Kion's POV

  High Councilor Executive’s Office, East Wing, Kesherra Basin

  The tether had been... steady, if he could call it that.

  Small fluctuations here and there. That was... good. Normal.

  He could work with that.

  The vent cover clicked softly as Kion slipped through, wings folding tight to avoid brushing the ceiling lamps.

  He hovered for a breath, sensing the familiar pulse of the office wards, then dropped soundlessly. Landing on the desk without disturbing the glasses or the waiting pitcher.

  Veska was already there, a stack of files open across the table. Morning light striping her sleeves in gold. Her hair was tied in its usual practical knot.

  She didn’t even flinch when he landed.

  “You’re coming early,” she said flatly, not looking up yet.

  “Yeah. Miracle, isn’t it?”

  That got her eyes on him.

  Veska studied him for a moment, too long to be polite.

  Then, with the faintest sigh, “miracle indeed.”

  “Mhm,” he brushed dust from his sleeve, pretending not to notice the scrutiny.

  “You seem tired,” she leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers, “do you still live with her? What other line have you crossed last night? Is that even possible?”

  “Huh? Wait. What are you even thinking?” His head snapped up.

  Her raised eyebrow and knowing silence were louder than words.

  “It’s not like that!” Kion blurted, waving both hands in protest, “no idea what’s on your mind but it’s clearly wrong!”

  “You came here with your wings,” Veska said dryly, “but you feel more like Arkwyn than Fenwick. That’s a sign something went wrong.”

  Kion groaned, dragging a hand over his face, “cut me some slack. There’s too much in my mind right now.”

  “Then untangle it,” she replied, gestured him another chair, “we’d rather not have you distracted the whole day. I have one hour before the budget cut meeting. Now, talk.”

  “They’re cutting the budget again?” he muttered, attempting a smirk, “commerce council’s getting more thoughtless by the day.”

  The look she shot him could have frozen an ember. Kion winced, grin faltering.

  “I won’t judge another one of your poor personal choices,” Veska said, folding her arms, “my warnings clearly don’t reach you. But I’m not letting that tank productivity when we’re neck-deep in pressing issues.”

  Her tone sharpened, “I’m waiting.”

  Kion let out a long, defeated breath before hopping up to sit on the desk’s edge in front of her.

  Veska didn’t blink. She wasn’t going to let him escape this time.

  Fine.

  He’d talk.

  But where did he even begin?

  He looked down at his hands for a moment, tracing the faint scratches on his palm, “do you know anything about abilities that control blood?”

  That pulled her brows together, “like... magic that controls blood? Can’t water magic do that?”

  “No. Water magic can manipulate ice and mist, but not blood,” he gestured vaguely in the air, “even the undines aren’t sure why. Maybe because it’s considered... alive. The most they can do is heal.”

  “Doesn’t Lurean magic manipulate plants? That’s living too.”

  “I really can’t answer why,” he admitted, “elemental magic isn’t my forte. I gave that up long ago.”

  “Then why are you even asking?”

  “Because...,” he hesitated, tapping his fingers against the desk, “I wandered around Accord’s Hall again and almost got caught by one.”

  That made her look up, sharply, “what do you mean, caught by one?”

  He glanced toward the ceiling vent, then back to her, “I was following... her. Trying to find something, more clues about blissbane, about Accord's structure, anything. It’s weekend, the hall was officially closed, so security was... lax,” a half-truth rolled easily from his tongue, “I left her and wandered alone. It was safe... or I thought it was.”

  His voice dropped as he spoke, “I was cloaked, but they managed to find me. Cornered me in a room full of red... curtains? Droplets of blood, hanging midair like glass beads.”

  He hugged his arm, trying not to remember the copper tang still stuck in his throat, “but I managed to flee unscathed,” he added quickly, forcing brightness into his tone, “don’t worry. They didn’t get me.”

  Veska pressed her palm over her face and exhaled slow, long, tired.

  When she finally looked at him again, her expression was a mixture of irritation and disbelief, “can you please stop diving headfirst into danger?”

  Kion raised both hands in mock surrender, grinning sheepishly, “I’ll try. Lesson learned.”

  “There’s a reason Bronze can’t step in when Accord pulls its tricks,” Veska muttered, rubbing her temple, “even with us as a nation and them just a company. They’ve grown too strong. Branches everywhere, people, eyes and ears in every district, inside and beyond our borders. No one even knows where their funding comes from. Maybe foreign royals. Maybe they-”

  She stopped.

  The air in the room seemed to shift.

  Kion tilted his head, “Veska?”

  She was staring past him now, her hand slowly rising to cover her mouth.

  “Veska, what is it?” He floated off the desk, closing the distance.

  For a moment, only the faint hum of the ward answered.

  Then, in a low whisper, “did you say blood control, Kion?”

  “Yes. Why? Does that ring anything?”

  “Are you sure it was actually blood? Not... something else?”

  “I’m sure. Some of it stuck on me. The smell, the color. I’m not mistaken.”

  “Impossible,” she breathed.

  Her hand stayed at her mouth as she bent slightly forward, as if the weight of memory had suddenly pressed down on her shoulders.

  Kion touched down lightly in his tiny form, wings flicking once before he let the glamour take him.

  Human shape washed over him in a ripple of light, and he knelt in front of her, voice softening, “hey. Tell me. What is it?”

  “The royals,” she whispered, eyes lifting to his, “that power belonged to the royals of Mordarrah.”

  He blinked, “isn’t that the old kingdom? Didn’t they fall when the Oathroot wiped their entire bloodline?”

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  “That’s what we knew,” Veska said, “the official version. It’s been centuries. Information about them was locked away. Bronze didn’t even exist back then. Their name itself became taboo to speak aloud.”

  Kion frowned, “seems a bit hasty to jump to conclusions. How did you even know that, if there’s barely any record left?”

  “Stories,” she murmured, “whispered through villages. Passed down by those who served them. And by Karmith leaders, during my visits years ago.”

  “The one you did to benchmark the achievement system in Karmith?” Kion asked.

  “Yes,” Veska said, “as brutal as they were before the borders were drawn, they told me there were two places they’d never approach. Tir Ryhaar, for its aerial forces and divine beast... and Mordarrah, for its bloodcraft. They said its royals could dry an army in minutes.”

  “That sounds... hyperbolic,” Kion said carefully, “if it were that formidable, surely someone would’ve written it down.”

  “That’s the problem,” Veska’s voice hardened, “history was erased after the fall. Bronze feared being associated with the doomed royals. They destroyed the archives, the castle, even the witnesses. Killed anyone thought to be their kin. It was atonement, they said. Fear made the silence permanent.”

  Her gaze dropped for a moment, “you know the old creed. Preserve, protect, withhold. In those days, the last word carried weight.”

  Kion rubbed the back of his neck, the thought sitting heavy, “didn’t know it went that far.”

  “No one does anymore,” Veska’s gaze unfocused slightly, “my family, generations back, served in that palace. They spoke of it in whispers. About what their bloodcraft could do. About how absolute the Oathroot was. I never really believed them.”

  “Let’s take that with a grain of salt,” Kion said, standing again, trying to lighten the weight, “if the ability was truly that powerful, I wouldn’t still be here. I’d be a dried fairy pinned to their office wall.”

  That earned a startled laugh, “dark,” she said, shaking her head, “but fair.”

  He poured water from the pitcher, slid the first glass toward her, “from what you know, has that power ever appeared outside the royal family?”

  She caught the glass, turning it once before sipping, “if it did, it was through bastards. Royal blood scattered thin. They’d be taken to the castle as soon as discovered, to keep the power within the crown.”

  Kion poured himself another cup and leaned against the desk, “then... if such an ability still exists, that means one of them survived. A royal bastard. Hidden this whole time.”

  He didn’t even need to explain why that was dangerous.

  For him, for Glitterstorm.

  Veska nodded slowly, “survived the Oathroot purge, and the people’s wrath. That alone is terrifying.”

  He hesitated, then added, “and there’s more. They spoke to each other in High Morthen.”

  Veska’s head snapped toward him, “High Morthen? You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ugh,” Veska rubbed her forehead, “more proof the royal bloodline didn’t die out. Not even lower nobles used it back then. Even we only learned it as text, never spoken.”

  Kion’s mouth tightened, “hearing it aloud felt like listening to a ghost talk.”

  Her expression darkened.

  Kion hesitated, “do you think... they’re tied to any of the current nobles?”

  Veska didn’t even pause, “no.”

  He blinked.

  “The nobles were the most afraid of the purge,” she said flatly.

  “During the merge, they didn’t just sever ties to the old bloodlines, they paraded them. Bastards were handed over, and when there weren’t enough, innocents were named as royal kin just to prove they’d already chosen the winning side.”

  A beat.

  “Bronze rewarded anyone who reported royal blood,” she went on, “and purged anyone who hesitated.”

  Kion exhaled slowly.

  “The Accord was founded generations later. Any noble line foolish enough to shelter a survivor wouldn’t have lasted long enough to see it,” Veska added.

  “So no nobles in Accord leadership,” Kion said.

  “None that we’ve ever found,” she rubbed her temple, “the only overlap was land. Large purchases, quiet transfers. From dukes, marquesses, counts. Enough of them that you can’t isolate a single patron.”

  Kion’s jaw tightened, “which means whoever it is isn’t hiding behind a title.”

  “They’re hiding behind a structure. That’s the headache,” she muttered, fingers pressing hard at her temple now.

  The truth pressed down on him hard. A thought followed anyway, quiet, treacherous.

  If the royal descendant was with the Accord, that meant they were on the same side as Writ.

  If it really was Caustic, then Writ would be outside the threat. One less thing to worry about.

  “Do you know who cast the blood magic?” Veska asked.

  “No. It happened inside the Black Quill office, then followed me through the corridors. Two shadows chased me. Could be either. Just my guess.”

  Her eyes flicked to him, “even worse if it’s a shadow. The Accord keeps them under direct leash.”

  She paused, studying him again, “what’s a Black Quill, anyway?”

  “A department, I think. They handle internal reports. Rogue officials, internal disputes.”

  “That’s not public knowledge,” Veska said sharply, “what else do you have?”

  “Just fragments,” Kion admitted, “and I might be wrong. But... they’ve got Harbingers, probably ones handling fieldwork. Judges, well, obvious enough. Then there’s Glyphfire and Verdict Wings, they work with ‘scientists’ or something. I don’t have much on those two. Maybe research and development?”

  “How do you even know that?”

  “They use the department title as prefixes. Harbinger Tiran. Judge Caedern. Those kinds.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Wait. Judge Caedern? As in Caedern Sleismann?”

  “You know him?”

  “You really should remember names, Kion. He’s the Archjudge of the Hall of Accordance. Half the councils need his verification before they can even function. Law, Commerce, Dominion, Concord. All of them.”

  “Right. Since no one trusts oaths anymore unless the Accord stamps them.”

  She gave a low whistle, “so you met him in person. While following your shadow girl?”

  “Yeah. He oversaw her questioning and reports.”

  “Why would a man of that rank get involved with shadows? They’re the topmost and lowermost in the chain”

  “No clue,” Kion muttered, “maybe he’s bored. I just wish he’d stop showing up. I’d rather she didn’t have to see that vile man again.”

  “Vile? Caedern?” Veska’s brows rose, “I knew it. He looked too good to be true. Everyone says he’s the only thing keeping the system from rotting.”

  “Yeah, that’s fake,” Kion said, rolling his eyes, “definitely not him. Unless there’s a second Caedern running around.”

  “Ask Fenwick,” Veska said, rising, “he’ll find the news, and probably pictures. Then you can confirm if we’re even talking about the same Caedern.”

  “Will do just that,” Kion muttered.

  The office door burst open before he could breathe again.

  “Goood morning!” Fenwick’s voice rang out like a horn, “such a good day to not be spent at work, isn’t it?”

  Kion didn’t turn, “speak of the devil.”

  Veska shot a finger toward Kion, “Fenwick, find the latest on Caedern Sleismann and give it to him. Apparently he lives under a rock.”

  Kion groaned, “come on. Can I just not participate in human politics?”

  Fenwick crossed to the window and threw it open, letting in a sweep of brisk air, “not from where you stand, little one. You’ll have it by lunch.”

  Kion buried his face in his hands, “don’t call me ‘little one’ when I’m this size.”

  Fenwick teased, “same difference. You’re still our cutest little one.”

  “Also,” Veska said, gathering her files, “dig up anything you can find on Mordarrah.”

  The window slammed shut.

  Fenwick turned sharply, “are you trying to get us executed? What if Heritage staff hear?”

  Kion peeked behind his fingers, “do it discreetly. We might have bigger trouble than we thought.”

  Fenwick stared between them, “you’re serious.”

  “We are,” Kion said.

  Fenwick leaned back against the sill, folding his arms, “do I need to notify the others?”

  “No,” Kion replied, “not yet.”

  “It’s still unconfirmed,” Veska added.

  “Then why dig up the dead?” Fenwick muttered.

  “They might not be as dead as we thought,” Veska said. She slipped some files into her briefcase and straightened, “I’ll head to West Wing now. Euri’s coming to the meeting too. I’ll tell him.”

  “Thanks, Veska. Good luck with the meeting,” Kion said quietly.

  “Safe trip. Don’t let those stingy bunch get you,” Fenwick added as she left.

  The door shut with a soft click, parchment rustling in her wake.

  Kion stayed where he was. Leaning on the desk’s edge, gaze fixed on the sunbeams creeping across the floor.

  Mordarrah. Bloodcraft. Black Quill. Accord.

  The names turned like gears in his head.

  He’d been banished by fairy politics, only to end up drowning in human ones.

  A sudden drop pulsed through the tether.

  He caught himself on the desk’s edge, even though he wasn’t the one falling.

  Fenwick glanced over but said nothing. Kion was silently grateful for that.

  What was that?

  Another pulse hit. Sharper, colder.

  His breath caught before he could stop it. The chill crawled down his spine, the kind that came only when she was hurt or frightened.

  He stilled, every muscle braced, waiting for another wave.

  For a sign, a call, anything.

  ...Nothing.

  The tether eased back into its muted hum. A flicker of panic still lingered, refusing to fade.

  He pressed a hand to his chest, grounding himself.

  She still had control. She’d be fine. She had to be.

  He dragged a hand through his hair, forcing a long breath out before speaking, “Euri’s out of the office, and I can’t even sleep.”

  “If you try, I’ll make sure he hears about it,” Fenwick said, eyes still on his paperwork.

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  “You’re welcome,” a beat, then dryly, “and change your look before the guards have a meltdown.”

  Kion blinked, only now realizing he was still wearing the appearance he’d used with Writ.

  “Right. Didn’t even notice.”

  The room eased back into its usual rhythm as he shifted forms, the quiet settling around them again.

  Paper, ink, the steady hum of warded walls pretending safety.

  Outside, the bells marked the hour, and the day went on, quiet and dangerous as ever.

  And history doesn't erase itself. It gets erased.