Lies and Loyalty:

  The journey from the abandoned Vampyre settlement to Brunhilda’s coven took just over an hour—enough time for Thalia and Arius to reconnect in the way only ancient siblings could. Freya, though deeply bonded to Arius, let them have that rare space. She chimed in occasionally, but mostly listened as their banter—warm, sharp, and shaped by seven millennia of shared history—filled the air. Their closeness reminded her of her own brother, lost only a few years before her turning, leaving behind a void no companionship could truly replace.

  As the mountain path narrowed and Brunhilda’s stronghold came into view, their laughter faded into silence. Freya’s pulse quickened as the towering rock face revealed an immense archway carved seamlessly into the stone. The castle seemed to grow from the mountain itself, as if the earth had shaped it over centuries. Two colossal stone doors stood beneath the arch, unadorned yet imposing, guarded by figures encased in gleaming black armor.

  “Shadow fiends,” Arius murmured to Freya. Born of the demonic blood in Brunhilda’s lineage, the fiends remained motionless, acknowledging nothing. Yet as the travelers approached, the massive doors groaned open, revealing a world entirely unlike the harsh exterior.

  Inside, the jagged mountain shell gave way to breathtaking majesty. The corridor stretched endlessly into shadow, wide enough for twenty people to walk abreast, its ceiling supported by towering arches carved from the mountain’s heart. Runes and symbols—long forgotten—covered the stone columns. Veins of luminous minerals caught the torchlight, scattering glimmers of gold and silver across the dim hall.

  The air was still and cold, broken only by the crackle of torches set in ornate iron sconces shaped like serpents coiled around blades. Their warmth did little to chase away the ancient chill that clung to the depths of Brunhilda’s domain.

  Tapestries lined the walls in solemn procession, each one depicting centuries?old stories. Though faded with age, their colors still revealed battles beneath blood?red skies, towering flame?wreathed figures, and creatures that defied nature’s design. Under the wavering torchlight, the stitched images seemed almost alive. As Arius drew closer, he noticed hidden symbols woven into the threads—whispers of forgotten rites and forbidden knowledge.

  The air carried the scent of old parchment, melted wax, and damp stone. Beneath his boots, polished obsidian slabs reflected the torchlight like dark mirrors, thin cracks veined with the same faintly glowing minerals embedded in the walls. At intervals, narrow bridges of black stone spanned chasms that plunged into unseen depths. The darkness below swallowed every drifting ember.

  Crossing one of the bridges, Arius heard his footsteps echo into the void before being consumed by the oppressive silence. Waist?high wrought?iron railings bordered each span, their edges sharpened to cruel points. Strange sigils were etched along them—wards or warnings for those who strayed too close.

  Above, the ceiling vanished into shadow. Here and there, chandeliers of black iron emerged from the gloom, suspended on ancient chains that creaked softly. Clusters of blood?red garnets and shards of amethyst adorned each fixture, scattering fractured hues of crimson and violet across the stone in slow, hypnotic patterns.

  The silence was deep but not complete. Faint murmurs drifted through the hall, rising and falling at the edge of hearing—whether echoes of the dead or the mountain’s breath, Arius could not tell. Alcoves carved into the rock housed statues of armored warriors, their visored faces obscured, their stone eyes seeming to follow him.

  At the far end of the corridor stood a figure flanked by two others. The women at her sides were veiled in flowing black, only their eyes visible. The central woman, dressed in sleek black attire like a dark queen, wore no veil—her face fully revealed, commanding and unreadable.

  Freya’s gaze locked onto the central figure—the legendary Brunhilda. She appeared to be in her mid?forties, faint lines softening her eyes and mouth, marks of wisdom rather than age. Her eyes were endless pools of pitch?black, a void that seemed to pierce straight through Freya. A sharp, delicate nose and subtly pointed ears lent her an otherworldly grace, while short dark?purple hair framed her pale face like a shadowed halo.

  “By the Divines, it is true,” Brunhilda murmured, her voice a low, melodic hum edged with danger. Freya felt desire and fascination surge through her, the sound of that voice wrapping around her mind like silk. The urge to step closer, to touch, to surrender, rose unbidden. Brunhilda’s soft laugh dissolved what little resistance remained.

  “Apologies, my dear. I’m out of practice meeting new people,” she said with effortless elegance. As she spoke, the haze clouding Freya’s thoughts lifted, and she realized the allure had been woven by a glamour spell. Brunhilda smiled knowingly. “A small glamour I employ. It makes people more… malleable.”

  Freya steadied herself, though the pull of Brunhilda’s presence lingered like a fading perfume. “Don’t mention it,” she managed, her eyes still drawn to the woman’s face.

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  “We need to talk.” Arius’s steady voice cut through the tension, grounding Freya in their purpose. Brunhilda tilted her head, amusement flickering in her dark eyes.

  “I’ve gathered that. About what, pray tell?”

  With a resigned sigh, Arius unsheathed his sword, Thalia mirroring him. Brunhilda merely gestured for them to follow.

  The doors closed behind them as they ventured deeper into the mountain. Veiled figures glided through the narrowing halls, silent devotees moving with spectral grace. Eventually, a door opened to Brunhilda’s private quarters—a luxurious chamber of satin linens, towering bookshelves, and a polished table at its center.

  As they sat, Brunhilda’s veil unwound, reshaping into a strapless gown that clung to her like liquid shadow. Freya felt that familiar pull again as Brunhilda moved with the poise of a queen carved from darkness itself.

  Freya took her seat across from Brunhilda, a surge of conflicting emotions tightening in her chest—admiration, wariness, and a thread of desire she struggled to suppress. Arius and Thalia, unaffected by Brunhilda’s lingering glamour, sat with calm resolve. Yet Freya felt the tension coiling around them, the weight of unspoken truths pressing in as the dim light cast restless shadows along the stone walls, as though the mountain itself listened.

  With a graceful motion, Brunhilda leaned forward. An ornate teapot materialized on the table as if rising from the polished surface. The room was silent save for the soft clink of porcelain as she poured four cups, the air filling with the scent of an unfamiliar, exotic brew. Her movements were unhurried, her gaze drifting over her guests with quiet amusement. None of them seemed eager to begin.

  “So,” Brunhilda said at last, her tone teasing, “what about your weapons did you want to discuss?” She sipped her tea, eyes sharp.

  Arius met her gaze. “The fact that I’m sitting here after having one of those weapons driven through my chest—or that Dalareyes is alive after suffering the same.”

  Brunhilda didn’t flinch. If anything, her eyes glimmered with amusement. “Both are easy to explain.”

  “Then explain,” Arius pressed. “Thalia told me some things, but I want to hear it from you.”

  “Simple. I was wrong. During the war, the texts suggested Demornium and Angelite were lethal to all beings. Turns out only a specific form is—metal infused with a magic so ancient even I don’t know its origins.”

  “Like my sword,” Thalia said. Brunhilda nodded.

  “Exactly. The caves have altered the Demornium found there. I’ve yet to see Angelite undergo the same transformation.”

  “How long have you known?” Arius asked, accusation creeping in.

  “Since the war’s aftermath,” she replied coolly. “I kept it hidden. If the Archangels had known, they would have reignited the war to seize the caves—assuming they survived them.”

  Arius leaned forward. Brunhilda continued, “The magic there affects more than metal. Creatures within absorbed it too. Some are powerful enough to threaten even you two.”

  Arius shot Thalia a look. She shrugged. “Didn’t matter. I killed a few retrieving the metal. Got what I needed.”

  “You could have died,” Arius snapped.

  “Have a little faith,” she said. “I’m older than you. I haven’t died yet.”

  “Yes, you have. We both have.”

  “Fine,” she smirked. “I haven’t died twice, then.”

  Arius shook his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

  “Love you too, Ari,” Thalia shot back.

  But he quickly refocused. “So—where exactly is this place?” he asked, fixing Brunhilda with a steady, unyielding stare.

  Brunhilda considered him for a moment. “A network of caves just above Hell, not far from Dalareyes’s prison. That’s where the Demornium vein lies.”

  Both Arius and Freya leaned forward, surprise flickering across their faces before Freya spoke. “How did you know where Dalareyes was kept? No one knew until days ago, and only a handful were told.”

  Brunhilda shifted, though her expression stayed composed. “I have my sources. People talk.”

  “Which people?” Freya pressed.

  Brunhilda’s eyes hardened. “My people. Now, shall we return to the topic?”

  Arius cut in. “Answer her properly.”

  A silent clash passed between them before Brunhilda relented. “I explored the surrounding caves after discovering the vein. That’s how I found his prison.”

  “And you kept that to yourself?” Arius asked, voice sharpening.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” she snapped. “Would anyone have shared such knowledge with me?”

  Arius didn’t blink. “You don’t hide something like that without a motive.”

  Her tone dropped to ice. “Believe what you want, Ancient.”

  With a flick of her fingers, the doors swung open and her veiled attendants appeared. Arius ignored them, his eyes flashing red, a faint scent now filling the room.

  “Where is Dalareyes?” he asked, voice calm but edged with threat.

  Brunhilda scoffed. “How should I know?”

  “Because he’s here—or was. I smelled him the moment the doors opened. How did you hide it?”

  She faltered. “I masked it with magic. I hoped it would fade before you noticed.”

  “So where is he?”

  “I don’t know. He left after asking about Demornium. I told him only what I told you.”

  Arius studied her. “If he left moments ago, how did he get here without me sensing him?”

  Brunhilda hesitated. “He arrived hours before you. Appeared outside my chambers. After he left, we found a hole in a lower room—a tunnel leading down.”

  “Like the Primordial tunnels,” Freya murmured.

  Arius rose, expression darkening. “Show us the tunnel.”

  Reluctantly, Brunhilda led them through a twisting maze of stone corridors, descending three floors deeper into the mountain until they reached a narrow passage. A crude, circular opening yawned before them—a tunnel carved straight into the rock, sloping downward into a darkness so absolute it seemed to swallow the light.

  Arius stepped closer. Even his ancient eyes couldn’t pierce the abyss. It felt as though the tunnel reached the Earth’s core.

  “Dalareyes’s prison was near the mantle,” Brunhilda murmured. “The Demornium vein lies even closer.”

  “Has anyone explored it?” Arius asked, though he already knew the answer.

  “No one here would survive,” she replied. “The heat alone would kill anyone without Primordial magic.”

  Thalia arched a brow. “You survived. You guided me through those depths once.”

  “My magic protects me,” Brunhilda said simply. “My coven has no such shield.”

  Silence settled until Freya spoke softly. “The Guardians have a drone built for extreme conditions. Maybe they have other tech that could handle it.”

  Brunhilda shrugged, indifferent. “Good for them. They can test it. We’re not going down there.”

  Arius turned from the tunnel. “Can you lead us to the Demornium vein?”

  Brunhilda’s expression hardened. “I refuse to return. When you leave, this hole will be sealed. You’ll find it yourselves.”

  Arius tried diplomacy. “At least give us a marker. Something precise.”

  “I followed the magic’s flow,” she said. “Adam or another Guardian can do the same. I’m done with that place.”

  Arius exhaled, resigned. “Then there’s no point staying. Unless you’d consider keeping it open long enough for us to—”

  “No.” Her voice was final. With a sharp gesture, shadows surged across the opening. When they faded, the tunnel was gone—replaced by solid stone.

  Arius didn’t flinch. “Figured as much.”

  As they turned to leave, Brunhilda’s voice followed them. “And where do you plan to go? Dalareyes didn’t tell me his destination.”

  Arius met her gaze, eyes burning with resolve. “Then we hunt him.”