CHAPTER 24: THE COST OF TRUTH

The Verdant Hollow’s detention chamber is a stark contrast to the sanctuary’s vibrant core—a cold, stone-walled cell deep beneath the earth, its walls etched with runes that pulse faintly, suppressing aura and power. The air is heavy, damp, carrying the faint metallic tang of blood and fear. Kael kneels in the center, bound by my lunar snare, its silver threads cutting into his skin, the blood oath’s red brand glowing on his chest like a wound that won’t close. His earthy green aura is dim, his bear form suppressed, but his eyes—hard, defiant—meet mine without flinching.

Cassia stands to my left, her crimson flames casting flickering shadows, her jaw tight with barely restrained fury. Maddox leans against the wall to my right, his shadow tendrils coiling lazily, his star-flecked gaze unreadable but sharp. Renn hovers near the door, his blue aura flickering nervously, satchel clutched like a shield. Sylvara is absent, overseeing the Hollow’s wards after Kael’s betrayal sent ripples of panic through the guardians. The lunar-eyed stranger’s whisper—Judge well, Convergence—echoes in my mind, a warning or a challenge I can’t ignore.

My crescent mark burns, syncing with the snare’s pulse, grounding me as I face Kael. The vision of Voren’s shadow-realm fortress, his relic bending reality, drives me forward. Kael knows Voren’s plans—how close he is to shattering the Veil, what he needs from me as the Convergence. But betrayal runs deep, and truth won’t come easy. My claws prick my palms, instinct urging me to tear answers from him, but I force myself to breathe. I’m not Voren. I’m not a monster. Not yet.

“Kael,” I say, my voice steady, carrying a trace of Jorah’s command. “You sold the Hollow to Voren. You swore a blood oath. Tell me what he’s planning—where he is, how he’s using the relic. Talk, and this ends without pain.”

Kael’s lips twist into a sneer, sweat beading on his brow as the snare tightens, drawing thin lines of blood. “Pain? You think you can scare me, hybrid? Voren’s vision is inevitable. The Veil will fall, and Pures will rule. You’re nothing—a mistake Jorah and Elara died for.”

Cassia’s flames flare, singeing the stone floor. “Keep talking, traitor. I’ll roast that brand off your chest.”

I hold up a hand, silencing her, but my own anger simmers, my lunar wings flickering unbidden. “Last chance, Kael. Voren’s using you. What’s the relic? How’s he breaking the Veil?”

He laughs, a harsh, guttural sound, blood trickling from where the snare bites deeper. “You’re blind, Lena. The relic’s older than the First Ones, forged in the shadow-realm’s heart. It amplifies his voice, bends minds—subnaturals, humans, even Veil-entities. He’s already testing it. You felt him in your vision, didn’t you? He’s coming for you.”

My stomach twists, the memory of Voren’s thunderous command—The Veil will fall, and I will rise—cutting through me. I step closer, my lunar sight piercing Kael’s aura, the blood oath’s brand pulsing with shadow-realm wrongness. “Where’s the fortress?” I demand. “What’s his next move?”

Kael spits, the glob landing near my feet. “Go to hell, Convergence. You’ll break before I do.”

Maddox pushes off the wall, his shadow tendrils snapping like whips, wrapping around Kael’s arms and wrenching them back. A sickening pop echoes as his shoulders dislocate, and Kael grunts, his defiance cracking into a grimace. Maddox’s voice is low, musical but cold. “Wrong answer, bear. I’ve seen Voren’s handiwork—flayed minds, shattered souls. You’re not that loyal. Talk, or I dig deeper.”

Kael’s breath hitches, but he glares at Maddox. “Shadowwalker scum. You’re no better than me. Voren owns you too.”

Maddox’s tendrils tighten, slicing shallow cuts into Kael’s arms, blood welling in thin rivulets. “I’m not the one kneeling.” He glances at me, his smirk gone. “Your call, Lena. How far do we go?”

My claws extend fully, my primal instincts roaring—tear, rend, punish. Kael’s betrayal endangers the Hollow, my parents’ dream, everything I am. But Elara’s journal flashes in my mind—Strength is not cruelty, my daughter. I clench my fists, blood dripping from where my claws pierce my palms. “We get answers,” I say, my voice low. “But we’re not Syndicate. ”

Cassia steps forward, her flames coalescing into a white-hot blade hovering inches from Kael’s face. “Then let’s make it quick. Where’s Voren’s fortress, Kael? What’s he planning with Lena?”

Kael’s eyes dart to the blade, sweat mixing with blood on his skin. “You won’t kill me. The Conclave’s soft—always has been. Jorah’s weakness, Elara’s dreams… pathetic.”

His words ignite something in me, a fury deeper than primal instinct. I seize the lunar snare, pouring my power into it, silver light flaring. The threads constrict, slicing deeper into Kael’s flesh, carving crimson lines across his chest, arms, thighs. He screams, the sound raw, animalistic, his aura flickering wildly. The blood oath’s brand pulses, shadow-realm energy leaking like smoke, and my new sight catches fragments—images of Voren’s fortress, a rift widening under the relic’s hum, Syndicate mercenaries massing.

“Talk!” I snarl, my voice echoing with lunar power, wings fully unfurling, their light casting jagged shadows. “Where is he? What does he need from me?”

Kael’s scream fades to a choked gasp, his body trembling, blood pooling beneath him. “The fortress… northern wastes, beyond the Veil’s edge. Rift’s there… growing. He needs your blood, it’s the key. Relic needs it to stabilize the merge.”

My heart pounds, the vision’s horror resurfacing—rifts tearing Earth apart, Voren’s voice enslaving all. “When’s he striking? How many are with him?”

Kael’s head lolls, his aura dimming, but his sneer returns, weak but venomous. “Soon… thousands. Shadowwalkers, mercenaries… Purists. You can’t stop him. The mole… wasn’t just me.”

The words hit like a blade. Not just me. My lunar sight snaps to the brand, probing deeper, and I see it—a second shadow-thread, faint, leading beyond Kael, woven into the Hollow’s wards. Another traitor, still hidden. I tighten the snare, my claws twitching, but Cassia grabs my arm, her flames warm, grounding. “Lena, enough. He’s breaking. We need him alive.”

I release the snare slightly, Kael slumping, blood dripping steadily. My wings fade, my breath ragged. The chamber feels smaller, the runes’ pulse mocking my restraint. “Who’s the other mole?” I demand, my voice hoarse. “Who else?”

Kael’s eyes flutter, his voice a whisper. “Don’t… know. Voren’s careful… only he knows. Check… the wards. Eastern… something’s there.”

Maddox kneels, his tendrils loosening but still pinning Kael. “He’s spent. Any more, and he’s dead. You got what you needed—fortress, blood, second mole. What now?”

I step back, my claws retracting, blood sticky on my hands—Kael’s, my own. The lunar-eyed stranger’s whisper returns—Judge well—and I wonder if this is what they meant. Truth at the cost of cruelty, my humanity fraying with each choice. “Lock him up,” I say, my voice flat. “Reinforce the cell’s runes. We check the eastern wards, find the second thread. Voren’s not winning this.”

Cassia nods, her flames dimming, but her eyes are troubled, watching me like I’m someone new. “You sure you’re okay, Lena? That was… intense.”

I don’t answer, my gaze fixed on Kael’s broken form. Renn, silent until now, steps forward, his aura steadying. “I’ll get the healers. He’s a traitor, but… we don’t let him die like this. Right?”

“Right,” I murmur, but the word feels hollow. Maddox hauls Kael up, dragging him to a rune-etched cell, the blood oath’s brand still glowing, a reminder of Voren’s reach. As the cell seals, my new sight lingers on the eastern wards, catching that second shadow-thread, faint but deliberate, woven into the Hollow’s heart.

The interrogation’s over, but the war’s just begun. Voren needs my blood, my power, to break the Veil. Another mole lurks, and Sylvara’s secrets—her calm, her knowledge—gnaw at me. The stranger’s watching, Voren’s waiting, and I’m running out of time.