The gilded cage shimmered faintly in the candlelight, its occupant trembling within. A white rabbit, its fur pristine save for the damp patches near its twitching nose, stared at me with wide, terrified eyes.
It wasn't the first time I'd felt a weight like this—a conundrum dangling precariously over my conscience—but something about the moment struck harder than it should have. Maybe it was the rabbit's panic, its rapid breaths mirroring my own, or maybe it was Conrad's smile, patient yet expectant.
"Well?" he said, his tone smooth as silk. "Go on."
My hand hovered just above the cage door, and for a moment, I didn't even realize I had moved. An involuntary pull had guided my body, my fingers trembling as if some unseen force whispered that this was natural, that I 'needed' this.
Then I saw it—my reflection in the ornate mirror on the far wall. Candlelight flickered against the surface, casting my features in shadow, but the glint of my fangs was unmistakable. They weren't there a moment ago. The realization hit me like a punch to the chest, and I jerked my hand back.
"What's the matter, Kyon?" Conrad's voice was soft, almost amused. He leaned forward slightly, his chin resting on steepled fingers. "Afraid of what you might discover about yourself?"
I tried to steady my breathing, but the rabbit's frantic movements, the slight squeak as it shifted within the cage, made my stomach churn. My throat burned faintly—not with hunger but something more primal, something I didn't want to acknowledge.
"I don't see the point of this," I said, my voice low and strained.
"The point," Conrad began, "is freedom. To strip away the constraints of morality, to embrace the truth of what you are. This isn't cruelty, Kyon; it's survival."
Sia's voice broke the tension like a knife slicing through fog. "Maybe we have different definitions of survival," she said sharply, her eyes locked on Conrad.
It was the first time she'd spoken directly since the evening began, and her words carried weight. I glanced at her, grateful for the distraction but worried at the same time. Conrad's gaze shifted to her, his expression one of feigned curiosity.
"Ah, the quiet one speaks at last," he said, his tone light but with an edge that couldn't be ignored. "Tell me, Sia, what definition would Argent Sword prefer? Eradicating anything that doesn't conform to your narrow view of purity?"
Sia didn't flinch, though I could see the subtle tightening of her jaw. "This has nothing to do with Argent Sword," she replied evenly. "This is about your obsession with control. You don't care about helping Kyon; you're just trying to break him."
Conrad chuckled, a low, velvety sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Break him?" He gestured toward me with an elegant flick of his wrist. "I'm merely presenting him with choices. You would prefer he stay in chains, bound by fear of his nature. Isn't that right?"
My chest tightened as the conversation swerved sharply toward me. Conrad's words were needles, pricking at the edges of my mind, but Sia's silence cut deeper. I could feel her tension beside me, her fingers gripping her fork like a lifeline.
"I'm not in chains," I said, my voice steady but cold.
Conrad arched an eyebrow, clearly pleased that I'd spoken. "Aren't you? Denying yourself, suppressing the hunger that defines us. Do you think that makes you noble? It makes you vulnerable, Kyon. Vulnerable to those who wouldn't hesitate to use that denial against you."
His words wrapped around me like smoke, invasive and suffocating. I wanted to argue, to push back, but the rabbit's frightened movements filled my vision again.
"Enough," Sia said, her tone sharp. "Kyon doesn't need your lectures."
Conrad's gaze darkened, though his smile remained intact. "Oh, but he does. You think loyalty makes you his protector? How quaint. Tell me, Sia, how does a half-breed fit into Argent Sword's vision for the world? Or do they make exceptions for the 'useful' ones?"
"Don't," I said, the word coming out harsher than I intended.
Conrad leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. "How touching," he murmured. "Defending her honor. I wonder, is it loyalty, or something… more?"
The comment hung in the air, a deliberate barb meant to unsettle us both. Sia didn't respond, her expression carefully neutral, but I could feel her tension radiating like heat.
I wanted to break the moment, to shatter Conrad's smug demeanor, but no words came. Instead, the rabbit's cage caught my eye again, and the burning in my throat flared.
"This isn't about loyalty," I said finally, my voice tight. "It's about you pushing your twisted philosophy on everyone around you. Not everyone wants to be like you."
Conrad's smile widened, his fangs glinting in the flickering light. "And yet, here you are, teetering on the edge of inevitability. Deny it all you want, Kyon, but the hunger will find you. It always does."
Lucas remained seated beside Conrad, his calm demeanor unshaken despite the tension that thickened the air. He watched the conversation unfold, his sharp features betraying neither alarm nor intrigue, as if he were merely an observer in someone else's play.
Conrad turned his attention to him with a slow, deliberate smile. "Tell me, Lucas," he said, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Would you call yourself free?"
Lucas returned the smile, faint but steady. "Free? Yes. Free to be part of something greater."
His words twisted in my gut, filling me with a sense of unease I couldn't shake.
Conrad turned back to me, his smile unwavering. "You see, Kyon? Freedom isn't about restraint. It's about embracing what you are. Lucas understands that. Perhaps you should, too."
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as Conrad's fangs flashed, sinking into Lucas's neck without warning.
The room seemed to freeze, the sound of blood rushing in my ears louder than anything else. Lucas didn't struggle; if anything, he seemed at peace, his eyes closing as his head tilted slightly to the side.
Sia's hand shot out, grabbing my arm, her grip tight. I couldn't look at her, couldn't look at anything but the grotesque display in front of me.
When Conrad finally pulled back, his lips stained crimson, Lucas's body slumped slightly in the chair, lifeless.
"Just food," Conrad said softly, wiping his mouth with a pristine handkerchief. "Don't let morality cloud your understanding. After all, isn't a rabbit just as innocent?"
His gaze locked onto mine, and the weight of his words crushed down on me.
The rabbit's cage creaked faintly as Conrad nudged it toward me, his smile never wavering. "Perhaps you'll find clarity in smaller steps."
The rabbit's eyes met mine, wide and pleading, and for the first time in a long while, I felt utterly lost.