Chapter 5: Well, That Escalated Quickly
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The cool night air clung to Soren’s skin as he wandered through the dimly lit halls of the estate. His footsteps were soft, barely echoing in the vast, empty space around him. Despite the quiet, his mind was anything but still. The argument with his father played over and over in his head, the words echoing like a relentless storm. He had expected a fight—had wanted one even—but instead, Arthur had responded with cold detachment, as if his decision had been made long before Soren had ever spoken.
The bitterness in his father’s words lingered, and Soren could feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface. It was a familiar anger, one that had simmered for years since his exile from the academy. But tonight, it felt heavier, weighed down by the silence of the halls and the sense of dread that clung to the estate like a suffocating fog.
Before he could get too far down the hall, Soren heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. A familiar figure stepped out of the shadows—Ada, her brow creased with quiet concern.
“Master Soren,” she called softly, her voice carrying a warmth that cut through the cold. “Is everything alright?”
Soren paused, glancing her way. Ada had always been a comforting presence, but tonight, he wasn’t sure even she could say anything that would ease the weight pressing down on his chest. He forced a small, polite smile. “I’m fine, Ada. Just… a long night.”
Ada stepped closer, her hazel eyes filled with unspoken understanding. “Your father… he doesn’t always know the right words,” she said gently. “But it’s good that you’re here. The house feels… different when you’re home. More alive.”
Soren’s smile wavered as her words sunk in, though his mind couldn’t linger on them for long. “Thank you,” he said softly. “But there’s still a lot I need to figure out.”
Ada bowed her head slightly. “Of course, Master Soren. But remember, it’s not all on your shoulders.”
With that, she turned to leave, and Soren resumed his silent walk through the halls.
His mind was a whirlpool of emotions—anger, frustration, and something else, something unspoken that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. His father’s cold, dismissive tone echoed in his ears, but it was the cryptic hints his mother had dropped earlier that weighed heaviest on him.
As he passed through the vast, dim corridors, the moonlight spilling through the tall windows cast long, eerie shadows on the floor. The estate, once a place of comfort and pride, now felt like a labyrinth of secrets.
‘What am I missing?’ he thought, his footsteps slowing as he reached a small courtyard.
The night air kissed his face, cool and fresh, and he inhaled deeply, trying to clear his head. His eyes were drawn upward to the clock tower, its ancient structure looming above the estate. The pale moonlight bathed the tower in a silvery glow, and for a moment, Soren stood transfixed.
The note.
He had nearly forgotten about it in the heat of the confrontation with his father, but now it returned to him, the words as sharp as ever: The clock tower. Midnight. Come alone if you want answers.
Soren took a steadying breath, glancing up at the moon hanging low in the night sky. Midnight was fast approaching, and an unease coiled in his chest, as though something in the estate had already shifted, unseen and ominous.
He glanced at the position of the moon. It wasn’t too late yet, just after nightfall. But if the meeting was to be at midnight, it meant he still had time. His gaze lingered on the tower, the symbol of the Veilstorm legacy. It seemed a fitting place for secrets to be unveiled.
Turning from the courtyard, Soren headed toward the path that led to the clock tower, his thoughts still in turmoil. The distant hum of city life faded behind him, and as he approached the clock tower, the shadows deepened, making the ancient structure feel like a guardian of forgotten truths.
Soren’s mind was racing as he left his father’s office, Ada’s words still lingering in his thoughts. He wanted to scream, to lash out. Arthur’s cold indifference had left a bitter taste in his mouth. The halls of the estate, once familiar and filled with childhood memories, now felt more like the walls of a prison. The shadows seemed to cling to every corner, pressing in on him as he made his way toward the courtyard.
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As he stepped outside, the cool night air brushed against his face, offering momentary relief from the suffocating tension. The moon cast a pale glow over the grounds, its light reflecting off the clock tower in the distance. Soren’s eyes lingered on the tower for a moment, the note he had received earlier stirring in his mind.
Midnight. The clock tower.
He sighed, his breath visible in the chill air. His fingers instinctively brushed against the hilt of his sword as he started toward the courtyard path. But before he could take another step, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye—a shadowy figure standing near the entrance to the garden.
His hand tightened around the hilt, but then he stopped. The figure stepped forward, into the moonlight, and Soren’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the man before him.
It was Rhett Carris.
Rhett had been a childhood friend, someone Soren had known well before the academy and the exile. But now, as he looked at the man standing before him, it was clear that time had not been kind to him.
Rhett’s brown hair was shaggy and unkempt, falling into his tired, almond-shaped eyes. His face, once youthful and full of life, had grown gaunt, with dark circles shadowing his eyes as though sleep had eluded him for far too long. His heart-shaped face, once soft, now looked hollow, as if the weight of his responsibilities and the harsh realities of Veilstone had worn him down. His skin had taken on a pale, almost sickly hue, and the faint stubble on his chin gave him a rough, weathered appearance.
Soren’s gaze dropped to Rhett’s armor. The once-polished light plate now seemed dulled by wear, the leather straps fraying at the edges. The armor was built for mobility, not for heavy combat—a standard issue for guards expected to patrol the city or stand watch at the gates. His chest plate, though thin, bore the insignia of Veilstone, a reminder of the station he had sworn to protect. The gauntlets and greaves, though light, were chipped in places, as if they had seen action far too frequently. His shoulder guards were mismatched, one slightly dented, a sign that Rhett hadn’t been given the time or resources to repair his equipment.
Soren took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. “Rhett,” he said, his voice sharp. “What are you doing here?”
Rhett’s hand drifted toward his helmet, which he clutched nervously under his arm. He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, looking away for a moment before speaking. His voice, when it came, was hoarse, as though he hadn’t spoken in hours. “S-Soren,” he muttered, hesitating before finally meeting Soren’s gaze. “I… I didn’t know how to approach you. After everything…”
Soren studied him, suspicion creeping into his thoughts. “After everything? You mean after my exile? Or after you slipped me that note at the gate?” His tone was accusatory, though there was an underlying tension that spoke to their shared past. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Rhett, but I’ve had a long day. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Rhett swallowed hard, the nervousness evident in his stance. His hand fidgeted with the strap of his armor, a habit he had picked up in their youth whenever he was nervous or unsure. “I’m… not proud of what happened back then,” Rhett began, his voice cracking slightly. “When you were exiled… I didn’t stand up for you. None of us did. I was just following orders, but that’s no excuse.”
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Soren’s jaw tightened, the old anger bubbling beneath the surface. “You were my friend, Rhett,” Soren said quietly, his voice edged with hurt. “You could have said something. But you didn’t.”
For just a moment, Soren’s mask of indifference cracked. He’d lost friends to betrayal, but Rhett’s silence had cut deeper than most, a reminder of the distance and trust shattered by his exile. He swallowed the hurt, jaw tightening as he held Rhett’s guilty gaze, willing himself not to flinch.
Rhett’s shoulders sagged under the weight of Soren’s words, and for a moment, the two stood in tense silence, the cold wind brushing through the courtyard. Rhett’s eyes flicked away again, unable to meet Soren’s accusing stare. “I know,” Rhett whispered, his voice strained. “I know. And that’s why I’m here now.”
Soren folded his arms, his patience wearing thin. “So, you’re here because of guilt? Or is there something else?”
Rhett hesitated, his eyes darting nervously to the side. His fingers fidgeted with the strap of his gauntlet. “There’s something else,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s something going on in Veilstone. Something bad. I don’t know all the details, but I’ve heard rumors… whispers from the other guards… things that aren’t right.”
Soren’s brow furrowed, his suspicion deepening. “What kind of things?”
Rhett glanced around, as if fearing they might be overheard, even in the empty courtyard. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. “They’re saying… people are being taken. Disappearing. Not just criminals or outsiders—normal people. And there are… experiments.” Rhett’s voice cracked slightly, the words hanging heavily in the cold night air. “I’ve heard guards talk about shipments, and… people being moved in secret. Some of the higher-ups are involved. I don’t know much more than that.”
Soren’s blood ran cold. The word experiments echoed in his mind. This wasn’t just corruption or trafficking; it was something much darker. His thoughts raced back to the whispers he had heard in the city, the unease that had settled over Veilstone like a dark cloud.
“Experiments?” Soren asked, his voice hardening. “What are they doing?”
Rhett shook his head, his face pale. “I don’t know the details. I just know that people are being taken… and those who come back, if they come back… they’re not the same. They’re… broken.”
Soren’s fists clenched at his sides, the anger boiling beneath the surface once more. “And you didn’t think to tell me this sooner? You let this go on?”
“I didn’t know how,” Rhett said, his voice filled with guilt. “You don’t understand, Soren. They’re watching everything. Anyone who asks too many questions… disappears.”
The courtyard fell into a heavy silence as Soren processed Rhett’s words. The weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating. This wasn’t just about him and his family anymore. There was something far more sinister happening in Veilstone.
Before Soren could respond, the ground beneath them trembled slightly. It was a faint tremor at first, barely noticeable. But then, the quaking intensified, sending a jolt of unease through both men.
Rhett’s eyes widened in alarm as he struggled to stay on his feet. “What the hell—?”
Soren’s heart pounded in his chest, his instincts screaming that something was terribly wrong. His head snapped toward the direction of the manor, where the tremors seemed to be strongest. He could feel it—an overwhelming pressure in the air, a surge of energy building in the distance.
“We need to go,” Soren said, his voice tight with urgency. “Now.”
Rhett didn’t hesitate, nodding quickly as he followed Soren through the courtyard and back toward the manor. The tremors grew stronger with each step, and Soren’s pulse quickened as he realized the source of the disturbance. His father’s study.
As they neared the entrance to the manor, the quakes became more violent. Chunks of stone crumbled from the walls, and the once-immaculate ceiling began to crack and sag. Rhett drew his sword instinctively, though his hands trembled as the ground shook beneath him.
“What’s happening?” Rhett shouted over the rumbling, his voice filled with fear.
Soren didn’t answer, his mind focused entirely on the surge of power radiating from the study. His thoughts raced back to his parents—to whatever argument they had been having. And now this. His mother. His father. He had to get there.
They skidded to a halt in front of the study doors, the oak splintered and cracked from the force of the energy inside. Light poured from the cracks, a sickly glow that made Soren’s heart race with dread.
“Rhett,” Soren said, his voice low but firm. “Stay back. No matter
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Midnight had come and gone. The faint glow of a single lantern cast long shadows across the walls as Elaina entered Arthur’s study. Midnight had come and gone; she’d waited long enough after watching Soren’s silent exit from the house earlier. Perhaps she’d hoped he could reach his father, bridge the chasm that had grown between them. But when Arthur remained cloistered in his study, unmoved and unchanged, she knew it was up to her to finally confront him.
For a moment, neither spoke, the silence stretched taut with years of unspoken words and unresolved tension. Elaina’s eyes lingered on him, her posture rigid, though her hands trembled slightly at her sides.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice low but laced with disappointment and simmering anger. “Arthur.”
He glanced up, and for an instant, something flickered in his eyes—guilt, perhaps, or a shadow of the man she once knew. But it vanished, replaced by the cold, impenetrable mask he wore like armor.
“If you’re here to change my mind, you’re wasting your time,” he muttered, voice sharp and unyielding.
Elaina took a step closer, crossing her arms, her gaze locked onto his. “You really think that’s why I’m here?” Her tone was controlled, but there was no mistaking the fire beneath it. “Arthur, we can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep shutting me out, pushing me away.”
Arthur’s gaze flickered, his voice lowering defensively. “Everything I’ve done has been for a reason. To protect this family. To protect you.”
“Protect?” She scoffed, her voice rising, the anger slipping through her careful restraint. “Is that what you call this? Locking yourself away, consumed by shadows and secrets? That’s not protection, Arthur. That’s obsession.”
His eyes hardened as he rose slowly, his tall frame casting a shadow that stretched across the room. “You think I chose this? Do you think any of this has been easy for me?”
“I think you made a choice a long time ago, and now you’re too stubborn to see the damage it’s causing.” She stepped closer, her gaze intense, unwilling to look away. “You’ve pushed us all away. Soren… he’s gone, Arthur. Our son. And you barely seem to care.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. He turned slightly, looking away. “Soren made his choices. He chose to walk away.”
“You forced him to!” Elaina’s voice cracked, her eyes blazing. “You drove him away with your silence, your refusal to let anyone in. Don’t you see? You’ve built a wall so high, no one can reach you—not even the people who love you.”
Arthur’s hands clenched at his sides, his posture stiffening. “You don’t understand,” he replied, cold and distant. “You’ve never seen what’s at stake. If you had… maybe you wouldn’t be so quick to judge.”
“Then show me,” she challenged, voice softening but resolute. “Trust me enough to let me in, Arthur. After everything we’ve been through… don’t you owe me that?”
For a moment, Arthur’s resolve faltered. His gaze softened, and he looked at her not as a man hardened by years of secrets but as her husband, the man she had once shared everything with. But then, like a storm cloud passing, his face hardened again.
“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, turning away, his hand brushing against the large double-bladed axe propped by his desk. “Some things are better left unsaid. For your own good.”
Elaina laughed bitterly, the sound laced with years of frustration. “There it is again. ‘For my own good.’ You’ve been telling yourself that lie for so long, you actually believe it.” She took another step toward him, her voice trembling. “Arthur, don’t you see? You’re not protecting me—you’re protecting yourself. Hiding behind this… this power, these excuses, because you’re too afraid to face what you’ve become.”
Arthur’s eyes flashed with anger, his voice rising as he turned to face her. “Afraid? You think I’m afraid? I’m doing what’s necessary. Someone has to make the hard choices.”
“Yes, someone does. But that doesn’t mean you have to lose yourself in the process.” Her gaze softened, a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. “The man I married—the man I fell in love with—he would have fought for his family, not pushed them away. He wouldn’t have turned into… this.”
Arthur remained silent, his expression unreadable, but his jaw clenched. Finally, he whispered, “Maybe that man… never really existed.”
Elaina’s heart twisted at his words, her anger momentarily replaced by a profound sadness. “Don’t say that,” she murmured, voice breaking. “You are that man, Arthur. I know you are. But you have to let me help you… before it’s too late.”
He took a step back, gripping the handle of his axe tightly. “It already is.”
She followed his movement, her defiance hardening. “So this is what it’s come to?” Her hand dropped to her weapon—a chained whip with twin bladed kamas at either end, which she let uncoil onto the floor. “You’d rather cling to this power, this darkness, than face the truth?”
Arthur’s grip on the axe tightened. “I’m done with this conversation,” he replied coldly. “If you’re going to stand in my way… then so be it.”
“Then let’s end this,” Elaina said, her voice steady but with a trace of sorrow. “But don’t think I’ll stand by and watch you destroy yourself.”
Arthur lunged, his axe sweeping down in a deadly arc, its weight cleaving through the air. Elaina twisted to the side, narrowly evading the blow as her whip lashed out, wrapping around the handle of his axe. With a sharp tug, she attempted to disarm him, but Arthur’s strength held firm. He yanked back, forcing her to release her grip.
“You think you’re the only one carrying this burden?” she shouted over the clash of weapons. “You’re nothing more than a prisoner to your own fears.”
Arthur’s gaze darkened, and with a shift, his axe split, the large weapon separating into twin axes. He swung them in quick succession, aiming to overwhelm her. “And you’re a fool if you think speed alone will save you.”
They moved in a brutal dance—Arthur’s powerful strikes seeking to trap her, while Elaina dodged and countered, her whip darting out to deflect his blows. At one point, Arthur’s swing missed her by mere inches as she dropped low, sliding beneath the blade and using her chain to hook the handle, leveraging its weight to propel herself up. She spun mid-air, one kama flashing toward his shoulder. Arthur’s eyes widened, his instincts kicking in as he twisted, blocking her blade.
“You’ve lost your edge,” she taunted, her eyes flashing with defiance. “You used to be faster.”
Arthur remained silent, though his breathing quickened. “I’m just getting started.”
He embedded one axe into the stone floor, grounding himself as he braced his back against it. With his other hand, he swung the remaining axe in calculated, rapid arcs. Elaina adjusted, weaving around his defenses, testing his resolve.
Finally, Arthur seized an opening, swinging low to knock her off balance. She leaped over his blade, using the chain whip to stabilize mid-air before launching forward, her kama grazing his side. Arthur’s jaw tightened, surprise flickering across his face, though he stayed silent.
Arthur ripped his axe from the ground, sending a wave of shattered stone outward. He advanced, his breath ragged, a faint orange glow pulsing around him—the Catalyst’s energy barely contained.
“Arthur,” Elaina warned, her voice sharp, “don’t do this. You’re letting it control you.”
“You don’t get to decide that!” he bellowed, the Catalyst’s energy flaring as he swung both axes, splitting the floor with cracks that spiderwebbed out from their feet.
The room shuddered, and Elaina stumbled, barely catching herself. She watched as Arthur charged, Catalyst energy crackling around him. She lashed out with her whip, but he intercepted her strike, swinging the other axe toward her midsection.
She narrowly rolled away, fragments exploding around her. Breathless, she circled him, whip poised. “This isn’t you, Arthur,” she said, her voice wavering. “You’re losing yourself to this—becoming the thing you swore to protect us from.”
For a split second, Arthur hesitated, but the Catalyst tightened its grip, any hesitation vanishing into fury and desperation.
With a roar, he lunged, both axes raised high. The Catalyst erupted in a violent shockwave, shattering the walls and sending Elaina flying. She hit the wall hard, a jagged stone piercing her side as blood pooled beneath her.
Elaina forced her eyes open, the pain lancing through her with each shallow breath. Still, she lifted her head, her gaze piercing as it met Arthur’s. Even now, injured and unsteady, there was a fierce defiance in her eyes—a silent reminder that he would not break her so easily.
Arthur stood amidst the wreckage, Catalyst energy flickering around him. He took a step forward, horror dawning on his face.
“Elaina…” he whispered, voice barely audible.
But before he could reach her, the Catalyst pulsed again, dragging him back. He staggered, struggling for control, his gaze fixed on Elaina’s slumped figure.
As silence fell, the last image lingered—Arthur, amid the destruction, Catalyst energy crackling in a chaotic aura, and Elaina’s motionless figure, her fate uncertain.
Outside of the study doors, faint but hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Soren and Rhett approached, the shock of what lay beyond that door soon to collide with everything they thought they knew.