Five Clans, One Crowm

The Traitor's Face

The lock clicked open, and the cell door swung inward with a groan that sounded like a dying man's last breath.

Oscar's chains went taut as he threw himself backward, pressing against the cold stone wall. Beside him, Kelvin did the same, his eyes wide with terror. Neither of them had weapons. Neither of them could fight. They were rats in a cage, and the cat was already inside.

The masked figure stepped through the doorway, followed by two more. Their bone-white masks gleamed in the faint light from the corridor, etched with spirals that seemed to move in the darkness. The lead figure—the one with the soft, terrible voice—carried a curved blade that dripped fresh blood onto the packed earth floor.

"Little brother of Kael," it said again, tilting its head. "You've led us on quite a chase. Through the archive, through the Coliseum, through the streets of this rotting city. But the hunt ends here."

Oscar's mind raced. The chains binding him were old, but the brackets holding them to the wall had rusted over years of damp. If he could just find the right angle, the right amount of pressure—

"You killed Mike," Oscar said, stalling for time. "The scholar. You tortured him for information, then you killed him."

The masked figure laughed—a soft, almost gentle sound. "Mike was already dying when we found him. The collapse in the archive crushed his legs. We merely... accelerated the process." It stepped closer, the blade glinting. "But he did tell us something interesting before he passed. Something about the girl. About her blood."

Oscar's heart stopped. "What did he tell you?"

"That she's the purest strain. The last descendant of the Titan's firstborn." The figure crouched, bringing its masked face level with Oscar's. Through the eyeholes, Oscar could see pale gray eyes, cold and empty. "We already knew that, of course. We've known since her village burned. But it was nice to have confirmation."

Kelvin spoke up, his voice shaking but defiant. "If you knew, why didn't you take her years ago? Why wait until now?"

"Because we needed her to grow strong. The old blood is like a vine—it needs time to mature, to reach its full potential. If we'd taken her as a child, her blood would have been too weak to open the path." The figure stood, stepping back. "But now? Now she's ready. And so are we."

The two other figures moved forward, their hands reaching for Oscar's chains. He tensed, preparing to fight, to kick, to do anything—

A blade erupted from the chest of the figure on the left.

The masked man gasped, blood spraying from behind his bone mask. He crumpled, revealing a familiar figure standing behind him, curved dagger in hand.

Jeriq.

The assassin moved like smoke, his blade finding the throat of the second figure before anyone could react. Blood arced through the air, splattering the walls. The body hit the ground with a wet thud.

The lead figure spun, raising its curved blade. "The Viperfang dog. I should have known Kane would send you."

"Kane didn't send me," Jeriq said, his voice flat. "I came on my own."

He lunged.

The two assassins clashed in the narrow cell, their blades singing in the darkness. Jeriq was fast, precise, his movements economical. But the masked figure was faster—unnaturally fast, its body twisting and flowing like water. The curved blade slashed across Jeriq's chest, drawing blood.

Jeriq stumbled back, his free hand pressed to the wound. "Oscar! The chains!"

Oscar understood. He threw himself against the brackets, using every ounce of strength he had left. The rusted iron groaned, then snapped. His right hand came free.

He didn't waste a second. He swung the chain like a flail, catching the masked figure across the face. The bone mask cracked, fragments spraying across the cell. The figure staggered, revealing a face beneath—pale, gaunt, with a scar that ran from temple to jaw.

A face Oscar recognized.

"You," he breathed. "You were at the Coliseum. In the gallery. Watching."

The man smiled, blood dripping from a cut on his lip. "I've been watching you for years, Oscar. Ever since your brother died. You're predictable. Loyal. Easy to manipulate." He raised his blade. "Just like Kael."

Rage exploded through Oscar's chest. He lunged, the chain whipping through the air. The man dodged, but Jeriq was already moving, his dagger finding the gap between ribs. The masked man gasped, his eyes going wide.

Then Jeriq twisted the blade.

The man fell.

Silence descended on the cell, broken only by the drip of blood and the distant echo of fighting somewhere above. Oscar stood over the body, his chest heaving, his hands shaking.

"Who was he?" Kelvin asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"A traitor," Jeriq said, wiping his blade on the dead man's robes. "One of Kane's inner circle. He's been feeding information to the Bleached Maw for months. That's how they knew about the archive. How they knew about Mike. How they found you here tonight."

Oscar's blood ran cold. "If he was Kane's man, then Kane—"

"Kane is many things, but he's not a fool." Jeriq sheathed his dagger. "He suspected a leak weeks ago. That's why he sent me to follow you. To see who else might be involved."

"And Ivanna? Where is she?"

"Still alive. Kane has her in a secure chamber, but the Bleached Maw is inside the stronghold. We need to move. Now."

Oscar grabbed a fallen sword from one of the dead guards and turned to Kelvin. "Can you fight?"

Kelvin nodded, though his face was pale. "I can fight."

"Then let's go."

They followed Jeriq through the dungeon, past cells filled with the dead and dying. The stronghold was in chaos. Bodies littered the corridors—guards and Bleached Maw alike, their blood mixing in dark pools on the stone floor. The sounds of battle echoed from somewhere above.

"How many are there?" Oscar asked.

"Dozens. Maybe more." Jeriq led them up a narrow staircase. "The Bleached Maw has been planning this assault for weeks. They knew exactly when and where to strike."

"The traitor. He told them everything."

"Yes. But he's dead now. That gives us an advantage. The Bleached Maw doesn't know their inside man is gone. They're still expecting reinforcements that will never come."

They emerged into a wider corridor, lit by flickering torches. Two Bleached Maw cultists turned, weapons raised. Jeriq killed them before they could scream.

"The chamber is at the end of this hall," he said. "Kane's private quarters. He's holding Ivanna there."

Oscar's heart pounded. He could feel her presence, somehow—a pull in his chest that he couldn't explain. The old blood, he realized. It was calling to him. Calling to both of them.

They reached the door. It was heavy, iron-bound, reinforced with bars. Jeriq produced a set of keys and began working the locks.

"Hurry," Oscar said. "They could be—"

The door swung open.

The chamber beyond was a wreck. Furniture overturned, tapestries torn from the walls. Bodies lay scattered across the floor—Kane's guards, their throats cut, their eyes staring at nothing.

And in the center of the room, kneeling on the blood-soaked carpet, was Ivanna.

She was alive.

But she wasn't alone.

A figure stood behind her, a blade pressed to her throat. Young, with silver hair and cold green eyes. Prazeus.

"Hello, Oscar," he said. "I was wondering when you'd arrive."

Oscar's blood turned to ice. "You. You're the traitor."

Prazeus smiled—that same thin, humorless expression. "Traitor implies I was ever on your side. I wasn't. I've been working for the Bleached Maw since before you were born."

Jeriq stepped forward, his dagger raised. "Let her go."

"I don't think so." Prazeus pressed the blade closer to Ivanna's throat. A thin line of blood appeared on her skin. "She's the key to everything. The Bleached Maw needs her blood to open the path to the Crown. And I intend to deliver her personally."

Oscar's hands clenched around his sword. "Why? What do you get out of this?"

"The same thing you want." Prazeus's eyes gleamed. "Vengeance. The Bleached Maw killed my family when I was a child. They burned my village, slaughtered my parents, left me for dead. But instead of hating them, I learned from them. I joined them. And now I'm going to use their power to destroy the clans that let it happen."

"You're insane."

"I'm practical." Prazeus shrugged. "The clans destroyed my family as surely as the Bleached Maw did. They let it happen. They looked the other way. And now they'll pay."

Ivanna spoke, her voice strained but steady. "You talk too much."

Before anyone could react, she moved.

The Cinder Step ignited. Her body blurred, twisting in Prazeus's grip. The blade cut into her throat—but she was already moving, already spinning, already free. She drove her elbow into Prazeus's ribs, then her knee into his groin. He doubled over, gasping.

Oscar lunged.

Prazeus recovered fast, his blade coming up to meet Oscar's sword. Steel clashed against steel, sparks flying. The two men locked eyes, inches apart.

"You're not strong enough," Prazeus hissed. "You never were. Your brother was the strong one. You're just his shadow."

Oscar's rage exploded. The Ashen Rebirth Style ignited in his chest, flooding his veins with burning heat. His next strike was faster, harder, driven by something deeper than muscle.

Prazeus's eyes widened. He parried, but the force of the blow drove him back. Oscar pressed the attack, his sword singing through the air. Strike after strike, each one fueled by years of grief and hatred.

Then Jeriq was beside him, his dagger finding an opening. Prazeus gasped, stumbling. Blood poured from a wound in his side.

"Finish it," Jeriq said.

Oscar raised his sword.

Prazeus looked up at him, and for a moment, Oscar saw something in his eyes. Not fear. Not regret. Something closer to relief.

"Do it," Prazeus whispered. "I'm tired of running."

Oscar hesitated.

And in that moment, Prazeus moved. His blade flashed toward Oscar's heart.

A body slammed into Oscar from the side, knocking him out of the way. He hit the ground hard, rolling, coming up just in time to see Kelvin standing over Prazeus, a knife buried in the traitor's chest.

Prazeus stared down at the blade, then up at Kelvin. His mouth opened, but no words came. He crumpled to the floor and didn't move again.

Kelvin stood there, breathing hard, his hands shaking. "I... I killed him."

Oscar pushed himself up, his body aching. "You saved my life."

"He was going to kill you. I couldn't... I couldn't let him..."

Ivanna appeared at Oscar's side, her hand pressed to the wound on her throat. Blood seeped between her fingers, but she was standing. Still fighting.

"We need to leave," she said. "Now."

Jeriq nodded. "The stronghold is compromised. Kane's forces are scattered. We need to regroup, find a safe place to—"

A horn sounded somewhere in the distance. Long, low, mournful.

Jeriq's face went pale. "That's the retreat signal. The Bleached Maw is pulling back."

"Isn't that good?" Kelvin asked.

"No." Jeriq's voice was grim. "It means they got what they came for."

Oscar's blood ran cold. He turned to Ivanna, then to the body of Prazeus, then to the empty chamber around them.

"What did they take?" he demanded.

Jeriq didn't answer. Instead, he walked to a pedestal in the corner of the room—a pedestal that had been hidden behind a fallen tapestry. On it, a glass case lay shattered. Empty.

"The first key," Jeriq said quietly. "It was here. Kane had it. He was studying it, trying to understand how it worked."

"A physical key?" Oscar asked. "I thought the first key was a person."

"It was. But the person led to a location. And the location contained... this." Jeriq held up a fragment of broken glass. "A piece of the Titan's heart. The first key to unlocking the Iron Crown."

Oscar stared at the empty pedestal. The Bleached Maw had been here. They'd taken the key. And somewhere in the city, they were already moving to the next phase of their plan.

"We have to stop them," Oscar said.

"We can't." Jeriq's voice was flat. "Not tonight. We're outnumbered, wounded, and scattered. The Bleached Maw has the first key and a clear path to the second. If we chase them now, we die."

"Then what do we do?"

Jeriq looked at Ivanna, then at Oscar. "We find Connor. If he's still alive, he knows more about the Crown than anyone. He can tell us where the second key is. And then we beat the Bleached Maw to it."

Ivanna stepped forward, her eyes blazing. "And if Connor's dead?"

Jeriq didn't answer. He didn't need to.

The silence said everything.

Oscar looked at the bodies around them, at the blood on his hands, at the shattered pedestal that had held the first key. They'd lost. The Bleached Maw had won this round. But the war was far from over.

"Let's move," he said. "We've got a wolf to find."

They left the chamber, leaving the dead behind. Somewhere in the city, the Bleached Maw was celebrating their victory. Somewhere, a horn sounded again—a call to arms.

But Oscar didn't hear it. His mind was already racing ahead, to the next battle, the next key, the next betrayal.

The game was changing.

And the price of losing was about to get much, much higher.