Vaughn's POV
He was only seven. The little boy was tied to the cold altar with chains of glowing runes, made of moonlight and shadow.
My father and mother sliced open their palms with ritual silver blades, then cut Kaelen's small wrist.
Their blood mixed with his, ran down ancient grooves, and soaked into those snarling, twisted runes.
Then came the infusion.
It wasn't a blessing. It was tearing him apart.
His fragile body was forced to contain a power far beyond his limits and a distorted shackle called "loyalty." He writhed and shook in pain.
That scream, so raw it barely sounded human, still rang in my ears on quiet nights.
The ritual succeeded.
They told Kaelen he was born to be the kingdom's shield and my claws.
He took that to heart and played the role perfectly.
Did he ev
