Chapter 2 — Chapter 2

Torin

I stand at the window, gazing out at the glittering cityscape below. Five hundred years, and still the sight of human ingenuity never fails to captivate me. The jagged skyline pulses with neon flickers, a stark contrast to the candlelit vistas of my earliest memories. Reflected in the glass are the hard lines of my industrial loft—raw, rough-hewn walls so unlike the gilded chambers I once cherished. Yet, a few relics endure: a tarnished silver chalice on a shelf, a dagger etched with runes older than this city, their weight a quiet testament to the centuries I’ve borne.

My fingers trace the cool surface of the window. How long has it been since I last felt the sun’s true warmth on my skin? At times, I question if immortality’s price was too steep. The petty intrigues of vampire society grow more wearisome with each passing decade. We are granted eternal life, yet squander it on power struggles and ancient grudges. I’ve sought to escape their hold, once even walking out of a council chamber mid-debate, only to find their influence inescapable, woven into my very blood.

“By the heavens,” I mutter under my breath, kneading the taut muscles of my shoulders.

There must be more to this existence. A purpose beyond the ceaseless cycle of feeding and scheming. I turn from the window with a sigh, the distant hum of the city fading into silence—just as a sharp knock pierces the stillness. My body tenses, nostrils flaring. An unannounced visitor at this hour? In our world, surprises seldom herald good tidings.

I cross to the door and open it, my brows arching in astonishment. “Maxwell? To what do I owe this visit?”

Maxwell Kern stands before me, a strained smile on his lips, his usually pristine silver hair askew. “Can’t a maker call on his progeny without ulterior motive?”

I step aside to grant him entry, though a prickle of unease stirs at the base of my neck. In five centuries, Maxwell has never once crossed the threshold of my private domain. Something is amiss. “Of course,” I reply, my tone even, masking my wariness. “May I offer you a drink?”

He nods, his eyes scanning the loft as I retrieve two glasses and pour blood from a decanter hidden within a carved oak panel—a subtle ward against prying eyes. We settle into leather armchairs by the window, the city’s glow casting long shadows across the room.

A silence stretches between us, not uncommon after so many years, but tonight it carries an unfamiliar weight. Maxwell’s hand, gripping his glass, trembles faintly—a fleeting sign of distress I’ve rarely witnessed. I sip my drink, observing him over the rim. He’s always been an enigma, but now an undercurrent of tension hums beneath his composed facade.

“So, Torin,” he begins, swirling the crimson liquid in his glass. “I hear the Council has been rather… restless of late. What do you make of their recent maneuvers?”

I take a measured sip, stalling. “You know I avoid those games whenever possible.”

“Lucien’s stirring unrest in the Assembly again,” he remarks, his voice deceptively light.

I glance at him sharply. Since when has Maxwell cared for my views on politics? “Lucien always stirs unrest. It’s his sole talent.”

A faint smile tugs at Maxwell’s lips. “Indeed. Still, his latest scheme to secure… alternative sustenance for the cursed has gained some following. Aggressive measures, they call it.”

“You mean abducting witches,” I state, my tone flat. The notion churns my stomach.

“Among other notions,” he concedes.

I keep my face impassive. “Lucien Marlowe will always push his own vile agenda. I’d rather steer clear of that den of vipers altogether.”

Maxwell’s fingers tap his glass, a nervous tic I’ve never seen before. “Surely you’ve some curiosity, Torin. What of the other clan leaders? Their shifting loyalties?”

I set my drink down, unease coiling tighter within me. “What is this truly about? You didn’t come here for idle debate.”

He draws a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “There’s a matter that requires your particular skills, Torin. A delicate task.”

I tilt my head, intrigued despite myself. It’s been decades since he sought my aid directly. “Go on.”

“I need you to oversee the capture and containment of a witch,” he says swiftly. “A powerful one. She’ll be held in a secure facility, but there have been… complications. They require assurance of her restraint. I’ve recommended you for the role.”

I stare at him, disbelief etching my features. “Surely you jest, Maxwell.”

His expression remains unyielding. “I assure you, I am in earnest.”

“And this ‘facility’—who controls it?” A sinking dread creeps into my chest.

“That’s not your concern at present.”

“Not my concern?” I echo, my voice sharpening. “How could it not be?”

“Because it changes nothing. Your focus must be the witch.” His tone brooks no argument.

I rise abruptly, pacing the length of the window. “You know my stance on this. We cannot perpetuate this endless cycle of violence with the witches. It must end somewhere.”

Maxwell’s gaze tracks me. “This transcends our old feud. The situation is far more intricate than you grasp.”

I turn to face him, incredulity burning in my eyes. “Intricate? There’s nothing intricate about seizing an innocent. It defies Assembly edicts, and more—it’s simply wrong.”

“She’s far from innocent,” he counters. “This witch poses a grave threat to our kind.”

“And confinement will remedy that?” I scoff. “It will only fuel their hatred, give them greater cause to retaliate. When does this spiral cease?”

He stands, closing the distance between us. “It ceases when we safeguard our survival. You know the Bloodbane spreads unchecked. I’ve seen kin with hollow eyes, their strength leached by the curse. We need—”

“No,” I interrupt, my voice cutting through his. “I’ll not partake in this unsavory task. Find another.”

A shadow crosses his face, his gray eyes flaring silver. Then his features harden. “I had hoped you’d see reason.”

I feel it then—the crushing weight of the maker’s bond bearing down. It’s a relic of ancient hierarchies, a chain forged in blood to bind progeny to will, and now it seizes me. My veins burn as if threaded with silver, every instinct howling to submit. A ringing fills my ears, drowning out the world as a suffocating vise clamps around my will. My breath catches, chest tightening with the force of his command.

“Don’t do this,” I rasp, straining against the compulsion.

But the pressure only mounts. My vision blurs, the room tilting as sweat beads on my brow. “I’m sorry, Torin,” Maxwell murmurs, his voice heavy with regret. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any alternative.”

Through the haze, I fix on his face. Pain mirrors my own in his eyes, a raw fracture in the stoic mask I’ve known for centuries. A twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays a deeper torment. *He loathes this as much as I do.* The realization pierces the fog. What drives him to this?

I force a ragged breath. “Why? What aren’t you telling me?”

He turns away, unable to hold my gaze. “I’m in a situation… one I can’t easily escape,” he says softly. “A shadow looms over our bloodline, Torin. I can’t say more, but I need your trust.”

The bond pulses again, a relentless tide, yet his vulnerability fuels my resistance. I study him—the slump of his shoulders, the strain in his eyes. This isn’t the unyielding maker of half a millennium. *He’s afraid.*

“What danger grips you?” I manage, each word a struggle.

He shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “The kind I can’t speak of, not if I wish to keep us breathing. Know only that this witch is tied to something perilous… to all our kind.”

*All our kind.* The weight of his words sinks in. Maxwell fears no trifling threat; this reaches beyond him, perhaps to every soul in our lineage. I close my eyes, the bond still thrumming, but now I grasp its urgency. This isn’t mere politics or vendetta. It’s survival.

My jaw clenches, every fiber rebelling against his request. To abduct a witch—it defies all I’ve striven for, all I hold true. Worse, it risks fanning the flames of enmity between our peoples. Yet, as I stand torn between duty and morality, I recall a night centuries past when Maxwell shielded me from a hunter’s stake, his own blood spilling to save mine. That debt lingers.

“And this witch…” I pause, steadying my breath. As I ease my defiance, the bond’s grip lessens. “What makes her so unique?”

“She wields deadly power, Torin. Her magic could unmake us. Don’t think she’d hesitate to wield it. She’s… she’s a blight. I’ve heard whispers of her past—a village reduced to ash by her hand alone.”

I ponder this. Evil exists in every race; my kind bears its own stains. If she’s among the witches who’ve succumbed to dark power, perhaps this serves a greater balance. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the finest of my line,” he replies, his voice softening. “I trust you, bond or no, to do what’s necessary. And given your past—”

“We’ll not revisit that,” I cut in sharply.

“Of course. But it bears weight here.”

I shut my eyes, inhaling deeply. Five centuries press upon me—loyalty, duty, morality warring within. In the end, there’s but one path. “Alright,” I say, meeting his gaze with a steely resolve. “I’ll do it. But I expect answers soon.”

Relief floods his features. He clasps my shoulder, emotion thickening his voice. “Thank you. I swear, when I’m able, I’ll lay bare all. For now, my command is that you heed me and those I stand for.”

I nod, words failing me. The bond hums in accord, yet a knot festers in my gut. What have I bound myself to? Will this act further hollow my endless years, or might it, in some twisted way, grant the meaning I crave? I catch my reflection in the window—a stranger’s eyes stare back, shadowed by compromise.

As Maxwell prepares to depart, a surge of protectiveness rises. Whatever peril stalks us, I’ll shield him, even at the cost of my principles. I’ll reconcile with myself later.

Yet, as he steps toward the door, something slips from his coat—a small, folded parchment, unnoticed by him. I stoop to retrieve it after he’s gone, the cryptic sigil scrawled upon it stirring a chill. What secrets does my maker bear?