CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

The hunt had gone exceptionally well.

By late afternoon, Caius and Sereth returned to the ruined stone structure with a second scaled stag suspended between them on a heavy wooden pole. The animal had provided far more meat than they could comfortably carry, and Sereth had methodically harvested the most valuable portions of its hide, scales, bones, and broad, iron-like horns.

Their stockpiles were beginning to grow.

Strips of fresh venison were hung above the low fire to dry, while the newly harvested scale-hides were stretched across smooth, flat stones near the shelter. Sereth worked with practiced efficiency, checking the tension on the hides while Caius dressed the remaining cuts.

The valley remained strangely quiet. Caius still felt the phantom prickle of eyes upon his skin from somewhere among the ancient stone walls, but whatever watched them made no attempt to approach.

As evening settled over the Abyss, Sereth stepped outside the shelter and looked toward the distant northern mountains. The gray peaks were barely visible through the perpetual haze, rising like jagged teeth against the horizon. Beyond them lay the northern wastes.

Caius stepped out beside him, following his gaze. ”You said this is where your people live.”

Sereth gave a slow nod. ”The frozen wastes.”

”What are they like?”

Sereth was quiet for a long moment, the wind stirring his silver-white hair. ”Cold. Harsh. Beautiful, in its own way.” He adjusted the heavy leather strap of his pack. ”But the land itself is not the greatest danger you will face.”

Caius turned his head. ”Then what is?”

”The people.” Sereth’s expression grew grim. ”The dark elves of the frozen wastes, or the Nyx’ari as we call ourselves in the ancient tongue, have survived for generations by forging strength, cunning, and bloodlines into the foundations of our society. In Drow’tyr, Nyx’ari means the Children of the Endless Night. Nyx for shadow and night, ’ari for the people.”

Caius absorbed the foreign name, testing the weight of it. ”The Nyx’ari.”

”Yes,” Sereth said, looking back toward the mountains. ”And among my people, power is split between two absolute ideals, the Dual Sovereigns.”

Caius tilted his head, listening intently. ”Dual Sovereigns?”

”The Absolute Sun and the Moon Queen,” Sereth explained, his voice low and solemn. ”They are the twin pillars of Nyx’ari rule. The Absolute Sun governs the light; he commands the open realm, civil law, the high courts, and the marching legions. His word is public order, written in gold and stone.”

Caius frowned, his brow furrowing as he processed the contradiction. ”Why Absolute Sun? If your race calls yourselves the Children of the Endless Night, why worship or submit to a title like the Sun?”

Sereth turned to him, his dark eyes reflected in the fading ambient light. ”Because the sun in the frozen wastes is not a gentle mother. It is harsh, unyielding, and blinding against the glare of endless ice. It exposes everything. To the Nyx’ari, the Absolute Sun represents unvarnished truth, indisputable authority, and ultimate judgment. Light does not protect us; it strips away concealment and leaves no room for weakness.”

Sereth paused, his eyes narrowing as the silver light of dusk began to swallow the sky.

”And the Moon Sovereign?” Caius asked.

”The Moon Sovereign rules where the sun’s glare cannot reach,” Sereth said quietly. ”She governs the realm of shadows: the silent guilds, the poisoners, the spies, and the contract killers. Where the Absolute Sun executes through formal decree and executioner’s steel, the Moon Sovereign passes judgment in total silence. A single whisper in her dark halls can erase an entire bloodline before dawn.”

Caius felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening wind. ”So the laws of the realm exist under both?”

”They maintain the balance,” Sereth said. ”The Sun ensures our civilization does not rot into senseless anarchy, while the Moon ensures our warriors never grow soft or complacent. Together, they dictate how the Great Houses compete for influence, land, and power.”

”They fight each other?” Caius frowned.

”They do far more than fight. They scheme, duel, poison, spy, and assassinate under the watchful eyes of the Sovereigns. Some conflicts are settled openly on the dueling grounds with bare steel under the eyes of the Sun. Others happen in dark corridors under the gaze of the Moon, where the victim never knows who bought their death.”

Caius recalled the dark elf mercenaries he had encountered during the fall of Castle Precipice. ”Is that how all Nyx’ari live?”

”No.” Sereth shook his head. ”Some houses carry different burdens.” He paused, letting the silence stretch before continuing. ”Out on the frozen frontier, there is a house that does not concern itself with the intrigue of the courts.”

”What house?”

”House Vel’drin.”

Caius repeated the unfamiliar name, feeling the sharp syllables on his tongue. ”Vel’drin.”

Sereth nodded. ”I belong to House Vel’drin.”

Caius looked at him with genuine surprise. ”You are a member of that house?”

”I am.” Sereth’s gaze shifted back toward the distant peaks. ”In Drow’tyr, Vel’drin translates to Shadowblade. Vel means shadow, veil, or the unseen. Drin refers to the edge, the blade, or a lethal martial discipline.”

Caius listened intently, taking in every word.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

”House Vel’drin is a minor martial house,” Sereth explained. ”We are not counted among the Great Houses, and we have little interest in their games of political influence. Our people hold the line along the frozen frontier, where survival depends entirely on warriors who can move quickly, track prey, and strike without ever being seen.”

Caius remembered the fluid, weightless movements Sereth had demonstrated beside the stream. ”The Flow Step you taught me... is that the Vel’drin-Step?”

Sereth shook his head. ”No. What I showed you is merely a foundational form of elemental circulation. Many warriors and battle-mages across the continent know similar principles. It teaches you how to circulate mana through your nervous system to improve balance, acceleration, and silence.”

He turned his dark eyes onto Caius. ”The Vel’drin-Step is fundamentally different. It is the secret art of House Vel’drin. The underlying mechanics are related, but the lethal applications, footwork, and combat applications are passed down strictly among our sworn blood.”

Caius nodded slowly. ”So you haven’t taught me the true art.”

”Not yet.” Sereth’s voice remained even. ”What I have taught you is enough to lighten your steps and keep you alive. It would be foolish to teach you a high martial art before you have built the foundation to handle it.”

”So the technique I used today is something other warriors can learn?” Caius asked.

”Yes. Mana circulation is no secret,” Sereth said. ”How a warrior refines that circulation into a complete, lethal discipline is where the difference lies. The Vel’drin-Step is one of those disciplines, and it belongs to my house.”

Caius understood. The Flow Step was simply the soil; whatever the true Vel’drin-Step contained was something Sereth held in reserve.

Sereth adjusted the strap of Caius’s gear, ensuring the weight sat properly on his shoulders. ”House Vel’drin may be a minor house, but our name carries weight in the wastes. Even the Great Houses know better than to needlessly provoke a Vel’drin scout.”

”Why does that matter to me?” Caius asked.

”Because you will not enter the frozen wastes as a nameless human pet,” Sereth said, his voice hardening into steel. ”You will enter as my Ward.”

Caius frowned. ”What does that mean?”

”It means you will carry the legal protection of my house.” Sereth stepped closer, looking directly into Caius’s eyes. ”Anyone who attacks you before your sixteenth name day will not simply be striking a human boy. They will be challenging me, and through me, the blade of House Vel’drin.”

Caius weighed the words. ”So they cannot kill me?”

”They can try,” Sereth said flatly. ”But anyone who attempts it will know precisely what they are risking. The Ward Charter is ancient Nyx’ari law, recognized by both the Sun and Moon courts. While you remain under my banner, they cannot openly harm you without inviting a blood feud.”

Caius looked out toward the horizon. ”Even the Great Houses honor it?”

”Even them.” Sereth’s eyes narrowed slightly. ”House Malakor may despise House Xal’atath. Night-Weaver may sell blades to both sides. Dueling, poison, and ambush are their currency.”

”And no one stops them?”

”Only when the balance of our people is threatened.” Sereth pointed toward the towering northern skyline. ”House Umbral-Crest holds ultimate authority over all Nyx’ari, acting as the direct hand of the Dual Sovereigns. The High Matriarchs watch the Great Houses from above, allowing their rivalries to burn as long as it weeds out the weak.”

Caius absorbed the harsh reality of the culture.

”However,” Sereth continued, ”if a feud threatens to annihilate an entire house and weaken our borders, Umbral-Crest steps in under royal decree. They will crush both sides before the conflict endangers the realm.”

”So they let them fight to keep them sharp.”

”Yes. Competition breeds strength, or so the Sovereigns believe.” Sereth turned back toward the warm glow of the shelter. ”Which is why you must understand one thing clearly before we cross the border.”

Caius waited.

”Your protection has an expiration date,” Sereth said, his expression completely unreadable. ”The moment you reach your sixteenth name day, the Ward Charter expires.”

Caius’s eyes narrowed. ”What happens then?”

”You stand on your own.” Sereth’s voice dropped to a quiet whisper. ”Anyone who views you as a threat, a loose end, or simple sport may come for you. Some will challenge you openly on the sands under the Sun’s gaze. Others will slip nightshade into your drink or send an assassin from the Moon’s shadow into your tent while you sleep.”

Caius’s hand drifted down, his fingers tightening around the hilt of Nightdancer. ”And what will you do?”

”I will train you,” Sereth replied, turning his face to the northern wind. ”I will teach you how to survive their games. I will show you how to read a rival warrior’s stance, how to spot an assassin in the crowd, and how to vanish when an enemy possesses too much raw power to face directly.”

He looked back down at the boy. ”But when you turn sixteen, your life will no longer be protected by my name or my house.”

Caius remained still, holding the elf’s gaze.

”Your life will be protected solely by your own strength.”

The words settled heavily between them, carrying the weight of an impending deadline.

Caius stared into the crackling fire inside the shelter. He had assumed the long trek north would simply be a grueling journey to grow stronger. Now he realized he was stepping directly into a pit of vipers, where survival required far more than knowing how to swing a blade.

There would be noble houses, silent assassins, ritual duels, subtle poisons, and political traps. Enemies would smile at him before driving a dagger between his ribs.

Caius’s grip on his father’s sword tightened until his knuckles turned white. ”Then I will become strong enough.”

Sereth studied the boy’s resolve for a moment, then gave a single, firm nod. ”That is why I am taking you there.” He gestured toward the gray expanse beyond the ruins. ”If you can survive the northern wastes, Caius, you will finally have the foundation to walk the path you have chosen.”

”The path of revenge,” Caius said softly.

”Yes.” Sereth’s expression remained stoic. ”Until you can survive among the Nyx’ari, revenge is nothing more than a child’s fantasy. You are not strong enough to face the warlord who destroyed your home, and you are certainly not ready to demand answers from the crown.”

Caius lowered his head, accepting the cold truth.

”The northern wastes will test every fiber of your being,” Sereth continued. ”Your physical body, your mana reserves, your mental discipline, and your raw instinct to survive. If you break there, you were never going to avenge your father anyway.”

Caius looked back up, his eyes burning with quiet intensity. ”I won’t break. I will survive.”

”I expect nothing less,” Sereth said calmly. ”Because living is the only true tribute you can offer Cullum Macrae.”

Caius swallowed hard.

”Your father gave everything he had to ensure you survived the fall of Precipice,” Sereth said, his voice softening just enough to carry genuine weight. ”You do not honor a sacrifice like that by throwing your life away in a blind, foolish rush for vengeance. You survive. You adapt. You grow powerful. And when the time is right, you strike.”

Sereth turned toward the shelter’s entrance. ”If you survive the northern wastes and reach your sixteenth year standing on your own two feet, my oath to your father will be fulfilled. What you choose to do with your life and strength after that will be entirely up to you. If you still choose to walk the path of blood, you will finally be ready.”

He paused, resting a hand on the stone doorframe. ”Until then, your only duty is to live, learn, and endure.”

Caius remained silent, looking down at the worn pommel of Nightdancer. For the first time since the castle fell in fire and blood, his desire for vengeance no longer felt like a chaotic, hopeless weight. It had taken the shape of a path: brutal, narrow, and treacherous, but a path nonetheless.

”If you reach sixteen and stand as a true warrior, my debt to Cullum will be paid in full,” Sereth added quietly.

The two returned to their work, packing and preserving their gear as night fully descended over the valley.

Neither of them noticed the four cold, unblinking eyes watching from the deep shadows of the ancient ruins. The creature remained crouched among the broken stones, silently observing their every move.

It had watched them hunt the scaled beasts. It had watched them practice their silent steps. And now, it had listened to them speak of the frozen lands to the north.

Deep within the dark, whatever lived in the ancient ruins had not yet decided what to do with the two intruders.