Chapter 14: Revenge
The crow flew through the shadowed night, its wings slicing through the storm with predatory grace. It navigated the misty expanse of the eerie mansion, its haunting cries swallowed by the oppressive silence of the estate. The building loomed like a dark monument to isolation, its spires cutting into the stormy sky, windows glowing faintly as though daring any fool to enter.
The bird didn't hesitate, darting straight through the broken window of the highest tower. Inside, the air was colder, the shadows deeper. The crow soared past tattered curtains and ancient, dust-laden chandeliers until it reached the heart of the chamber: a throne-like chair, carved with intricate designs that seemed to pulse faintly with an otherworldly energy.
Zaiden Kael Morvaine sat there, his posture relaxed yet commanding, like a king awaiting tribute. His scarlet eyes burned beneath the silver strands that fell across his sharp features, one eye darker, deeper than the other—an unsettling asymmetry that only added to his aura of menace. His black cloak draped over his frame, framing his broad shoulders. Every detail about him spoke of quiet power, of a man whose silence could crush spirits more effectively than words ever could.
The crow fluttered onto the armrest of his chair, its threatening demeanor melting into one of obedience. It tilted its head expectantly, awaiting the reward it had earned. Zaiden reached into a small pouch at his side, pulling out a piece of raw meat. He held it up, his movements unhurried, deliberate.
"Good work," he said, his voice a deep, smooth baritone that resonated in the chamber like a commandment etched in stone.
He fed the crow with an almost tender precision, his fingers lingering briefly on its feathers. It let out a low, satisfied caw before bowing its head under his touch.
Zaiden leaned back, his crimson gaze fixed on the distance, though there was nothing before him but shadows. His hand rested lightly on the armrest, fingers tapping in a slow, steady rhythm. He wasn't impatient—Zaiden Kael Morvaine didn't deal in impatience. He dealt in inevitability.
The crow, having finished its reward, perched obediently on the back of the chair, awaiting further orders. The room was silent save for the distant howling of the wind outside. Zaiden thrived in the quiet; it was his preferred companion. Words, after all, were too often wasted on people unworthy of hearing them.
When Zaiden did speak, his words were chosen with precision, crafted like blades. It wasn't necessary now. The silence said enough.
He reached for a glass of red wine on the small table beside him, his movements fluid, practiced. He swirled the liquid slowly, watching as it caught the dim light of the room. It mirrored his thoughts—stormy, unpredictable, and dark.
He didn't smile; Zaiden rarely did. But there was a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. The crow's return confirmed what he already knew.
They were moving.
The boy who had once been his closest friend, who had stood beside him in battle and bled for the same cause, was back. Emris. A name that once symbolized loyalty and strength now carried the weight of betrayal, of a shattered bond Zaiden couldn't afford to mend.
And then there was her—Roya. The woman whose pen had crafted him into existence. Zaiden's scarlet gaze darkened further at the thought. She had written the lines that defined him, bound him in destiny, and abandoned him in tragedy. Now, she roamed freely, tethered to nothing while he was forced to linger in the shadows, his very existence a byproduct of her creation.
Yet, this wasn't bitterness. Zaiden didn't waste energy on such trivial emotions. No, it was resolve. The pieces were moving into place, and it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again.
He finished the wine in one slow, deliberate sip, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. The crow cawed softly, as if sensing his intent.
Zaiden rose to his feet, the room seeming to darken with his movement. He adjusted the black gloves on his hands, his gaze lingering on the storm outside. He said nothing.
The crow flew to his shoulder, a loyal sentinel of shadows. Zaiden's silence was all the command it needed. The man stood there, unmoving, the picture of a cold, brooding king awaiting the inevitable reckoning.
Whatever came next, one truth remained: Zaiden Kael Morvaine didn't chase power or vengeance.
He was power.
Zaiden Kael Morvaine was born with unparalleled potential, a prodigy in manipulating energy that many believed could bridge light and shadow. From a young age, he was taught that the balance between good and evil was fragile, and it was up to people like him—those blessed with gifts—to protect it. His parents, both scholars of ancient energy practices, instilled in him a strong moral compass. They raised him to believe in goodness, justice, and the pursuit of harmony, despite the darkness that lurked in the world.
When Zaiden joined the Academy for the Young and Gifted, he was quickly recognized as one of its brightest students. His natural charisma and unyielding idealism drew people to him, but no one was closer to him than Emris Malachai, the Academy's strongest student and the founder's son. The two became inseparable, their friendship built on mutual respect and a shared determination to use their powers for good.
Zaiden admired Emris, though he sometimes felt overshadowed by his friend's immense strength and unshakable will. Yet, Emris's presence was comforting, a reminder that they were working toward the same goal: a world where their gifts wouldn't need to be used for war and destruction.
But the weight of their ideals wasn't equally shared.
Zaiden's life shattered the day he discovered the truth about the Academy. Hidden deep within its archives, he found ancient records detailing how its leadership—including Emris's father—had secretly used their students' powers as pawns in conflicts, manipulating events for personal and political gain. Worse, Zaiden uncovered the plans for an energy weapon fueled by the lives of "expendable" gifted children—those who were deemed weaker or less promising.
When Zaiden confronted Emris, hoping to expose the truth together, he was met with disbelief and denial. Emris, conditioned by years of his father's strict grooming, refused to accept that the Academy could be anything other than the beacon of hope they believed it to be. To Emris, his father's actions were justifiable sacrifices for the greater good.
Feeling betrayed by the one person he thought would stand with him, Zaiden turned to the only solution he could see: destruction. If the Academy and its leaders were willing to sacrifice innocent lives for power, he would tear it all down, even if it meant embracing the darkness he had always feared.
Zaiden's descent into darkness was gradual but inevitable. As his powers grew, so did his resolve. He began to manipulate the shadows, channeling the very energy he once feared to fight the corruption he despised. In his mind, he wasn't becoming a villain; he was doing what needed to be done when no one else had the courage.
But to others, including Emris, Zaiden's actions were acts of war. The two former friends found themselves on opposite sides of a battle neither truly wanted. Their final confrontation was as tragic as it was inevitable. Emris, ever the hero, fought to protect the Academy and the ideals he had been raised to believe in, while Zaiden fought to destroy what he saw as a broken, corrupt system.
Zaiden killed Emris—not out of hatred, but out of necessity. He believed that his friend, blinded by loyalty, would never stop fighting to protect a system that needed to be destroyed.
Zaiden's victory was hollow. He had saved countless innocent lives by dismantling the Academy's plans, but he was now seen as the villain who killed its greatest hero. Alone and hated, Zaiden became the embodiment of darkness, his name a cautionary tale whispered among the gifted.
In Roya's story, Zaiden's journey is framed as a tragedy. Though he is the protagonist, he is also the "villain," his actions misunderstood by those around him. His struggle with morality, betrayal, and loss makes him a complex figure—one readers sympathize with even as they condemn him.
Zaiden Kael Morvaine wasn't born evil; he was forged by circumstances, by his refusal to stand idle in the face of injustice, and by the choices he made when he felt there were no others. His greatest tragedy wasn't his fall into darkness, but the fact that no one—not even Emris—truly understood why he fell.
****
The morning dawned with an unsettling quiet, the type of calm that should've warned Roya Amani to tread lightly. But Roya wasn't one for caution, especially not when revenge burned hotter than reason. She didn't forget the stunt he pulled with her comfort space.
She stood at the doorway of Emris's room, a smug smirk tugging at her lips as she flicked her lighter. She had spent the entire night stewing in irritation, vividly reliving the audacity of Emris Malachai setting her beloved study ablaze. Her study! The one sanctuary she had in this chaotic world, reduced to ash.
Now, it was his turn to feel the burn. Literally.
His room smelled faintly of cedarwood and arrogance, an intoxicating mix that only fueled her resolve. She glanced around one last time to ensure there was no collateral damage—though, frankly, she wouldn't lose sleep over his obnoxiously expensive furniture. Satisfied, she lit the draped edge of a curtain, the flame flickering to life with a hiss.
"Sweet dreams, Emris," she murmured, stepping back as the fire spread.
Inside, Emris stirred in his bed, the sheets tangled around his lean, muscular form. He felt it before he saw it—the intense heat crawling across his skin, teasing him awake like a mischievous ghost. His sharp blue eyes cracked open, glowing faintly in the dim room as he muttered groggily.
"Is it me, or is it getting hot in here?"
The smoke curled toward the ceiling, licking the edges of the room. Yet, not a single ember dared touch him. The fire seemed to ripple around him, as though repelled by an unseen barrier. He sniffed the air, his expression hardening.
"Really, Dream?" he muttered under his breath, already piecing together the culprit.
He rose from the bed with deliberate slowness, his movements frustratingly unbothered. By the time he stepped out into the hallway, his white shirt had surrendered to the flames in dramatic fashion, the fabric disintegrating in stylish singes that revealed his perfectly sculpted chest and abs.
Roya was waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall with an innocent tilt of her head, her green eyes glinting with fake curiosity. "Oh, you're awake. You must've been feeling… warm."
Emris arched a brow, running a hand through his tousled dark hair. "Burnt down my room, did you? A bit unoriginal, don't you think?"
Her smirk faltered for just a second, annoyance flaring in her gaze. "You started it."
"And I finished it. Clearly better than you." His eyes flicked down to her hand. "Burned yourself, did you? How clumsy of you."
Roya stiffened, instinctively hiding her hand behind her back. She'd only realized the sting after the deed was done, the faint redness on her skin a small price for satisfaction—or so she told herself.
"I'm fine," she snapped, turning her face away from him. But Emris wasn't fooled. His piercing gaze lingered, softening in a way that made her skin prickle.
"You really are hopeless, Dream," he murmured, his voice low but carrying an infuriating undercurrent of amusement.
She blinked, caught off guard by the faint flicker of concern in his tone. Her mind scrambled for a cutting retort, something to snap him back into his usual smirking insufferability.
"You're not as fireproof as me, you know," he added smugly, leaning against the wall beside her. His closeness made her hyper-aware of the heat radiating off him—not from the fire, but from the maddening intensity of his presence.
"You're insufferable," she muttered, stepping away from him.
"And you're predictable," he countered.
The tension between them was electric, sharp enough to cut through the lingering haze of smoke. For a fleeting moment, Roya felt the absurdity of the situation. The danger looming in the shadows, the crow with the red eyes, Zaiden Kael Morvaine himself lurking somewhere in the world—none of it mattered in this moment of petty revenge and maddening banter.
But as Roya stormed off, the sting in her hand a bitter reminder of her misstep, Emris's gaze followed her. His expression remained unreadable, save for the faint crease of his brow.
"You really are hopeless," he whispered again, but this time, it sounded like something else entirely.
In the dark recess of the mansion, beyond the scorched room and the smoldering tension, a pair of glowing red eyes watched them. The crow shifted on its perch, tilting its head as though amused.