With steady, deliberate steps, Zyren moved toward the shadow-cloaked corridor. The air grew denser with each cell he passed, empty iron-barred chambers yawning like silent mouths in the dark. His eyes—glowing a deep, unwavering red—remained locked on the corridor’s far end, where he finally came to a stop in front of the second-to-last cell.
It was pitch black. A human would have seen nothing, not even the outline of a wall. But Zyren stood still, his expression unreadable, sculpted in cold stone, his arms relaxed by his sides as his red gaze cut through the darkness.
Inside, the woman sat slumped on the filthy ground, her mouth parted, her eyes vacant—like her mind was lost somewhere far beyond reach. A strange, subtle smile hovered on her cracked lips as she turned her head slowly, almost dreamily, catching sight of the figure standing in front of her.
Zyren stepped closer. The moment his presence became undeniable, the woman sprang to her feet with a jolt of broken energy, lunging forward toward the bars. Her movement was a mix of desperation and haunting instinct. She slammed into the iron, fingers clawing at them, trying to wrench them apart with trembling hands.
The iron bars groaned faintly under her grip, but they didn’t give. She was still a vampire—her glowing red eyes made that clear—but starvation had decimated her. Her arms were thin as twigs, her skin like dry parchment stretched over fragile bones. A gust of wind might’ve knocked her over.
"Mother..." Zyren whispered, his voice nearly lost in the stale, suffocating air.
But before the word could finish hanging in the air, she let out a strangled sound, grinding her fingertips against the cold bars, her eyes wide and glistening with sudden tears.
"Who—Kain? Is that you?" she gasped, her voice hoarse with disbelief and delusion.
"My son!" she cried, her voice breaking as her gaze darted around frantically, terror blooming in her face like a twisted flower.
"Hide! You have to hide!" she hissed through gritted teeth, her body trembling, fingers clenching white around the bars.
"Zyren! Zyren has gone mad! He’s killing everyone!" she wailed, teeth chattering as she trembled in true panic.
"I heard... I heard he killed his father!" she barked, her voice rising with every word, each one more manic than the last as she clawed at the bars, tearing her own skin without care.
"He’s going to kill us all! He’s—"
"Zain is dead. Zyren killed him. Remember?" Zyren cut in coldly, interrupting her rising hysteria. His voice was calm, but laced with dark finality.
The moment he said it, her scream pierced the corridor—a broken, tortured sound that made the very walls seem to flinch. Tears streamed down her hollowed cheeks, her body shuddering as a memory clearly broke through the madness.
"Vander... You’re the heir! At least... at least you’re safe," she murmured, voice now fragile, lost. Her gaze softened with a mother’s fading warmth—but it was clear she no longer recognized the man standing inches away.
Zyren didn’t correct her. He simply stepped forward until he was right against the bars, close enough that his face was fully visible to her, though he doubted she truly saw him. Her mind was fractured. Recognition was beyond her reach.
"You seem unwell," he said flatly.
She didn’t respond. Her eyes drifted away again, her lips parting as she began to hum softly, a half-remembered lullaby spilling from her. She started shuffling in place, her body swaying as if on the verge of breaking into a mad little dance.
Zyren’s eyes narrowed, a deep frown etched into his features. Hatred pulsed beneath his skin, sharp and raw. He watched her hollow performance in silence.
"Madness won’t save you," he muttered, low and bitter. His thoughts wandered darkly—imagining cutting out her tongue and listening to her shriek as it regenerated over and over.
Without another word, he turned and strode silently to the very end of the corridor, where he stopped beside the wall. There, another cell lay beyond thick shadows. He leaned against the cold stone, his gaze fixed on the man within.
A pale figure sat slumped on the floor. The man’s skin was nearly translucent, the veins beneath like thin cracks on porcelain. His eyes, though—those eyes blazed red, stark and sharp against the lifelessness of his body.
The two locked eyes. Zyren didn’t speak. The man didn’t move. For a moment, there was nothing but the eerie, humming song that still drifted from the woman’s cell behind them.
Then Zyren broke the silence.
"Vander, you—" he began, but didn’t finish, the rest of his words falling uselessly from his tongue as the man sitting inside the cell suddenly raised his head. His lips pulled back, and with a hoarse, guttural voice, he exploded, his eyes blazing with raw fury.
"BASTARD!" Vander screamed, his voice reverberating through the corridor like a whip. "You’re nothing but a fucking bastard who killed Father and Kain—" His throat cracked with the strain, but he didn’t stop, his voice laced with betrayal, the kind that tore through the marrow.
He lunged slightly forward, arms trembling, every ounce of hatred in his bones straining toward the bars as if mere proximity could let him claw at Zyren’s flesh. "You butchered them!" he spat. "You slaughtered them like animals!"
"Kain killed himself," Zyren cut in sharply, his tone like stone hitting metal. "He thought he was special enough to withstand the sun." His back pressed against the wall as he lifted his gaze toward the ceiling, his eyes briefly glazing over, as if a memory surfaced—uninvited, unwanted, but powerful enough to make his jaw clench.
"Father?" Zyren added bitterly, lowering his eyes again. "I should’ve killed him way earlier than I did."
"I should have had you killed the second you were dragged into the castle!" Vander snapped, his voice shredding through the air like broken glass. "You were never one of us! Never! You’re nothing but a vermin!" He heaved out the last word, each syllable spat like venom.
His body, pale and shriveled, barely held together by translucent skin stretched over sharp bones, trembled with rage. The sight of him was pitiful—inhuman—but there was nothing weak about the hatred in his eyes.
"A weakling like you," Vander rasped, "dares to harvest Father’s heart... for some twisted ritual?" His hands clenched into trembling fists as he leaned forward, his voice now a broken growl. "You’re a bane to all vampires! A shame!"
Zyren didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow, almost amused smile curled across his lips. He nodded slightly, the way someone would when indulging the temper tantrum of a child. The lack of reaction only poured fuel on Vander’s fury, making it burn hotter.
Just as Vander seemed ready to scream again, Zyren stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his boots clicking faintly on the cold stone floor. He stopped just shy of the bars, lowering his head slightly, his voice a near-whisper.
"Vermin?" he echoed, voice chillingly calm. His red eyes lifted to meet Vander’s. "Like the ones you’ve been feeding on?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Zyren stared at him with quiet menace, gaze sharp, knowing. There was no way Vander would still be coherent—still alive—without some blood. And given his condition, there was only one place to get it.
Zyren’s lips curled again, satisfied to see a flicker—just the smallest—of shame and fear pass over Vander’s face. His hands twitched slightly, curling at his sides in silent fury.
"It’s okay," Zyren said, his voice slipping into something more twisted, something mocking, though his eyes still burned with deadly seriousness. "You can keep feeding on the rats." He leaned in, his voice now low and crazed, "...Maybe—just maybe—if you keep at it long enough, your true
He let the words linger.
Then, without another glance, he turned and began walking away, his movements calm, almost bored, until—
"Father was the one who tortured you!" Vander shouted, his voice cracking again, desperation bleeding into every word. "We didn’t do a damn thing!"
The words made Zyren pause.
Vander’s shoulders sagged slightly, but he didn’t rise, knowing better. He had strength—but not enough. Not yet. He needed Zyren to believe he was still broken. Helpless. Starved.
"Kain!" he shouted again, his voice trembling. "KAIN! He didn’t deserve to die!" The pain in his voice cracked through the air like thunder. "He never hurt you!"
Zyren turned his head, looking back at him just long enough to let Vander see the emotionless expression return to his face. Calm. Controlled. Devoid of mercy.
"Yes," he said finally. "You did nothing."
And then he turned away.
Didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t give him another glance.
He only mumbled as he walked, his voice low but sharp—just loud enough for any vampire, even one as drained as Vander, to hear.
"That’s the problem."
His footsteps were slow and deliberate, his silhouette growing smaller as he retreated down the corridor. The humming from the far cell echoed once again, maddening in its continuity, bouncing off the cold stone walls like a ghostly lullaby.
Zyren didn’t return to Savira, Hilda’s assistant. Nor did he head toward Hilda—the oldest vampire alive. He didn’t speak to anyone.
He left the dungeon without a word.
There was somewhere else he needed to be... someone else he wanted to see.
But for now, he simply smiled—something private curling at the edges of his lips as a memory surfaced. One that made his eyes glint with something far too manic to be sane.
’Barely two days left!’
With that thought, he made his way back to his wing. Back to his office.