Chapter Four

A Disturbance in the Flame

Ronan sat at the rooftop’s edge, the rainforest and ocean misty and angry before him. The Lux Arcana pulsed with life below, the usual hum of supernatural energy thrumming in time with the beating heart of the storm outside. Yet, something had changed.

A shift. A fracture in the balance.

He felt it like a thread snapping somewhere far away—a sudden pull deep in his chest, sharp and fleeting. His grip tightened around the glass in his hand, the whiskey forgotten. The sensation had been brief, only a flicker, but it had been there.

Something—or someone—had awakened.

Dorian’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You feel that?”

Ronan turned his head slightly but didn’t answer right away. His second-in-command leaned against the railing, red eyes scanning the skyline. The vampire was many things—cold, calculated, sharp as a blade—but he wasn’t one to be rattled easily.

Ronan exhaled. “Yeah.”

Dorian frowned, swirling his drink. “That wasn’t just an energy spike. That was something old waking up.”

Ronan felt it, too, but he couldn’t place it. The energy was wild, uncontained like fire, struggling to find form. It had flared too bright before settling into an uneasy quiet. The sensation clawed at him, like something forgotten knocking at the back of his mind.

He clenched his jaw. It felt all too familiar, but it couldn't be.

His instincts were screaming at him, but he had no reason to believe it was anything more than another supernatural event. Strange things happened all the time. The world was full of power-shifting hands, of old forces breaking free from their prisons. This was another ripple in the never-ending game of balance and control.

And yet…

He couldn't shake the unease. He hadn’t felt something like this in years.

“Where did it come from?” he asked at last.

Dorian tipped his glass toward the north. “Deep in the woods, outside city limits.”

Ronan stilled. The forest.

His pulse thrummed, but he forced his expression to remain blank. His first instinct was to investigate, but there was no logic in chasing ghosts.

He had spent too long chasing ghosts.

If something threatened them, it would make itself known soon enough.

Still, Ronan couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

And for the first time in years, he felt the ghost of an old ache—the kind that never truly left.

He finished his drink in one swallow, slowly setting the empty glass down.

“Keep an eye on it,” he said, his voice even. “If it moves, I want to know.”

Dorian nodded, but there was curiosity in his gaze. “You think it’s something bigger, don’t you?”

Ronan didn’t answer because he didn’t know.

All he knew was that something was calling him.

And he wasn’t sure he was ready to listen.

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Shadows Over the Lux Arcana

The Lux Arcana was alive with its usual hum of energy, but tonight, the air felt heavier. Power stirred beneath the surface, a quiet, steady pulse that Ronan could feel in his bones. He pushed through the VIP entrance, the dim golden glow of the chandeliers casting sharp shadows across the private lounge.

Dorian was already there, lounging in his usual seat, a glass of blood-laced wine swirling idly in his hand. Valarian stood near the balcony, his gaze cast out over the forest. Nyx sat cross-legged on one of the leather sofas, flipping absently through an old book of wards.

Ronan didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Tell me what you know.”

Dorian smirked but said nothing, instead letting Valarian step forward.

“The Thalrasi are moving,” Valarian said, his voice smooth, deliberate. “Not just gathering resources. They’re hunting. Quietly. Efficiently.”

Nyx looked up, her violet eyes gleaming. “More than usual?”

Dorian let out a dark chuckle. “Oh, much more. They’re looking for something—or someone. And they’re being careful about it.”

Ronan exhaled through his nose. “Do we know who they’re after?”

Dorian spoke, setting down his drink. “No names, but we intercepted chatter about a rebirth. Something ancient, something they’re desperate to find.” He tilted his head. “Sound familiar?”

Ronan’s jaw tensed. Rebirth. He didn’t respond immediately, but the flicker of unease he had felt earlier in the night returned, pressing against his ribs like a warning.

Nyx closed her book with a snap. “And they’re not just looking. They’re eliminating anything that stands in their way. Fae informants, rogue witches, even some of their own who ask too many questions.”

“Meaning they’re afraid,” Valarian said, his voice edged with amusement.

“And desperate men make mistakes.”

Silence settled over them. Ronan finally spoke. “We need more information. I want eyes everywhere. If they’re hunting, we find out why.” His gaze flickered to Dorian. “And if it is a rebirth—if something powerful just came back into this world—I want to know what it is.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Dorian’s smirk returned, but there was curiosity behind it now. “And if it’s something we don’t want to find?”

Ronan exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. “Then we stop it before they do.”

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After Ronan had left, the air in the Lux Arcana felt heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken tensions. The casino’s golden glow did little to mask the undercurrent of war beneath its silk-draped walls. Nyx stood in the main hall, arms crossed, her sharp gaze fixed on Dorian as he leaned against the bar, sipping from a crystal glass of deep red.

“I don’t like leaving right now,” Nyx admitted, her voice clipped but steady.

Dorian smirked, swirling his drink lazily. “You don’t like leaving ever.”

She narrowed her eyes. Now was not the time for his amusement.

“The Thalrasi are moving in ways I don’t like,” she continued.

“Astrid might have seen something, and I’d rather hear it from her than wait for another disaster to unfold.”

Dorian exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down. “And you think you’ll get a straight answer out of her?”

Nyx rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

Dorian studied her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Fine. I’ll fetch a shadow transporter immediately.”

Nyx sighed, already knowing what was coming next. Dorian had made a business out of hiring young vampires as shadow transporters, catering to the elite who needed to move between locations unseen. It was an efficient system, one Nyx couldn’t argue with—even if she hated the feeling of it.

Nyx sighed. She hated shadow gliding.

Without it, she could never manage all three Sanctuary Casinos, but that didn’t mean she had to like being thrown through the void like a ghost caught in a wind tunnel.

Dorian turned, motioning toward the shadows, where a silent figure emerged—one of his couriers, a younger vampire explicitly trained for transport. The man was pale, his presence cold, his dark cloak blending into the dim light of the lounge. He didn’t speak, just extended a gloved hand toward her.

“Try not to drop me in a swamp,” she muttered, stepping forward.

The vampire said nothing. As soon as Nyx took his hand, the world blurred, twisting into darkness. The warm glow of the Lux Arcana vanished, replaced by the biting chill of the mist as it wrapped around her like a second skin. The world spun, shadows folding and unfolding, warping time and space until—

She landed with a soft step on solid ground.

The Veil Fortuna.

The scent of aged whiskey, incense, and the faint trace of magic filled her senses. The air was thicker here, charged with residual energy, as if the very foundation of the casino had absorbed centuries of spellwork.

She pulled her coat tighter around herself and glanced toward the upper floors. Astrid was waiting.

And Nyx needed answers.

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Through the Veil

Astrid gasped awake, her breath sharp and unsteady. Her fingers trembled as they clutched the divination bowl before her, its water still rippling from the force of what she had seen. The flickering candlelight in her chamber cast long, twisting shadows across the walls, and for a moment, she swore she could still feel the heat of the flames licking at her skin.

Fire. Shadow. Colliding.

She closed her eyes, trying to grasp the remnants of the vision before they slipped away like smoke. There had been a great battle, but the figures were blurred and obscured as if something or someone did not want her to see the truth.

A city burned. The sky cracked apart, with light and darkness warring for dominance. And in the heart of it all, a figure stood wreathed in flames, its presence both terrifying and familiar.

Elysia?

Astrid pressed her palm against the cool stone floor, grounding herself. No, she wasn’t sure. The face had been indistinct, shifting between images, as if fate had yet to decide what would come to pass.

She turned to the old tomes stacked beside her, flipping through pages of prophecies, her pulse still erratic. There had to be something—some connection to what she had seen. The Thalrasi were moving, the air was thick with unrest, and now this…

A sharp knock at the door startled her.

“Astrid?”

The voice was low, measured. Nyx.

Astrid exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from her shoulders. She had felt Nyx’s arrival before she knocked—a signature of power laced with sharp, calculating precision. She should have expected her. After all, the moment Nyx returned from the Lux Arcana, she would have sought answers.

Another knock. Impatient now.

Astrid rose, smoothing down the folds of her robe before pulling the heavy door open. Nyx stood there, dark eyes keen, assessing. She was still dressed in the sharp lines of her tailored black suit, a subtle sheen of shadow clinging to her like the last traces of her journey.

“You saw something.” It wasn’t a question.

Astrid considered lying and downplaying the unease crawling beneath her skin.

But no—the vision had been too precise, too violent. Even if Astrid didn’t fully understand it, she knew one thing for certain.

Something was coming.

And it would change everything.

Astrid exhaled, steadying herself before she finally spoke.

“Fire and shadow. And something in between.”

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The Hunter’s Orders

Cassian stood rigidly, his hands clasped behind his back, facing the High Council of the Thalrasi. The scent of incense and old parchment thickened the air, but beneath it, he could still detect the metallic tang of blood—a reminder of the cost of failure.

The chamber was dim, lit only by flickering torches that cast elongated shadows against the stone walls. Lord Varek Thalrasi fixed him with a piercing gaze at the head of the room, his weathered face void of emotion.

“The Phoenix has risen.”

Cassian’s fingers twitched at his sides. So it was true. He had heard whispers, but now, standing in this room, facing the men who had shaped him into what he was, the truth settled deep in his bones.

She was back.

“Do you understand what this means?” Varek’s voice was low, measured.

Cassian met his gaze with quiet intensity. “That we stop her before the prophecy can be fulfilled.”

Varek nodded, his expression unchanging. “Find her. Hunt her. Eliminate her. The Phoenix cannot be allowed to survive.”

The words were expected, but they sat uneasily in his chest.

Cassian had been raised in the Order of the Thalrasi since childhood, trained to hunt the creatures that threatened the balance of power. He had killed werewolves, vampires, fae, and warlocks without hesitation. And yet, something about this mission felt… different.

He remained silent, waiting for more.

Varek rose from his chair, walking toward him with slow, deliberate steps.

“We made a mistake last time, Cassian.” His voice was controlled, but the undertone of irritation was unmistakable. “We thought killing her would be enough. We were wrong.”

Cassian frowned. “How did she return?”

Varek’s jaw tightened, his displeasure evident. “Her fire was never fully extinguished.” He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing before the gathered council members. “This time, you will do what our ancestors failed to accomplish. You will carve out her Phoenix Core.”

A weight settled in Cassian’s chest.

The Phoenix Core.

He had heard of it—the burning heart of a Phoenix, the source of its immortality, fire, and very essence. To remove it was to strip away its power forever.

Varek’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Use an obsidian blade. Anything less will not sever the connection. She must not rise again. If we fail this time…” He trailed off, but the implication was clear. There could not be another failure.

Cassian exhaled through his nose. “Where was she last seen?”

“Deep in the northern forest.” Varek’s gaze hardened. “We tracked the surge of power—her fire left a scar on the land. She will run. That is what they do.”

Cassian’s hands curled at his sides. “And Ronan?”

The room darkened with the weight of unspoken tension.

Lord Varek’s expression did not change, but the flicker of annoyance in his eyes was evident. “The Eclipsed One has not moved. Not yet. But if he becomes involved, you know what must be done.”

A test. A reminder.

Cassian had spent his entire life proving himself, rising through the ranks of the Thalrasi with precision and skill. He had earned his reputation as a relentless hunter who never failed. And yet, this mission felt heavier.

He dipped his chin, his voice steady. “Consider it done.”

Varek studied him momentarily, then motioned toward a nearby attendant, who stepped forward and handed Cassian a rolled parchment sealed with the Thalrasi insignia.

“Your orders,” Varek said. “Go. Find her. End this cycle before it begins.”

Cassian took the parchment and turned on his heel, leaving the chamber without another word. But as he walked through the cold stone corridors of the citadel, the weight in his chest did not lessen.

The Phoenix had risen.

And something in his gut told him that nothing would be the same again.