The Eyes That Bind
1099 Words
Excerpt from Vault 9: The Whispered Accord
Filed under: Restricted Communications Source: Intercepted Echo – Ravannah/Viktor Convergence
“They still believe Aer belongs to the light.”
“They are fools,” Viktor replied. “The light is fractured. The goddess sleeps. Her children are scattered.”
Ravannah’s voice slithered through the veil. “And you, my chosen, will rule what remains. My sisters’ worlds will fall. Their statues will c***k. Their threads will unravel.”
“And Eden?”
“She will break. Or she will burn. Either way, she will not stand in our way.”
Viktor bowed his head. “Then I will prepare the armies.”
“Good,” Ravannah whispered. “Let the sun drown in blood. Let the moon weep. Let Aer remember who truly holds the crown.”
______________________________________________________________
Lucian stood beneath the vaulted ceiling of the archive chamber, surrounded by scrolls older than memory. The air was thick with dust and silence. No guards. No scribes. Just him—and the stories he was never meant to read.
He moved past the sanctioned histories, past the polished lies carved into stone. He found the hidden alcove behind the statue of the twin serpents. And there, sealed in obsidian wax, was the scroll marked with a single word:
Balance.
He broke the seal.
The parchment trembled in his hands. The ink shimmered faintly, as if resisting the light. He read.
“The Gemini Pair shall rise not to rule, but to restore.
One born of dusk, one of dawn.
Their union will spark the Fall.
Their sacrifice will guide the Great Migration.”
Lucian’s breath caught.
The Fall of Polis. The Great Migration. These were not myths. They were warnings.
And he was one half of it.
He saw Eden in his mind—her eyes, her resolve, her silence. He saw the armies gathering. Viktor’s hunger. Marie’s watchful gaze. Ravannah’s whispers.
He could not stay.
He would not serve a lie.
Lucian rolled the scroll and tucked it beneath his cloak. He turned toward the exit, heart pounding.
He would flee.
He would find Eden.
And together, they would prepare.
Not for peace.
But for war.
Lucian moved like a shadow through the stronghold.
He kept to the servant corridors, the ones that twisted behind the grand halls and war rooms. The ones he used to sneak through as a boy, long before he became a weapon. Long before he became a threat.
He passed familiar faces—soldiers, stewards, old comrades. He offered nods, half-smiles, the occasional clipped greeting. No one questioned him. He was still the Brightest Shadow, still Viktor’s heir.
For now.
He reached the outer corridor, the one that led to the mountain pass. Just a few more turns and he’d be free.
But the air shifted.
He felt it before he saw them.
The corridor opened into the training yard, and there they stood—waiting.
A dozen soldiers in dark armor. Eyes cold. Weapons drawn.
And at the center of them, leaning against the stone wall with a grin like a blade, was Klauss.
“Going somewhere, prince?” Klauss asked, pushing off the wall. His voice was low, eager. “You know, I was hoping you’d run.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. “Step aside.”
Klauss laughed. “You always did think you were untouchable.”
And then he saw her.
Marie.
Standing tall, flanked by two of her elites. Her expression was unreadable. Her sword was already drawn.
“Lucian,” she said, voice calm. “Don’t do this.”
“I have to.”
“You don’t. You choose to.”
He looked at her, and for a moment, something flickered between them. Regret. Memory. The ghost of what never was.
Then Klauss lunged.
Lucian moved faster.
Steel met steel in a flash of sparks. Klauss was strong—brutal, relentless—but Lucian was something else. He didn’t just fight. He
flowed. He danced. His blade was an extension of his will, his power crackling at the edges of every strike.
The soldiers closed in. Marie shouted orders. The yard erupted.
Lucian’s power surged—dark and golden, a storm of opposites. He moved through them like a force of nature, parrying, striking, disarming. He didn’t kill. Not yet. But he made them bleed.
Klauss came at him again, fangs bared, eyes wild. Lucian caught his wrist, twisted, and drove him into the stone with a force that cracked the wall. Klauss crumpled, unconscious.
Marie stepped forward, fury in her eyes. “You’re betraying everything.”
“No,” Lucian said. “I’m remembering who I am.”
Their blades met in a clash that shook the yard. Marie was fast—faster than anyone else in the stronghold. Her strikes were precise, merciless. But Lucian was beyond her now. He had seen the truth. He had touched the thread.
He disarmed her in three moves.
She fell to one knee, breathing ragged, her sword skidding across the stone.
Lucian stood over her, eyes burning. “Tell Viktor whatever you want. But I’m not his anymore.”
He turned and ran, vanishing into the mountain mist before the next wave of soldiers could arrive.
Behind him, Marie knelt in silence, surrounded by the wreckage of her failure.
And above them all, unseen but ever-present, Ravannah watched.
His voice curled through the shadows like smoke.
"So the boy chooses ruin. Let him run. Let him burn. The spectacle will come."
Eden woke with a start.
The dream clung to her like mist—Lucian’s breath ragged, his blade flashing, the c***k of stone as Klauss fell, the fury in Marie’s eyes. She had seen it all. Not as a vision. Not as a prophecy.
As memory.
But it wasn’t hers.
She sat up in bed, heart pounding, the moonlight casting silver across her skin. The dream had ended the moment Lucian vanished into the mountain mist. The moment he chose her.
He was coming.
She didn’t know how she knew. She just did.
“Kass,” she whispered.
The door creaked open before she could call again. Kassiopiea stood there, already dressed, already alert.
“You saw it too,” Kass said.
Eden nodded. “He’s coming. He’s running.”
Kass stepped into the room. “Then we need to meet him before someone else does.”
“I’m not sending you alone,” Eden said. “Take Titus.”
Kass raised a brow. “You sure?”
“No one gets past Titus,” Eden said. “Not even him.”
- Writer
