Wyatt paced the room, his boots echoing ominously against the cold stone floor. Evelyn lounged in a chair, her smirk as sharp as the daggers she liked to carry, while Charlie meticulously arranged his tools on the workbench. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with the gravity of their plans and the faint, metallic tang of blood.
Charlie finally broke the silence, his voice low and deliberate, as if reciting an ancient truth. “Blood is power, but it is also has a law. No two beings can share the same exact blood, not truly. Kyra’s blood is unique, one of a kind. It is her strength, but it also binds her to a rule: there can only ever be one. If another host takes her essence, they must kill her to claim it fully. Otherwise, the balance collapses. They both die.”
Wyatt stopped his pac
