Chapter 4: Shadows of the Syndicate

"Left foot back. Weight on the balls of your feet. If you’re flat-footed, you’re dead."

I didn’t shout. I didn’t have to. The three Dreadfang enforcers circling me in the manor’s gravel training yard were breathing like bellows. Sweat soaked their tactical shirts, and they looked at me with a mix of confusion and pure exhaustion. They were twice my size, built like brick walls, and they couldn’t touch me.

One lunged. He swung a heavy, amateurish right hook that smelled of desperation.

I didn't block it. I flowed. I stepped inside his guard, my palm catching his chin while my foot swept his ankle. He hit the gravel with a bone-deep thud. Before the other two could blink, I had the second man’s arm locked in a joint-break position and my boot pressed against the third man’s throat.

"Again," I snapped.

"Holy s**t," the man on the ground wheezed, spitting out a mouthful of grit. "Where did a Vaelis prince learn to move like that?"

"By watching people like you try to kill me for twenty years," I said, releasing the hold. "Now get up. If you can't handle a 'doll,' you’ll never handle a Syndicate hit squad."

From the stone balcony above, Kaelor watched us. He wasn't leaning against the railing for support anymore. The gray tint had left his skin, replaced by a flush of predatory health. It was the strangest thing—the closer I stayed to him, the stronger he got. My presence was a stabilizer, a rhythmic anchor for his erratic heart. He looked less like a dying beast and more like a king preparing for a crusade.

Later that night, the manor was a tomb of silence. Kaelor sat at the heavy oak desk in our shared suite, a glass of amber liquid in one hand and a stack of yellowed ledgers in the other.

"You move like a ghost, Aradaa," he said, not looking up. "My men are terrified of you. They’ve started calling you the Viper Prince."

"Better than the 'Pretty Sacrifice,'" I muttered. I leaned over the desk to look at the maps of the city. "Any word from the docks?"

"Quiet. Too quiet." Kaelor sighed, rubbing his jaw. "People talk about the Great Death like it’s a ghost story—a biological curse that turned our women to ash. But look at this."

He pointed to a passage in a diary dated thirty years ago. "The Pure-Blood Prophecy. My father didn't believe in myths, but he kept notes on yours. They claim the first male born of the Vaelis-Thornvale line holds the key to the 'Goddess’s Breath.' They claim his blood can stop the rot."

The air in my lungs turned to lead. I felt a cold shiver crawl up my spine. The Goddess’s Breath wasn't a virus. It was a bio-weapon, a dormant nanotech strain. And I wasn't just a scholar or a soldier. I was the literal antidote walking around in human skin.

"The blood is the cure," I whispered. My mind raced, connecting the dots of my miserable childhood. "That’s why my father kept me sickly. That’s why he hid me in the library and pumped me full of 'vitamins.' He wasn't protecting me. He was culturing me. He traded me to you because he couldn't figure out how to extract the cure without killing the host. He wanted you to be the one to break the vial."

"That son of a b**tard," Kaelor growled, his glass shattering in his hand.

A frantic pounding on the door cut us short.

"Boss! We got the rat!"

We headed to the basement. The air down there was damp, smelling of limestone and old fear. A man was strapped to a chair—one of the kitchen staff. A small vial of clear liquid sat on the table next to him.

"He tried to drop it in the Prince’s soup," the lead guard snarled, slamming a fist into the spy’s ribs. "Who do you work for, huh?"

"Stop," I said. My voice was a frozen pond.

I stepped in front of the man. I didn't hit him. I didn't scream. I just leaned in, my shadow swallowing him whole. I used the psychological pressure points my mother had taught me before she 'disappeared' when I was seven.

"You think the Navia Syndicate cares about you?" I asked softly, my eyes pinned to his. "They don't. The moment you fail, they’ll burn your house down with your family inside just to tidy up the evidence. But me? I can make it quick. Or I can let the Beast have his turn. He’s very hungry tonight."

The man’s resolve shattered. "Processing... Facility 9," he wheezed, blood leaking from a split lip. "They have your sister. They’re... they’re trying to milk the strain from her marrow. But it’s not working. She’s wolfless, she's 'empty.' She's not the one they need."

A roar of pure rage ripped from Kaelor’s throat. He smashed a concrete pillar with his bare fist, the stone spider-webbing under the force. "They’re experimenting on Kaerith?"

"They’re trying to replicate the weapon," I said, my heart turning into a block of ice. "My father is going to kill her trying to find what’s inside me."

"I'll level the city," Kaelor hissed, his amber eyes glowing in the dim light. "We take the full legion. We go tonight."

The spy let out a wet, mocking laugh. "You think you’re the only one with secrets, Dreadfang? Malrec didn't just kill your parents for land. Ask your Boss about his mother. Ask him about Voren Ashclaw."

Kaelor froze. He grabbed the spy by the throat, lifting him clear off the ground. "Talk. Now, or I'll peel you."

"Voren... is your blood," the spy choked out. "Your father’s bastard. Malrec gave him the poison to give to you. He’s been feeding you your own death for years, Kaelor. Your own brother is your executioner."

Kaelor dropped the man like he was made of filth. He looked at his hands as if they didn't belong to him. The betrayal wasn't just a business move; it was family.

"And my mother?" I asked, my voice trembling. "She died of the virus. That's what I was told."

"No," the spy gasped. "She tried to run with you. She knew what you were—the Golden Goose. Malrec caught her at the docks. He cut her throat and told the city the 'Breath' took her."

The last shred of my name—the Vaelis pride, the Thornvale loyalty—evaporated. I wasn't a prince. I was the survivor of a massacre led by my own father.

I walked over to the desk where the vial of poison sat. I didn't feel fear. I felt... power. A strange hum began in the back of my skull. It was the nanotech in my blood, reacting to the proximity of the Syndicate’s tech.

"I can stop it," I said, my voice echoing with an unnatural resonance. "It’s not just a cure. I can control the frequency. I can shut them down."

We didn't waste another second. We boarded the stealth helicopter on the manor’s roof. The storm was screaming, rain lashing against the hull as the rotors began to hum. Kaelor sat across from me, checking the magazine of his rifle. He looked at me—really looked at me—and reached out, his rough hand covering mine.

"You don't have to do this, Aradaa. We can just take your sister and run. I have outposts in the North."

"No," I said, looking him in the eye. I realized then that I loved this monster. He was the only honest thing in a world of lies. "When this night is over, there won't be a Navia Syndicate left to run from."

Kaelor leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a promise of total war. "Then we build something new. Together."

The helicopter dived, dropping through the clouds toward the glowing heart of the city. The Navia skyscrapers loomed like jagged teeth.

"First alarm!" Kaelor shouted over the wind as the red lights of the Syndicate’s defense grid began to pulse.

I gripped the handgun Kaelor had given me. I closed my eyes and let the hum in my blood take over. I could feel the city's electronics, the pulse of the towers, the heartbeat of the machines.

"Lights out," I whispered.