Ilyas sprinted down a narrow hallway in the fort. He got to the doors of the War room, bursting through them. Inside, a round table sat all of those who attended Umbratara. For a moment, they all looked tense, sad even, but then Jehan, Heroona and Jabar looked at his flour covered garments and began to laugh. Aeon smiled at him with a reassuring thumbs up, as if to say “It’s alright, you look fine.” Callaia looked at him with what seemed like confusion and disappointment. Taldris, seemed tired.

  “Finally made it, I see,” he sighed.

  “Yeah….I got caught up with something.”

  He shook his head. “Oh well, let’s continue. From what I’ve gathered through everyone's reports and what we went through during our time in Vamp country, it seems there is going to be a globally staged war.”

  Ilyas felt his stomach go cold. Even the sugar cookies he had just helped make would have been bitter at that moment. “Huh?” He moved to take a seat.

  Taldris’s demeanor was dark. His head low, covered by shadows. “Do you know of the dragon shards?”

  “A little bit,” he sat straight. He glanced around the room, everyone's expressions were sour again. That struck him as odd, especially in Callaia and Aeon. “They’re fragments of the dragon Bahamut aren’t they?”

  “Yes. Born through his defeat millenia ago. The thing is, the dragon lives in those shards. And if enough of them can be put into a vessel, the dragon will be reborn.”

  Ilyas’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t know that.”

  “There is a cult, obsessed with turning that power into their own. The leader wishes to revive the dragon and tame it, in a sense. That’s what we have assumed from what we’ve seen,” Taldris said. He pointed at a pile of documents on the table. “An organization that is obsessed with both the shards, and the descendants of the heroes.” He picked the stack up, flipping through a file of photos. It stopped on a picture of Ilyas. “You see, they need the heroes' descendants for whatever cursed rituals they have planned. We don’t know enough about it, and we don’t even know who’s on our side.”

  Taldris took a breath. “So we’ve kept it a secret. I’ve only now revealed it to my men. You are one of those descendants. So when you were targeted, it set off alarm bells with us generals. You see, we’ve been watching you for some time, and noticed how the Darkdwellers who get into the Hume borders come to you, search for you. We had to wait for something decisive to take action.”

  Ilyas clenched his fist, thinking back to all the mercenary and bounty hunting work he had done over the past three years. Ever since he was sixteen, that was all he knew, yet now it seemed like less of a job, and more like the hunter was being hunted all along.

  “When General Karim heard about the vampire in Velitrae, right by your house, he knew that was our call to action. It was too specific, too orchestrated, just like everything that happened in Umbratara.” He flipped through the files, more faces showing up. He caught a glimpse of the vampire that attacked him in Velitrae. “Callaia and Aeon captained a recon squad a week before we hired you. Their mission was to find out everything they could about the Darkdwellers and their connections to the mysterious dragon cult. After I lost contact with them, The vampire appeared, travelling directly to your doorstep.”

  A bead of sweat fell from Ilyas’s forehead, remembering the first vampire he had encountered, the most skillful monster he had ever faced. The ominous stake thrown at him, Hugo and Erza’s warnings in his ears, it all felt even more dreadful to him now.

  “I asked Karim to get you. I needed you in Umbratara, to confirm my suspicions. After they did all that threatening with us, I knew the cult was involved. Vampires don’t play those games, they just kill. Everything was too odd, but now it makes sense. The cult has somehow convinced the Darkdwellers to aid them. There is still nothing solid, but that definitely entails a war. They’ve already made themselves visible to us, the only thing left now is that they hunt down every single descendant and achieve their goal of reviving Bahamut.”

  Ilyas’s body suddenly shook, not with fear but anger, anger that he was used and kept in the dark, when everything revolved around his capture. He grit his fangs, but held his mouth shut with struggle, keeping his frustrations to himself. They did, after all, provide his family with shelter in the most secure palace in the entirety of Falcia. For that, he told himself they were even. Yet he couldn’t ignore the anger he had for Karim. His own blood, lying to him like the rest. My own damned brother. “So if I died in Umbratara? Then what?”

  “Then I’d have my confirmation anyway.”

  His eyes widened with shock. He inhaled sharply, holding the breath. Seriously? “So you told all of us, only now?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Yes, they knew to a tiny extent, but nothing as detailed. If I had told you everything beforehand, and you got captured, I had no guarantee you’d keep the secrets. Especially you. I don’t know you, and I didn’t have enough faith either. For that I am sorry. And for risking your life to save my men, I’ll forever be thankful.”

  Ilyas’s lips curled into a snarl. Low and Venomous. “I knew all of you Watchers were the same.”

  Taldris’s expression remained unchanged. “I am sorry. But now that I’ve seen your capabilities, I want to divulge the information to you, so that you can make your choices with everything in consideration.”

  He leaned back in the seat with his arms folded. “Hell of a lot of choices I got. You said it right? A war is coming, and I’m a damn target. Whether I fight or not isn’t determined by me anymore.” He clenched his fist tighter, imagining the Dawnbringer in his grip. That stupid sword. It’s trying to boost these stupid emotions. All of this is stupid!

  “That’s right, but how you fight can be. You can leave the fort and do it your own way, or we can sign you another contract. A mercenary of your caliber would aid us greatly.”

  Ilyas felt his stomach burn. His face went hot as he attempted to calm himself down. They’re taking care of my family. If this really is a war, then I owe them! He attempted to keep telling himself over and over, to calm down the fire building inside of him. “Of course I’d be of great use, I’d be used for more confirmations right? More tests? More ways of figuring out what the cult wants? A body double? A sacrifice? Isn’t that it?”

  “Look-”

  He shot the words before he could stop himself. He had no control over his actions anymore, his anger taking over. “You bastards could have at least told me I was being sent alone as bait. To draw out your stupid cult!” His hair began to stand on edge as if He was being electrocuted. “Hell, all I needed to know was that I was used as bait. I’m sure that wasn’t such crucial information, was it?” He looked over at Callaia, her words coming into play again. I’d rather have died. “Who am I kidding…You put your own captain at risk. Hell… She basically died, because of your damn secrecy!

  Taldris flinched, his hands moving in front of him. “Look, it was wrong, I acknowledge that, and I could have done better. My men are loyal to me and the cause, so they understand. So join us, let us all have a second chance.”

  Ilyas felt something dark stirring beneath his skin. A new yet familiar presence—cold and ancient—began to coil around the edges of his consciousness.

  Erebus.

  "Control yourself," Ilyas muttered under his breath, his vision beginning to blur at the edges.

  Taldris squinted at him. “You alright?”

  His response came as a low growl. Blood rushed in his ears, drowning out the ambient sounds of the war room.

  "They're trying to use you again," Erebus whispered, his voice a serpentine thread in Ilyas's mind. "Let me handle this."

  Ilyas gripped the table hard. Tiny fractures began to spread beneath his fingers, wood splintering under the pressure of his increasing strength.

  "Ilyas?" Callaia called out, her brows rising in worry.

  He fought back, whispering to himself. “Just leave me alone already!”

  Erebus began to laugh. “Do not act as if I am not reflecting your own anger. Do not worry. I feel the same way. This one I do not like. At all.”

  A low, rumbling laugh escaped Ilyas's throat. Not entirely his own.

  "You think to use me?" The words came out darker, more resonant than his usual voice. "Do you know how many have tried? How many have failed. For centuries, they always have."

  Aeon's eyes shot wide open, and he leapt up from his seat. “Hey that’s not him! That’s the sword!”

  "Silence!" The voice rang out with authority. The panic that was about to erupt in the room was instantly quelled. An icy coldness began to seep into the room. Ilyas was gone. Erebus surged forward, momentarily taking control. His eyes lingered on Aeon for a moment, studying him. Pink veins began to pulse beneath Ilyas's skin, and the skin itself was black.

  Everyone froze. Callaia attempted to draw her blade, but her hand simply shook at its hilt. She stared in awe. She had slain so many vampires before, What the hell is wrong with this one?

  Aeon was the only one not shaken up entirely, instead he watched with strained eyes, itching at what would happen next. The rest all sat frozen.

  Taldris drew his small blade, his eyes locking on to Erebus’s. That was all it took. The pink eyes flashed back at him, and in an instant Taldris dropped to the floor. His seat crashed as he toppled over it. A low laugh escaped Ilyas as the darkness disappeared from his skin.

  Ilyas was disoriented, his world spinning in a nauseating spiral. His legs trembled beneath him, refusing to hold steady, and he pressed his palms against his eyes, desperate to quell the razor-sharp pain splitting through his skull. The sounds around him were distorted, like whispers echoing through thick water - muffled screams punctuating a landscape of chaos. As he strained to comprehend his surroundings, time itself seemed liquefied, each moment stretching and contracting with surreal elasticity. His body felt impossibly heavy, gravity pulling him downward with merciless intent. As consciousness began to slip away like sand through his fingers, he glimpsed, seeing weapons rushing towards him, and then, the silhouette of a red figure, with black hair flowing behind them. That was all he could make out before everything was mute.