Solvane: Bound by Sin and Silence

Episode 7: Chosen

(Nyxeron's POV)

The door to the conference room clicked shut,I remained seated, my eyes fixed on the heavy oak door. Beside me, Artem was already opening his laptop, his movements were so efficient. He was my right hand, the one whom I trusted the most.

Artem didn’t wait for me to initiate the conversation. He stood by the table, his posture rigid, his face tight with a disapproval he usually took great pains to mask. When he finally spoke, he used our native tongue—the words sharp, cold, and stripped of corporate pleasantries.

“Сэр, вы уверены в своем выборе?” (Sir, are you sure about your choice?) Artem asked, his voice low but demanding. “Эта девушка... Серенит. Она не подходит для этого. Она слишком хрупкая.” (This girl... Serenith. She is not suitable for this. She is too fragile.)

I didn't offer an immediate answer. Instead, I leaned back into the plush leather, my fingers tracing the cold edge of the mahogany table. I wasn't analyzing her resume or her academic standing. I was remembering the way her pulse had jumped visibly under the pale skin of her throat when I held her gaze the frantic, beautiful rhythm of a cornered animal that still refuses to bow its head.

“Артем, ты сомневаешься в моем решении?” (Artem, are you doubting my decision?) I asked. My voice dropped to a quiet, dangerous rasp that made the air in the room feel thin.

“Я сомневаюсь в ее безопасности, сэр,” (I doubt her safety, Sir,) Artem countered, stepping closer. “У нее нет опыта в нашем мире. Она не знает, на что мы способны. Если она узнает правду... она сломается. Вы действительно хотите доверить ей это?” (She has no experience in our world. She doesn't know what we are capable of. If she finds out the truth... she will break. Do you really want to entrust her with this?)

He looked at me, his eyes searching for a flicker of regret or a sign that I realized hiring her was a tactical error. To him, she was a weak link. To me, she was a curiosity.

“Она не сломается, Артем,” (She won't break, Artem,) I replied, a dark, predatory glint in my eyes. “Она закалится. Или я сам ее сломаю. В любом случае, выбор сделан. Она — то, что ему нужно.” (She will be hardened. Or I will break her myself. Either way, the choice is made. She is what he needs.)

I was about to dismiss him when the phone on the table vibrated. The sound was harsh against the wood. I didn't need to glance at the screen; the specific rhythm of the vibration told me everything. I answered, letting my voice sink into a low, cold rumble.

“Да.” (Yes.)

Artem immediately turned away, staring at the far wall. He understood the hierarchy. Even he wasn't permitted to witness the raw, blood-bond tension that existed between my brother and me. A brief, heavy silence followed on the line—a silence so sharp it felt like the edge of a blade.

Then, my brother’s voice came through. It was a mirror of my own, but weighted with a terrifying level of control.

“Докладывай.” (Report.)

“Отбор завершён,”(The selection is complete.) I said calmly leaning my head back.

. “Ничего выдающегося.” (Nothing exceptional.)

A pause. A silence so sharp it felt like a blade.

A pause. I could almost feel him on the other end, miles away in a world built on shadows and steel.

“И всё же ты там.” (And yet, you’re still there.)

I glanced toward the glass window. Beyond it, the city was a blur of lights and motion.

“There is… one anomaly.”

The silence on the other end shifted. It became focused. Lethal.

“Объясни.” (Explain.)

“She’s… different,” I replied,my voice dropping to a low, gravelly rasp as the image of her haunting eyes flashed in my mind.“There’s a quiet defiance in her, a strength she hasn't even recognized yet. No obvious strings to pull. No visible handles to grab. She doesn't belong in the file cabinet with the others.”

“Everyone has a weakness, Nyxeron,” he countered. It wasn't a lesson; it was a warning.

“Да,”( Yes.) I agreed quietly. “But hers isn't on the surface. It’s buried.”

A faint shift in the air. Interest. The kind of interest that usually ended in blood.

“You’re considering her.” It wasn't a question.

I shifted in my seat, the expensive leather creaking under my weight

“I’m considering testing her.” I said to him, “Для тебя.” (For you.)

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. My brother’s authority was a physical thing, heavy and suffocating even through a digital signal.

“Осторожно,” (Careful,) he whispered, the sound like a cold wind through a graveyard. “You do not choose for me.”

“I merely present what is worthy of your time,” I replied, my grip on the phone tightening

“Details.”

I took a breath, the image of her face flashing in my mind—the way she had stood her ground even as her hands trembled. “She has no idea what world she is stepping into. I’ll put her through the final screening personally. If she survives... she’ll be assigned directly to your estate.”

“Ко мне.” (To me.)

I heard a soft, cold exhale. It wasn't approval; it was the sound of a predator acknowledging a new type of prey. “Let’s see if she survives you first, Nyxeron.”

A ghost of a smile touched my lips, devoid of any warmth. “Most don’t.”

“I know.” The silence that followed was final.

“And if she doesn’t?” I asked. For a moment, nothing but the static of the long-distance line. Then, the answer that sealed Serenith’s fate.

“Тогда она моя.” (Then she’s mine.)

The line went dead.

I stayed there for a long moment, staring at the darkened glass of the window. I wanted to see how much pressure it would take before that quiet defiance finally shattered into pieces. And more than that... I wanted to be the one holding those pieces when she did.

I placed the phone back on the table. Artem was still standing there. He knew the girl’s fate was no longer about a simple internship. She had just become a pawn in a much larger, darker game between my brother and I .

“Артем, позвони менеджеру,” (Artem, call the manager,) I commanded, my eyes fixed on the city lights. “Пусть впустят ее. Сейчас же.” (Tell them to let her in. Right now.)

Artem didn’t blink. He reached for the desk phone, his movements efficient and cold. “Да, сэр.” (Yes, Sir.)

I watched his reflection as he relayed the order. My heart wasn't racing, but there was a strange, dark hum in my veins. I wanted to see if that "quiet defiance" was like how I described it to my brother. Artem gave a stiff nod and finished the call.

A few minutes later, the faint sound of footsteps approached. It wasn't the confident stride of an executive; it was hesitant, yet rhythmic. A soft knock followed.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Serenith stepped inside. She looked small against the vast, cold backdrop of the mahogany and glass. Her eyes were wide, taking in the shadows of the room, but her chin was held high. That defiance I had described to my brother? It was right there, shimmering in her gaze.

I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest, letting the shadows of the room swallow me while the light from the window hit her perfectly.

"Sit," I said.

My voice was a low velvet threat that seemed to vibrate in the small space between us. I didn't look at Artem as he exited. I didn't look at her file. My eyes were locked onto hers, watching the way her pupils dilated in the dim light. She was terrified I could see it in the way she held her breath but she didn't look away. Not once.

I leaned back, a slow, dark smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. She was terrified, yet she hadn't looked away. Not once.

Interesting.



"Let's see what you're really made of, Serenith."

This wasn't a screening anymore. It was an initiation.