Haizen's eyes fluttered open, greeted by a haze of muted colors and blurred shapes. Pain surged through his body, a searing reminder of the battle that had left him barely clinging to life. His breath hitched as he shifted slightly, the thunderstrike's aftermath manifesting in sharp, unforgiving waves radiating from his scorched right side. The bandages wrapped tightly around his chest and arms spoke of meticulous care, but they also reinforced the gravity of his wounds.
His mind raced as fragmented memories of the battle surfaced—Urilo's magic, the Butcher's brutal strength, and the terrifying transformation of Nova. The room around him came into sharper focus as his eyes adjusted. It was a place of stark contrast: clinical in its precision yet adorned with opulent details. The soft glow of enchanted lanterns illuminated walls lined with paintings—each one vivid and masterfully crafted. The room's refinement spoke of wealth and importance, far removed from the grim hideout where he had fallen.
Haizen sat up gingerly, his every movement deliberate and measured. The effort left him breathless, the room swaying slightly as if mirroring his unsteady state. The faint scent of herbs and ointments lingered in the air, mingling with the sterile aroma of polished wood and stone. Before he could piece together where he was or how he had arrived, the sound of approaching footsteps broke through his haze.
The door creaked open, revealing a figure cloaked in authority. The man who entered was dressed in a dark, finely tailored robe, his shoulders adorned with intricate patterns. A silver sword rested at his side, its hilt gleaming under the warm light. His presence commanded attention—his stride purposeful, his expression unreadable. Haizen's sharp eyes caught the insignia etched into the man's attire: a crest unlike any he'd seen before.
The man's gaze met Haizen's, cool and assessing. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, the man broke it, his voice calm and steady. "You're awake. Good."
Haizen swallowed, his throat dry and raw. He forced himself to speak. "Where... am I?"
The man stepped closer, his measured movements exuding control. "You are in the Citadel of the Veiled Brotherhood," he replied, his tone devoid of emotion. "You were brought here for your safety—and perhaps for ours."
The name struck Haizen like a lightning bolt. The Veiled Brotherhood—a name whispered in the darkest corners of the underworld. Some called them myth; others, ghosts. Shadowy operatives said to be the hidden hand shaping the tides of power. To find himself in their domain was as unsettling as it was intriguing.
"Why am I here?" Haizen asked, his suspicion evident.
The man's expression didn't waver. "We've been investigating certain... occurrences. A vampire massacre, to be precise," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But that's a tale for another time. More relevant to you, a fight broke out in Blood Valley. Normally, we wouldn't concern ourselves with petty squabbles. But this was different. My unit detected high-class magical power—far beyond what's typical for a street brawl."
Haizen's breath hitched. He remembered the glowing symbols that had etched themselves into Nova's hand, the ominous transformation that had left even Carlos and his men in terror. His expression must have betrayed his worry because the man gave a small, almost reassuring nod.
"I ordered my men to retrieve you," the man continued. "Not just for your safety, but to assess the... situation with your brother. That kind of power is rarely seen—and even less often understood. Handling such things is our specialty."
The man extended a hand. "I am Vorenus, Unit Leader of the 2nd Shadow Corps."
Haizen hesitated but accepted the handshake. The moment their hands met, a sharp pain shot through his arm. He recoiled with a sharp cry, clutching his injured hand.
"Ah," Vorenus said, his voice tinged with genuine apology. "I forgot. Your injuries are more extensive than they look. My apologies."
Haizen waved him off, though the pain lingered. "It's fine," he muttered, his voice strained.
Vorenus took a step back, giving Haizen some space. "Your brother and your friend are in another room. Both are stable and being cared for. You'll have the chance to see them once you're strong enough to move."
Haizen nodded, his sharp mind cataloging every detail Vorenus shared. Despite the man's polite demeanor, Haizen's instincts screamed at him to remain cautious. Trust was not easily earned in his world.
"You're free to walk around if you feel up to it," Vorenus added. "Though I'd recommend taking it slow. You'll find the Citadel's library well-stocked—perhaps something to pass the time while you recover." He turned to leave but paused at the doorway. "Rest, Haizen. You'll need your strength."
As the door closed behind Vorenus, Haizen leaned back against the headboard, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. The Veiled Brotherhood, a shadowy myth, had not only intervened but brought him to their citadel. And Nova—what had happened to him? The memory of his brother's transformation, the glowing symbols, and the sheer destruction he unleashed haunted Haizen like a phantom.
Haizen glanced at his bandaged hands, the faint tremor betraying the unease he tried to suppress. Trusting Vorenus or the Brotherhood wasn't an option, but neither was antagonizing them. For now, he needed to focus on recovery and piecing together what had happened—and what was coming next.
The Citadel's silence enveloped him, broken only by the faint hum of distant voices and the occasional soft footfall. He closed his eyes briefly, his mind turning over Vorenus's parting words. Rest would be a luxury, but one he couldn't afford to ignore.
For now, survival meant playing their game. But Haizen knew one thing with certainty: he would protect his brother, no matter the cost. Whatever debt Nova had incurred, and whatever threat loomed on the horizon, Haizen would be ready.