An uncomfortable silence descended on the small room. Thorne stared at Sid, his eyes wide with apprehension, trying to read the older man’s expression. Sid, in typical fashion, leaned back in his chair, plucking at an invisible speck of lint on his stained pants, breaking the moment. His casual demeanor contrasted sharply with the tension hanging in the air.
"Most of the cousins know your connection to Uncle and won't dare to harm you," Sid said, his voice casual but his eyes serious.
Thorne scoffed, shaking his head. "I doubt Uncle's attachment to me will keep me safe."
Sid's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing. "You underestimate Uncle's attachment to you. He may not have conventional feelings—he's not the kind, cuddly type, remember—but he sees you as his protégé. Between you and me, I think he sees you as his successor."
Thorne's lips curled into a mocking smile. "I'm honored," he said sarcastically.
Sid's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. "Don't be ungrateful, Thorne. Every other recruit here would kill to be in your place. And they may well try. While the older cousins won't dare to harm you, your fellow recruits might not be so reluctant. Be careful."
Thorne shrugged casually, trying to mask his unease. Having seen the other recruits fight, he was confident he was leagues above them, even without considering his skills. But Sid's warning echoed in his mind, tempering his arrogance.
Sid, noticing his casual shrug, narrowed his eyes further. "Don't be arrogant. You may have trained for years instead of months like the others, and you may best them in a stand-up fight, but this is a den of spies and assassins—they're not known for stand-up fights."
Thorne's swagger faltered, replaced by a more cautious demeanor. He thought internally that he was still smart enough to see through schemes, but Sid's words had made him reconsider his approach. He decided he would be careful. After all, he had already made enemies on the first day.
"The training will be a piece of cake for you," Sid continued, his tone lightening slightly. "And if it's not, then I must have made a mistake in your training."
Thorne chuckled, shaking his head. "You've done a good job, Sid."
Sid's face broke into a surprised smile at Thorne's praise, a rare moment of genuine emotion. But then he grew serious again, leaning forward slightly. "There are still things to learn, like how to operate in a group. Some activities will be uncomfortable..." Sid's eyes flitted to the side, a shadow passing over his face, but he didn't elaborate. "Listen to your trainers."
Thorne nodded, absorbing the advice. "What’s your deal with Lock?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Sid scoffed, rolling his eyes. "He's just a jump start. He is a newer hire and is desperate to climb the ranks. He's envious of my position as Uncle's right-hand man."
Thorne looked at Sid with troubled eyes, considering the implications. "If he doesn't like you, he may hold a grudge against me as well. Will he be trouble?"
Sid shook his head, a small, confident smile on his lips. "I don't believe so. He's too scared of Uncle and wants his attention and to be in his good graces too much to do you any harm. Still, I wouldn't drink ale with him if I were you. He may have poisoned it." He laughed, a deep, genuine sound, and Thorne couldn't help but smile, shaking his head in exasperation.
Sid stood, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. "We’d better get moving before your trainers start sharpening their knives," he said with a smirk.
Thorne rose too, brushing crumbs from his tunic. "Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting," he muttered, following Sid out of the room.
"Yeah, thanks for that," Thorne scoffed, rolling his eyes with exaggerated annoyance.
Sid shrugged, a wry smirk tugging at his lips. "What can I say? Lock’s a little shit." His tone was casual, but the disdain was unmistakable.
They started walking toward the door, Sid’s boots clicking against the cold stone floor, but just as they reached it, Sid stopped. His hand came to rest on Thorne’s shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle for the man who had spent years barking orders at him. There was an unusual weight to it, something unspoken but deeply felt.
“For the next few months, you won’t be able to leave the den,” Sid said quietly, his voice serious. “They do it on purpose. They want to isolate you, cut off any ties you have to the outside world—friends, family, all of it. They want you to think the Family is all you’ve got. And it works.” He paused, his expression softening in a way Thorne rarely saw. “Don’t try to see your friends. You’re always watched. Always. But I’ll let them know you’re okay. I’ll tell them not to worry.”
Thorne froze, his chest tightening. He wasn’t used to this side of Sid. The gruff man who had trained him to exhaustion and berated him for his every mistake now stood before him offering something unexpected—kindness. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
Sid nodded, his face unreadable for a moment before he softened further. “I’ll come back when I can. And listen to me, kid.” His grip on Thorne’s shoulder tightened just enough to emphasize his words. “If I find you dead when I come back, I’ll find a way to bring you back to life just so I can kill you myself. Got it?”
A small smile tugged at Thorne’s lips, despite the knot of emotions twisting inside him. “Got it,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.
Sid gave his shoulder a firm squeeze before letting go. “Good. Now, let’s move.”
They headed out, Sid walking with his usual air of confidence, and Thorne trailing behind, his mind still processing the rare moment of connection they’d just shared.
“You know,” Sid began, his tone shifting back to his usual irreverent self, “you should really take a bath. You stink like a dead gravedigger left out in the sun too long.” He wrinkled his nose dramatically.
Thorne glanced down at his blood-smeared hands and body, grimacing. “Yeah, I guess I could use one.”
“And some clothes,” Sid added with a smirk. “Unless you’re trying to make a fashion statement. Right now, you look like my great uncle Eugene after he lost his marbles and started running around the village naked, crowing like a rooster.”
Thorne raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. Sid chuckled at his own joke, a rare, warm sound that felt oddly out of place in their grim surroundings.
In all his years with Sid, the man had never mentioned anything personal. Thorne took the opportunity to dig. " You had a great uncle Eugene? Where are you from?" he asked, curious.
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Sid’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and he grumbled something incoherent under his breath, his gaze shifting away. Before Thorne could press further, Sid changed the subject, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Thorne’s neck. “That necklace. I’m surprised they didn’t take it. Where’d you get it?”
Thorne instinctively reached up, his fingers brushing the familiar chain. The cool metal felt like an anchor, grounding him. He narrowed his eyes at Sid. “Nah, that’s not how it works. If you want answers, you’ve got to give some first. No grumbling like an old man.”
Sid snorted, shaking his head, but his gaze lingered on the necklace for a moment longer. “Fair enough,” he muttered, turning away.
Thorne watched him go, his grip on the necklace tightening. He didn’t know why they had left it alone when they’d stripped him of everything else, but he was grateful. It was the only thing he had left of his mother, and he never took it off unless he was absolutely sure he was safe. Even then, it never left his sight.
He let out a quiet sigh, his fingers curling around the pendant as they continued walking. Some questions would remain unanswered for now, but Thorne knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t about to let anyone take this from him.
In all the years Thorne had owned the necklace, he dared to remove it only once. That moment had occurred in the safety of the forest, where the dense canopy and gentle rustle of leaves had offered him a rare sense of solitude.
When he slid the necklace off, there had been an almost imperceptible snap—not painful, but jarring—as if something deep within him had been severed. A strange unease prickled at his core, but curiosity drove him to find a reflective surface. He knelt by the edge of a tranquil pond, the glassy water offering a mirror-like clarity. As his gaze met his reflection, his breath hitched in his throat.
The face staring back was not his own.
His hair, once dark and forgettable, had turned an arresting shade of silvery white, shimmering like moonlight caught in a spider’s web. His eyes, once an unremarkable brown, now glowed with an intense, otherworldly green—an untamed color that seemed to pulse like the vibrant life of the forest itself.
His skin had undergone a startling transformation, from rough and sun-kissed to smooth and radiant, emanating a faint luminescence. The glow was subtle, but it danced across his features like firelight, making him seem both alive and ancient. His cheekbones were more pronounced, his jawline sharper, and his features carried a regal, ethereal quality.
The most striking changes, however, were his ears, which had grown elegantly pointed, and his teeth—his canines slightly elongated, hinting at a feral, predatory edge. He looked like a creature born of the wild, untamed and primal.
Staring at his reflection, Thorne had felt a wave of unease mixed with awe. He looked like something out of an old myth, a figure that belonged to the wilds, not the civilized world. The realization had been too much. With trembling hands, he had slipped the necklace back around his neck. The transformation reversed in an instant, his features returning to their usual human guise. From that day, he had vowed never to remove the necklace again.
As Thorne and Sid continued through the labyrinth, the corridors widened, and Thorne took in the peculiarities of the Cousins' underground base. The narrow, twisting tunnels felt alive, their rough-hewn walls seeming to pulse with history, etched with the marks of countless skirmishes and secretive messages, half-erased by time. Torchlight flickered against the uneven stone, their strange green flames painting the air in a haunting, unnatural glow. The light stretched shadows into bizarre shapes that twisted and coiled as if they carried secrets of their own.
Thorne noticed how other Cousins in the tunnels moved aside for Sid, giving him a wide berth. There was respect in their hurried glances, even a hint of fear. Sid walked on without acknowledgment, his stride steady, his focus ahead, seemingly oblivious to the authority he commanded.
The base of the cousins felt like a hidden fortress carved deep into the heart of the earth. Narrow, winding tunnels twisted through the rock like the veins of some ancient beast, leading to cavernous chambers where the cousins trained and plotted.
"Living like rats in a maze," Thorne muttered under his breath, his frustration spilling into his tone.
Sid glanced sideways at him, his expression neutral but his voice laced with a hint of a smirk. "You think Uncle built this place for comfort? It’s about control. Down here, there’s no escape unless you know the way. Keeps us sharp. Keeps us disciplined."
Thorne frowned, watching as they passed Cousins huddled in shadowy corners. Whispers floated in the damp air, conspiratorial and fleeting. Some exchanged small objects—coins, vials, or something else Thorne couldn’t quite make out—with practiced subtlety. Others stood in tight groups, their conversations quick and furtive. He caught the occasional glint of steel in the dim light, an ever-present reminder of the tension in the air.
“And the secrecy?” Thorne asked, glancing at a section of the tunnel where the rough stone had given way to polished black marble. The reflective surface warped the eerie green light into mesmerizing patterns that seemed to ripple and shift.
Sid sighed, his voice dropping slightly as if he, too, were wary of eavesdroppers. "Power attracts attention. And attention brings enemies. Uncle knows this. The deeper we stay hidden, the harder it is for anyone to find us. That’s how we stay alive. How we stay one step ahead."
Thorne nodded begrudgingly, his frustration simmering but tempered by a growing understanding. The labyrinth wasn’t just a place—it was a tool, a weapon, and a shield. A place to sharpen those who lived within it and confound those who dared try to enter. Still, Thorne couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls were watching him, waiting for him to falter.
Finally, they reached a cavernous room buzzing with relentless activity—the physical conditioning training area. The space was massive, its high ceilings disappearing into shadows. Torches mounted along the walls cast a flickering light over the chaotic scene below, highlighting the sweat-soaked determination etched onto every recruit's face. The air was thick and heavy with the tang of sweat, dirt, and the faint metallic scent of blood.
Sid stopped abruptly, turning to face Thorne. His expression was a mix of sternness and expectation. "This," he said, gesturing at the bustling arena, "is where you'll be spending most of your time. Physical conditioning isn’t optional. No matter how sharp your skills are, if your body fails, you’re dead weight. And dead weight doesn’t last here."
Thorne nodded, letting his gaze sweep over the room. The dirt-packed floor had been worn down by countless drills, its surface uneven and scarred with the history of harsh training. The walls were lined with wooden dummies riddled with impact marks, frayed climbing ropes dangling ominously, and crude weights fashioned from heavy stones and iron. Obstacles stretched across the room in dizzying patterns—walls to scale, pits to leap, and narrow beams to balance on, each designed to push recruits to their physical and mental limits.
Near one corner, a group of recruits sprinted back and forth, each lap punctuated by the bark of their trainer’s harsh commands. Some stumbled, collapsing in exhaustion, only to be dragged to their feet and ordered to run again. In another section, a cluster of seasoned recruits navigated a maze of swinging logs and spinning platforms with a precision that spoke of long hours of grueling practice. One boy hesitated for a split second, and a heavy log slammed into him, sending him sprawling to the ground. The others stepped around him without a glance, their focus unbroken.
In a far corner, a young woman moved with a mesmerizing blend of elegance and power, her routine a fusion of dance, acrobatics, and combat drills. Every leap, twist, and strike was fluid and deliberate, her movements so precise they seemed choreographed. Thorne’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before shifting to another group practicing sparring. Their wooden swords clashed with dull thuds, the sound echoing through the room as they fought with frantic desperation.
The room pulsed with energy, the relentless rhythm of hard labor and determination driving it like a heartbeat. Thorne inhaled deeply, his stomach knotting with equal parts apprehension and resolve.
"Looks brutal," he muttered, half to himself.
Sid smirked, his expression tinged with nostalgia. "You’ve seen worse," he said, his voice low. "Remember the butcher’s quarter? How many times did I make you run there from the docks?"
Thorne’s lips quirked upward in a faint, wry smile. "Every time you threatened to gut me for being too slow," he replied, the memory vivid. He could still feel the sting of Sid’s blade grazing his heels, the searing pain a cruel motivator to push harder, faster, even when his lungs burned and his legs felt like lead.
Sid’s expression sobered. He placed a firm hand on Thorne’s shoulder, leaning in. "But this isn’t just about running faster or fighting harder. It’s about staying alive in a place that thrives on deception and ambition. Keep your head down. Watch your back. And never—never—underestimate anyone. Not even the ones who look too weak to stand."
Thorne met Sid’s gaze, his jaw tightening. "I won’t."
For a moment, Sid studied him, and then his face softened, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Good. Now, go show them what you’re made of. And don’t forget," he added with a smirk, "if you make me look bad, I’ll personally come back to kick your ass."
With a deep breath, Thorne squared his shoulders and stepped into the training area, heading toward the huddle of young recruits surrounding Talon and Lock. He didn’t look back, but he felt Sid’s gaze on him, urging him to make him proud.