CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

The road toward the ancestral territory of House Vel’drin passed through a succession of vast underground caverns and ancient stone passages carved into the deep bedrock of the mountain.

Caius traveled alongside the patriarch of House Vel’drin and the grizzled retired assassin known only to most warriors as Old Bones. Ten elite Vel’drin warriors accompanied them as guards, maintaining a tight, disciplined formation around the small party. Their boots moved in near-perfect synchronicity, clicking against the smooth, wet floor of the tunnels.

The patriarch rarely spoke during the journey. He walked with a stately, effortless grace, his cold presence casting a heavy atmosphere over the entire retinue.

Old Bones spoke even less. Most of the time, the old assassin simply walked with his hands resting casually against his long saber. Occasionally, he would stop to examine the high cavern shadows or the surrounding tunnel walls with the instinctive caution of someone who had spent centuries surviving in places where a single careless step meant instant death.

The ten warriors were different. They rarely spoke to Caius directly, but their presence was overwhelming. Whenever Caius looked toward them, he noticed their eyes shifting away quickly or their expressions hardening into guarded masks. They did not openly threaten him, but their underlying hostility was palpable.

Caius understood why. He was a human. He carried the legendary name Macrae. And he had arrived in their sovereign territory under the personal protection of their house patriarch. That alone was enough to make the prideful dark elf elite deeply uncomfortable.

Eventually, as the dim, ambient light of the upper caverns faded entirely, the group stopped to make camp inside a sheltered, high-ceilinged cavern.

A small, low-burning fire was constructed in the center of the chamber, fueled by dried subterranean moss and dense timber. Caius sat near the flames, crossing his legs on a flat slab of granite. He took a slow breath, sinking his consciousness inward to cultivate.

He initiated his baseline breath cycle: three short, shallow inhales followed by a prolonged, deep exhale. With every cycle, he guided his black mana along his primary meridians, circulating it through his arms, down his spine, and into his lower dantian where his Black Core rotated steadily. He kept his awareness strictly away from his upper Crown Point, ensuring that the ancient temple resting across his vast inner sea remained undisturbed and hidden from any external sensory magic.

The ten warriors remained positioned farther away, sitting in a structured semicircle. Though they pretended to maintain their equipment, their eyes continuously drifted back toward the human boy. Some were openly suspicious, their red eyes narrowing in distrust, while others simply looked irritated by his very presence.

Old Bones noticed the subtle tension immediately. The old assassin was lying propped against a stone outcropping, his long saber within easy reach of his right hand. He opened one bloodshot eye and glanced lazily at the young guards.

He gave a low, rough grunt. ”These young ones cannot hide their emotions.”

The ten warriors stiffened instantly, their hands pausing on their whetstones and leather straps.

Old Bones looked toward the patriarch, his tone entirely lacking the deference expected when speaking to the leader of a noble house. ”You have not trained them well.”

The patriarch calmly looked across the cracking fire toward his elite guards.

The captain of the ten warriors lowered his head, his dark skin paling slightly under the patriarch’s piercing gaze.

The patriarch spoke without raising his voice, yet his words carried the weight of an iron hammer. ”You heard him.”

The captain looked up, swallowing hard. ”Patriarch?”

”You will return to the training hall,” the patriarch stated coldly.

The guards exchanged quick, uneasy glances.

”For six moons, you will train again,” the patriarch continued, his tone unyielding.

The captain’s jaw tightened, but he dared not utter a word of protest.

”And when those six moons are finished,” the patriarch added, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight, ”I will test every one of you myself.”

Absolute silence fell around the campfire.

The warriors’ expressions shifted from subtle irritation to pure, icy dread. Their spines straightened as a cold sensation passed through their meridians. None dared complain. They had trained under the finest instructors and combat masters of House Vel’drin, but the patriarch himself rarely tested the elite guards personally. Such an evaluation was notoriously ruthless.

The ten warriors stole a quick, bewildered glance toward Old Bones. The old assassin had already closed his eye again, wrapping his cloak tighter around his shoulders as if completely uninterested in the heavy punishment he had just triggered.

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Yet the guards could not help wondering who this old, grizzled dark elf truly was. Even their supreme patriarch accepted his blunt criticism without a single word of argument.

Old Bones shifted against the cold stone and lazily closed both eyes. The matter was apparently finished.

The patriarch then turned his full attention toward Caius, studying the young human as the flames flickered between them. ”There is something I wish to ask you.”

Caius paused his internal mana circulation and opened his eyes. ”The barbarian beads.”

”Tell me about the warrior who gave you the gold bead,” the patriarch commanded softly.

Caius thought back to the brutal duel in the northern lands, remembering the weight of the massive blade and the overwhelming physical pressure of his opponent. ”His name was Garran.”

The patriarch’s expression changed slightly, a faint flicker of recognition passing through his dark eyes. ”I have heard that name.” He looked into the dying coals of the fire. ”He is an old guard of the barbarian lands. A formidable warrior, even among their strongest warlords.”

Old Bones opened one eye, his sharp gaze shifting slowly toward Caius.

Caius noticed the quiet scrutiny from both veterans. ”I defeated him in a duel.”

The patriarch studied him intensely, searching Caius’s face for any sign of deceit. ”And how did a fourteen-year-old human defeat such a warrior?”

Caius offered a faint, understated smile. ”I was just lucky.”

Old Bones stared at him for another long moment, his eye reflecting the red embers. Then the old assassin gave a quiet, gravelly grunt. He closed his eye once more, settling back into the dark.

The patriarch did not comment further, allowing the silence of the cavern to reclaim the camp.

Three more days passed in steady, tireless movement.

The subterranean landscape gradually changed as they plunged deeper into the core territories of House Vel’drin. The rough, wild tunnels widened into massive, carefully engineered thoroughfares. Ancient, detailed carvings appeared along the polished stone walls, depicting grand historic battles, legendary assassins, fearsome subterranean beasts, and the sprawling genealogy of the house. Glowing blue mana crystals had been embedded into the stone at regular intervals, casting a steady, serene illumination across the paved roads.

Caius noticed that the deeper they traveled, the more organized and prosperous the territory became. This was no simple underground outpost or rustic settlement. It was a sprawling, highly advanced civilization built directly beneath the roots of the mountain.

On the third day, the party finally reached the central citadel of House Vel’drin.

They marched through grand, iron-reinforced gates and entered a massive main hall constructed from dark, seamless marble. High vaulted ceilings stretched into the darkness above, supported by immense pillars carved in the likeness of coiled serpents and shadows.

At the far end of the enormous chamber stood an elderly dark elf woman. Her long, silver hair was carefully braided and bound with ornate silver thread. Despite her advanced age, her posture remained perfectly straight, radiating an aura of quiet, unquestioned authority. Several dark elf warrior maidens stood positioned behind her, dressed in sleek, dark armor and forming a silent, lethal honor guard.

The patriarch stepped forward, sweeping his cloak back as he bowed his head slightly. ”My lady.”

The old woman watched him approach, her sharp, pale eyes taking in the entire group.

The patriarch turned toward Caius, gesturing with a flat palm. ”This is Caius Macrae.”

The moment the name echoed off the high marble walls, the atmosphere inside the hall shifted dramatically. The warrior maidens immediately snapped their focus onto Caius, their hands shifting imperceptibly closer to the hilts of their weapons. Their expressions turned deathly serious. Some stared at him with open, unshielded curiosity, while others studied him as though analyzing a dangerous artifact whose true power they did not yet understand.

The old woman herself remained perfectly composed, but Caius could see her eyes narrow slightly as the name settled in the room.

The patriarch continued, his voice steady. ”Sereth of House Vel’drin became his ward.”

A brief, tense silence followed the revelation.

”Sereth has been escorted by the Shadowblades to the Absolute Moon Palace,” the patriarch added.

The old woman’s expression hardened slightly, her thin lips forming a firm line. ”In five days, we are to escort Caius Macrae to the Moon Palace.” She understood the implicit political weight behind those words instantly. ”He will attend Sereth’s trial.”

The old woman looked directly at Caius, her pale gaze locking onto his. For several long seconds, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching taut across the vast hall.

Then she finally addressed the room, her voice carrying clear and commanding. ”Caius Macrae will be our guest.” She paused, her eyes sweeping over the grand chamber. ”And our ward.”

The patriarch lowered his head slightly in agreement.

The old woman turned toward a nearby steward who was standing nervously near the grand pillars. ”Prepare an abode for our guest.”

Then her eyes shifted past Caius, resting upon the ragged figure of the retired assassin standing near the rear. ”And prepare an abode for Elder Tharveth.”

Old Bones opened both eyes, a look of profound annoyance crossing his weathered face. He let out a loud, aggrieved sigh. ”An entire abode?”

The clan head gave him a cold, unyielding look. ”You are still difficult.”

Old Bones grunted, scratching the side of his neck. ”So I have been told for several centuries.”

A few of the younger warrior maidens behind the clan head bit their lips, struggling to hide their faint amusement at the old man’s total lack of reverence.

The clan head ignored his grumbling entirely, turning back to the servant. ”See that both are properly accommodated.”

The steward bowed deeply, his hands trembling slightly. ”Yes, Clan Head.”

The steward then motioned politely toward a side archway. ”This way, please.”

Caius turned to follow the servant. Old Bones trailed lazily behind him, dragging his feet and looking as though he would much rather be sleeping on a cold stone floor in a tavern backroom.

The patriarch remained standing in the center of the main hall alongside the clan head and her elite warrior maidens, their voices dropping into hushed, serious council.

As Caius passed through the grand double doors of the inner wing, he looked back once over his shoulder. The old clan head was still watching his departure, her pale eyes calculating and her expression impossible to read.

Caius turned forward again, stepping into the quiet marble corridor.

Five days remained before he would be taken into the heart of the realm to stand before the Absolute Moon. And somewhere far beyond these majestic underground halls, Sereth was already locked in darkness, awaiting his trial.