Chapter 22: Blood Logic
It was a riddle wrapped in a coffin, floating down a river of madness.
Aric Blackthorn sat still, cold against the stone wall of the damp cave, his mind spinning like a thousand knives around a single, jagged question.
Why hadn't they aged?
Not a single wrinkle. Not a hint of fatigue or erosion. Not even spiritual decay.
This wasn’t some whimsical fable or cradle-born illusion. This was real, and in real life, time didn’t compromise. It consumed.
But these descendants, these so-called elite of the dome, looked like they'd stepped out of a memory preserved in ice. Their gear was rusted in design, yet unused in essence. Their reflexes were honed, not dulled. And Caelan Blackthorn? That red-haired revenant was the biggest enigma of them all. A Third Vein that sho
