Five Clans, One Crowm

The Old Blood

Isabella worked in silence, her hands moving with practiced precision.

The safe house was small—two rooms, a hearth, and a narrow cot pushed against the wall. The windows were boarded shut, but thin shafts of dawn light slipped through the cracks, painting golden lines across the floor. It smelled of dried herbs and candle wax, of the quiet desperation that came with living in constant hiding.

Oscar sat on a wooden stool while Isabella cleaned the wound on his shoulder. The cut from the Bleached Maw's blade was deeper than he'd thought. Every touch of the cloth sent fire through his arm.

"You should have come to me sooner," Isabella said softly. "This is infected."

"Didn't have time."

She pressed a poultice against the wound, and Oscar hissed through his teeth. "There's always time for basic care. Unless you're trying to die young."

"Some of us don't get a choice."

Isabella's hands stilled. She looked at him, her dark eyes filled with something Oscar couldn't name. Worry, maybe. Or grief for the boy he used to be.

"Kelvin told me what happened," she said. "About the scholar. About the Bleached Maw. About her." She glanced toward the corner where Ivanna sat, sharpening her blades against a whetstone. The sound was steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat made of steel.

"She's not what I expected," Oscar admitted.

"What did you expect?"

He thought about it. "Someone broken. Someone who needed saving."

Isabella almost smiled. "She doesn't look like she needs saving."

"She doesn't. But she needs help, even if she won't admit it." Oscar flexed his shoulder, testing the bandage. "The Bleached Maw has been hunting her since she was a child. They killed her mother. They've been watching the Coliseum, waiting for the right moment to take her. And now they know we're together."

"So you brought them to my door." Isabella's voice wasn't accusatory, just tired. "I've hidden you and Kelvin for years, Oscar. But this is different. If the Bleached Maw finds this place—"

"They won't." Oscar met her eyes. "We'll be gone before dawn."

"Gone where?"

"To find someone who knows more about the old blood. A veteran named Connor. He's supposed to be living in the outer districts. He might have answers."

Ivanna's whetstone stopped. "Connor? The Scarred Wolf?"

Oscar turned. "You know him?"

"Everyone in the pits knows Connor. He fought in the Coliseum years ago. They say he killed thirty men in one night during the Red Moon Massacre." Ivanna's voice carried a note of grudging respect. "He disappeared after that. Went into hiding."

"Do you know where?"

"Maybe." Ivanna set down her blades and stood. "But I don't trust him. He's got clan blood. Wealthy family. Men like that don't help people like us without a price."

Oscar couldn't argue with that. He'd heard the stories about Connor too—the veteran who'd turned his back on his family's fortune to fight in the pits, then vanished when the killing became too much. Some said he'd found religion. Others said he'd gone mad. Either way, he was the closest thing to an expert on the old blood they had.

Kelvin emerged from the back room, a fresh bandage wrapped around his head. He looked pale but steady on his feet. "I think we should go. The longer we stay here, the more danger we put Isabella in."

Isabella touched his arm. "Don't worry about me. I've survived worse."

"That's what worries me," Kelvin muttered.

Oscar stood, adjusting the sling that held his broken sword. Every movement sent pain through his body, but he forced himself to push through it. The Ashen Rebirth Style had drained him more than he wanted to admit. His muscles felt hollow, his thoughts sluggish. If they had to fight again tonight, he wasn't sure he'd survive.

"We leave in an hour," he said. "Ivanna, you know where Connor is. You lead."

Ivanna's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I'm coming with you?"

"You said you wanted to face the Bleached Maw. You can't do that alone."

"I've been alone my whole life. I've done fine."

Oscar stepped closer, his voice dropping. "They killed your mother. They killed my brother. They're hunting both of us for the same reason—the old blood. That's not coincidence. That's a pattern. And if we don't figure out what it means, we'll both end up dead."

Ivanna stared at him, her jaw tight. The tension between them crackled like a live wire. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"One hour. And if your friend Connor tries anything, I'll kill him."

"He's not my friend. He's a lead."

"Then I'll kill him slower."

She turned and walked to the back of the room, disappearing through a curtain into the storage area. The whetstone started up again, sharp and steady.

Kelvin let out a breath. "She's intense."

"She's a survivor," Isabella said quietly. "Like you. Like Kelvin. You'll figure out how to work together."

Oscar wasn't so sure. But they didn't have a choice. The Bleached Maw was closing in, and every moment they waited made them easier targets.

"Get some rest," Isabella said. "I'll wake you before dawn."

Oscar nodded, but he didn't sleep. He couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Kael's face, heard his brother's voice whispering those final words: Find the Iron Crown before they do.

And now, five years later, the hunt was finally beginning.

---

They left before dawn.

The streets were empty, shrouded in mist that rose from the gutters like ghosts. Oscar led the way, following Ivanna's directions through a maze of alleys and side streets. Kelvin brought up the rear, a makeshift knife in his hand, his eyes scanning the shadows.

"The outer districts are past the old wall," Ivanna said. "Connor lives in a warehouse near the western gate. It's guarded, but not well. He's not expecting visitors."

"How do you know where he lives?" Oscar asked.

"Because he recruited me once. Offered to train me for the pits. I turned him down." Ivanna's voice was flat. "He said if I ever changed my mind, I'd know where to find him."

"Seems like a strange offer from a man in hiding."

"Connor's not hiding. He's waiting. There's a difference."

Oscar filed that away. A veteran fighter who'd turned his back on his clan, living in a warehouse near the city gate, waiting for something. It fit with what he'd heard about the man. But something about it felt wrong. Too convenient.

"You don't trust him," Oscar said.

"I don't trust anyone." Ivanna glanced at him. "But you already knew that."

They reached the western gate as the first rays of sunlight painted the sky. The old wall loomed above them, cracked and crumbling, a relic of a time when the city was under siege. The warehouse stood just beyond it, a hulking structure of gray stone and rusted iron.

"Wait here," Oscar said.

Kelvin grabbed his arm. "Let me check the perimeter first. If it's a trap—"

"You're the one with the head wound. Stay back and watch for the Bleached Maw." Oscar pulled free and moved toward the warehouse, his hand on his sword.

The building was dark and still. No guards. No signs of life. But Oscar could feel eyes watching him from somewhere in the shadows. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

He reached the heavy iron door and raised his fist to knock.

The door swung open before he could touch it.

A man stood in the doorway—tall, broad-shouldered, with a face carved from old stone. A scar ran from his left temple to the corner of his mouth, pulling his lip into a permanent sneer. His eyes were the color of cold steel.

"Took you long enough," the man said. "I was starting to think you'd never come."

Oscar's hand tightened on his sword. "You're Connor?"

"I am." The man's gaze moved past Oscar, scanning the street. "And you brought company. Smart. But not smart enough."

He stepped aside, motioning for them to enter.

"Come inside. We have much to discuss."

Oscar hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him to run. But he'd come too far to turn back now.

He stepped through the door, and the others followed.

The interior of the warehouse was a maze of crates and old furniture, lit by a single oil lamp. Connor led them to a small clearing in the center, where a table held maps and strange diagrams.

"I've been expecting you for weeks," Connor said, settling into a chair. "Ever since the Bleached Maw started moving in the open. I knew it was only a matter of time before you found your way to me."

"How do you know who I am?" Oscar asked.

Connor smiled—a thin, knowing expression. "I knew your brother. Kael was my student."

The words hit Oscar like a physical blow. "That's impossible. Kael never mentioned you."

"Kael never mentioned a lot of things." Connor leaned forward, his eyes intense. "He was protecting you. From the truth. From the Bleached Maw. From the blood that runs through your veins."

Oscar's heart pounded. "What are you talking about?"

Connor's gaze swept over them—Oscar, Kelvin, Ivanna. "The old blood. The blood of the Titans. It's what gives you your power, what connects you to the Iron Crown. And it's why the Bleached Maw will never stop hunting you."

He paused, letting the words sink in.

"Because the old blood isn't just a key to the Crown. It's the only thing that can unlock its true power. And the person who carries the purest strain of that blood... is standing in this room right now."

Everyone went still.

And then Connor's eyes landed on Ivanna.