Chapter 2: Shadows and tension

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Eve stood motionless, the tip of her sword pressed against Thrain's throat. Her eyes burned with unwavering intensity, a silent challenge hanging in the air. Thrain, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, glared at her with seething rage, his expression screaming mind your business. But Eve did not flinch. Instead, she angled her sword, the dim light catching on its polished edge.

A collective gasp echoed through the club as Thrain stumbled backward. Blood splattered onto the floor. His right hand-severed at the wrist-landed with a dull thud. A stunned silence followed.

"Another Goken," Thrain hissed through gritted teeth, his face twisted in agony. He clutched his bleeding wrist, his breath coming in uneven gasps. "What have you done to my hand?"

"Get lost, Blackwood," Eve growled, her voice laced with venom. Her sword remained raised, a single crimson droplet sliding down its blade.

Thrain staggered, his jaw tightening. He bared his teeth in a pained grin. "This isn't over, Gokens," he spat before stumbling toward the exit, his pride as wounded as his body.

Eve exhaled slowly, lowering her weapon.

A groan from the floor drew her attention. Azreal, sprawled on his back, propped himself up on his elbows and let out a breathy chuckle. "You sure know how to make an entrance, little cousin." His ember-colored eyes gleamed with amusement despite the scuffle he had just endured. "I had Blackwood under control, you know. He's a small fry."

Eve arched a brow, unimpressed. "Really? You looked like you were about to be his next meal a few seconds ago." She extended a hand toward him.

Azreal took it, allowing her to pull him up. He dusted off his clothes and smirked. "What brings you here, little cousin? This place isn't exactly fit for a proper lady." His smirk widened. "Or did you miss my beautiful face so badly?"

Eve scoffed, sheathing her sword. "Aunt Ymir sent me. You're expected at dinner."

Azreal feigned surprise. "Dinner? How thrilling." He leaned closer, his lips curling in that infuriatingly teasing way. "Tell me, Eve-did you miss me?"

Eve's hand struck his cheek before he could blink.

"Hey!" Azreal yelped, rubbing the spot where she'd slapped him.

"Watch your mouth," she warned. Then, her tone turned serious. "Uncle's coming home tonight. You know better than to cause trouble. Be at the main house before the moon reaches its peak."

At the mention of his father, Azreal's smirk faltered. The mischief in his eyes dulled, replaced by something colder, something darker. His jaw tensed, his fingers curling into fists.

Eve sighed. She knew better than to push the subject. "I'm leaving," she said, turning on her heel. "Don't be late."

She didn't look back. Azreal remained standing there, silent.

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The Grand Dining Hall

The moment Eve stepped into the dining hall, the warm aroma of roasted meat and seasoned vegetables wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. The glow of golden candlelight flickered over the long, ornately carved table, where servants hurried to arrange silverware and fine china.

But despite the inviting spread of food, an unmistakable tension loomed in the air. The servants moved with careful precision, their eyes darting toward the grand doors as if expecting a storm to blow through at any moment.

Eve helped set the last few dishes, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension pressing down on her shoulders. Aunt Ymir moved gracefully among them, her warm smile an attempt to soften the mood, but even she couldn't erase the unease that clung to the room.

Then, the doors swung open.

Chief Broch entered, his towering frame exuding command. His piercing blue eyes swept across the room, missing nothing. His chiseled features-sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a proud widow's peak-made him look as if he had been sculpted from stone. His black and silver robe, embroidered with symbols of his status, gleamed under the candlelight, and a golden brooch sat heavily on his shoulder, marking his authority.

As he stepped forward, the servants immediately bowed. Eve followed suit, lowering her gaze.

Aunt Ymir approached him first, her voice smooth as silk. "Welcome, my love," she murmured, placing a hand on his arm. "We've missed you."

A flicker of softness passed through Chief Broch's features. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek-a brief, fleeting show of warmth before his sharp gaze resumed scanning the room.

Then he frowned.

Azreal was absent.

The tension thickened. Seconds stretched unbearably long. Just as Chief Broch was about to speak, a shadow moved near the entrance.

Azreal strode in.

His usual arrogance was subdued, his steps slower, his posture rigid. There was something distant about him, something off. He barely acknowledged anyone as he slid into his seat, picking at his food without interest.

The meal progressed in uneasy silence. Eve made a few attempts to speak to Azreal, but he answered in clipped, dull responses. Even Aunt Ymir's attempts to lighten the mood barely held the atmosphere together.

Finally, as the main course ended, Chief Broch pushed his chair back and stood. His gaze honed in on Azreal.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Azreal's grip on his fork tightened. Without looking up, he muttered, "I'm not hungry."

"Sit down," Chief Broch ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Azreal exhaled sharply, tossing his napkin onto the table. "I said I'm done." He stood abruptly.

Chief Broch's eyes darkened. "You will not walk away from me."

Azreal stilled, his back still facing his father. Then, slowly, he turned. His ember eyes burned with defiance.

"Respect?" Azreal's voice was low, dangerous. "You want my respect?" His lips curled bitterly. "You, who never listen? Who only demand?"

The servants exchanged wary glances, tension so thick it felt suffocating. Aunt Ymir placed a calming hand on Chief Broch's arm, but he ignored it, his jaw tightening.

"I am your father," Chief Broch growled. "And you will obey me."

Azreal let out a humorless chuckle. "Obey? I'm not a child. And I sure as hell won't be treated like one."

The air between them crackled with unspoken fury.

Then, without another word, Azreal turned on his heel and strode out.

"Azreal!" Aunt Ymir called after him, her voice laced with worry.

But he was already gone.

Aunt Ymir turned to Eve, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Eve, please-go after him. Make sure he's safe."

Eve hesitated.

Azreal had always been unpredictable when angry, but the raw emotion in Aunt Ymir's voice left her no room to refuse.

"I'll go," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Without wasting another second, she slipped out of the hall, quickening her steps as she followed the path he had taken.

The corridors stretched endlessly before her, the flickering torches casting restless shadows along the stone walls.