, eager to escape the disaster she’d unwittingly found herself in.

But as they made their way out of the room, Nyphera appeared at the top of the staircase, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. She hurried over, intercepting Arthur and Aricia before they could descend.

“She’s here on my request,” Nyphera said quickly, her voice calm but resolute. “I needed her help.”

Arthur, though still composed, didn’t seem convinced. “That doesn’t change the fact that her name isn’t in the records,” he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The closest match was ‘Aricia,’ but she’s listed as ‘Ricia.’”

Aricia felt the blood drain from her face. She looked up at Arthur, confusion etched across her features. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur blinked, slightly taken aback by her reaction. “Ricia,” he repeated.

“No, before that,” she insisted, her heart pounding.

“Aricia?” Arthur echoed, his brow furrowing as he looked at her with renewed scrutiny.

***

Back in the room, Caelric called out toward the closet where Vincent had disappeared. “When are you planning to return this time?” he asked, a note of irritation in his voice. “It’s a hassle handling things on my own, you know.”

From within the chamber, Vincent’s voice replied, plain and unbothered. “Lazy fool.”

Caelric snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re one to talk,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing the platter of nuts.

“And where are you off to now?” Cealric’s voice was laced with suspicion as he leaned back, watching Vincent carefully.

“To meet an old friend,” Vincent replied, barely above a murmur, his gaze distant.

Cealric scoffed, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “You? Friends? Don’t make me laugh.”

Vincent’s eyes flickered, but he remained calm. “I do have friends.”

“No,” Cealric’s voice turned cold, “you have useful assets. That’s all.”

Vincent’s lips curled into a faint, unreadable smile. “Perhaps. But some are more useful than others."

"Suit yourself."