Kael walked deeper into the community, and everything started to feel... wrong.
The world looked unchanged — polished pathways, pastel skies, flickering garden lanterns — but the timing was off. The breeze came before the trees responded. The sound of a bird chirped before it landed.
He blinked hard and rubbed his temples.
But the light shimmered strangely off surfaces now. Edges softened, lines blurred. He caught a glimpse of someone across the road — a woman tending her flowerbed. When she looked up, her face was his
mother's.
Only for a moment.
Then it was gone.
He spun, fingers brushing the grip of his blaster again.
His training screamed that something was manipulating him.
His mind answered:
You're just tired. You've been here too long.
No. Something's bleeding through.
A glint of golden signage caught his eye ahead —
The Nectar Room.
Elegant. Subdued. Carved into what appeared to be a converted villa with an open balcony and steps descending into soft candlelight. Velvet music floated outward — a strange blend of jazz and prayer.
Loris Dane was already waiting on the steps, swirling a crimson drink in his glass.
"You look parched," Loris said. "The Vale can be... overstimulating for first-timers."
Kael didn't answer. His eyes scanned the entrance behind Loris.
There were
no guards. Just whispers. Laughing guests. Every one of them wore smiles like masks — perfect, practiced, and empty.
Loris stepped aside and gestured toward the doorway.
"Come in. Have a drink. Let the weight fall off your shoulders. We're all seekers here."
Kael smirked faintly, but his jaw was tight.
"You always memorize your lines, or do you improvise for strangers?"
Loris chuckled. "
Both. Improvisation is the soul of seduction."
Kael entered.
The
Nectar Room was intoxicating. Not just from the exotic vapors coiling in the air, but from the design. No corners. Everything curved — walls, couches, tables. No straight lines to anchor thought. Every light source flickered, rhythmically.
The guests whispered in low tones, some mid-laughter, others draped over one another like lovers or acolytes.
A bartender poured a drink with a shimmer like liquid dusk and pushed it toward Kael without a word.
"Courtesy of the Matriarch," the bartender said, voice distant.
Kael didn't drink it.
Not yet.
Instead, he stepped to the edge of the room, watching. Listening.
"—they say she touched the spiral personally—"
"—blessed by Azis himself, through the bloodline—"
"—there are no deaths here. Only awakenings—"
He looked up sharply.
His pulse ticked faster.
Bloodline.
Spiral.
Matriarch.
He gripped the drink glass tight, knuckles whitening. He hadn't heard her name… but he didn't need to. He could feel her.
Somewhere below this perfect little lie of a paradise, his cousin was building something.
And
Sommer was right in the middle of it.
Kael turned to leave—
—but froze.
Across the room, through a veil of purple silk, he caught a glimpse of someone.
A woman.
Laid across a chaise lounge.
Eyes closed.
Dark hair, parted lips. Skin shimmering with sweat and perfume.
Sommer.
Or... was it?
He took a step toward her — and she vanished.
The silk fell. The chair was empty.
"No…" he whispered. "You're not breaking me. I've been drugged, tortured, hunted. You think a glass of air and a few parlor tricks are gonna—"
But then—
He heard her voice.
It was faint. From nowhere. From
everywhere.
He spun.
The spiral chandelier above the Nectar Room began to turn.
Slower than light.
He clutched the table beside him. His vision blurred. His mind rang.
He reached for the small capsule hidden in his boot — a neuroclear stimulant. Just in case. He popped it under his tongue.
Everything
snapped.
Colors sharpened.
Voices cut off.
And suddenly…
He knew exactly where he needed to go.
"Beneath," he whispered. "She's beneath."
