The morning sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns of the Lockwood Estate. Inside the manor, the atmosphere had shifted from the icy tension of breakfast to a quiet, oppressive anticipation.
Kael stood by the window of Lyra's room, watching a convoy of black armored vehicles roll through the distant main gates. They bore the crest of the Hart family—a golden shield bisected by a silver sword.
"They're here," Kael said, his voice low.
Lyra sat on the edge of the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. She looked small, fragile. "The Hart representatives. Mom has been preparing for this for weeks. They... they own the rights to the Dragon Bones dungeon, but they need Mom's facility to access the lower levels safely."
"The Dragon Bones," Kael repeated, tasting the name. "That's where your mother's research is focused?"
Lyra nodded, sniffing. "It's an S-Rank danger zone. It's not like the beginner dungeons. The mana density there is so thick it can crush a C-Rank just by breathing. Mom uses special tech to harvest mana stones from the outer rim."
"And Sarae Hart?" Kael asked, testing the name.
Lyra shivered. "He's the Hart family's crown jewel. The Ageless. He rarely visits. If he's here, it means they're planning a deep dive. A dive that requires the facility's bypass protocols."
Kael's eyes narrowed. Sarae. My first brother.
He walked over to the bed. He sat down beside Lyra, placing a hand on her knee. He needed her compliant. He needed her desperate to help him.
"I have to get in there, Lyra," Kael said, his voice trembling with feigned desperation.
Lyra looked up, alarmed. "What? No! Kael, it's suicide. You're D-Rank. Even with your talent, the ambient pressure in there would kill you in seconds. And the monsters... they are ancient."
"Not the dungeon itself," Kael lied smoothly. "The facility. I need to know why they are here. The Harts... they are connected to the people who experimented on me. If they see me, I'm dead. But if I can find out what they are looking for, maybe I can find a way to be free of them forever."
He reached up, cupping her face. "I can't keep hiding in your room, Lyra. I refuse to be a burden. I refuse to let you fight your mother's battles for me. Let me be useful. Let me find intel."
Lyra's eyes swam with tears. His manipulation had worked perfectly. He had painted his desire for power as a noble quest for freedom and a desire to ease her burden.
"But how?" she whispered. "Security is tripled today."
"The logistics sector," Kael said. "You mentioned the shipments. The mana-stone containers. They need porters, right? Low-level grunts to move crates. No one looks at the grunts."
Lyra bit her lip. "I... I know the logistics chief. He owes my dad a favor. I could get you a temp pass."
"Then I can slip away," Kael promised. "Just to the observation deck. I'll be safe."
Lyra stared at him, her heart warring with her fear. Finally, her love for him—manufactured and amplified as it was—won out.
"Okay," she whispered. "Wait here."
She left the room, moving with a nervous energy.
Kael watched the door close. The moment she was gone, the soft, concerned expression melted off his face.
"Such a foolish girl," he muttered.
He stood up and walked to the mirror. He checked his jawline, his eyes.
This is the first step, he thought. The Dragon Bones. The Hart family. Silas.
He was walking into the lion's den willingly. And he was going to steal the lion's teeth while it slept.
Lockwood Research Facility - Control Tower
Silas Lockwood stood before a wall of monitors, a cold cup of coffee in her hand. Her head was pounding.
The morning had been a disaster. Finding her daughter in bed with a stray—a D-Rank stray with suspicious eyes—had nearly made her lose control. But she was a professional. She had tucked the anger away, locked it in a box, and focused on the job.
Today was too important.
"Ma'am," her assistant said, stepping forward. "The Hart convoy has passed checkpoint three. ETA ten minutes."
Silas nodded, not looking away from the screens. "Is the containment field on the dungeon entrance stable?"
"At 98%. Fluctuating slightly, but within safe parameters."
"And the Whitmore data?"
"Encrypted and ready for transfer to Morgan's server. She's asking about the boy, though. Subject 704."
Silas's grip on the coffee cup tightened. "Tell her the subject was disposed of. Incinerator records are clean. We have the ash samples to prove it."
"Understood. And... the other matter?"
Silas turned. "What other matter?"
"The boy your daughter brought home. Kael. We ran the facial recognition scan through the public database as per protocol."
"And?"
"It came back empty. But I did a deep sweep of the private archives... specifically the old pre-System records from the outer zones."
Silas's eyes narrowed. "Spit it out."
"There's a partial match. A genetic drift profile. It links back to a fugitive file from 30 years ago. Elena Hayes."
The name hit Silas like a physical blow. Elena. The runaway. The one with the Ageless Physique.
"Show me," Silas commanded.
The assistant tapped a keyboard. A holographic image appeared. On the left, the wanted poster of Elena Hayes—a beautiful woman with white hair and blue eyes. On the right, Kael's face from the breakfast table.
The resemblance was undeniable. The jawline. The eyes. Even the scowl.
"He claims to be a cult survivor," Silas murmured, her mind racing. "But he's Elena's son?"
"Likely, ma'am. Which means he has Hart blood. Or at least, the recessive traits."
Silas felt a chill run down her spine. If the Harts found out there was another potential Ageless carrier—one that Silas had insulted and kicked out of her house—they would skin her alive.
Or worse... they would take him.
"We keep this quiet," Silas ordered, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Seal the file. Burn the logs. If Sarae asks, the boy is a nobody. A dead end."
"And the boy himself?"
Silas turned back to the monitors, watching the convoy of black cars approaching the gate.
"If he stays out of my way, he lives," Silas said coldly. "If he steps one foot inside this facility... I'll kill him myself and sort out the DNA later."
She straightened her suit jacket.
"Prepare the welcome committee. Lord Sarae does not like to be kept waiting."
Lyra returned twenty minutes later, breathless. She held a gray jumpsuit and a laminated badge.
"Here," she said, shoving them into his hands. "I told the chief you're my cousin from the country. You're mute due to a throat injury, so don't talk. Just nod and work."
Kael took the items. "Thank you, Lyra."
He stripped off his clothes right there, not caring about modesty. He saw Lyra blush and look away, but he caught her peeking. He smirked internally. Still hooked.
He pulled on the jumpsuit. It smelled of diesel and ozone. He pinned the badge to his chest.
NAME: JONCLEARANCE: LEVEL 1 (PORTER)STATUS: TEMPORARY
"I'll be back by tonight," Kael said, pulling Lyra into a rough kiss. "Wait for me."
He climbed out the window, dropping into the garden. He bypassed the perimeter guards easily using [Dark Adaptation], sticking to the blind spots.
He jogged the two miles to the facility perimeter. The massive concrete walls of the research center loomed ahead, built into the side of the mountain. Beyond it, shrouded in mist, he could see the jagged spires of the dungeon entrance—the Dragon Bones.
The air felt heavy even from here. Thick with ancient magic.
He joined a line of workers trudging toward the service gate. He slumped his shoulders, adopting a vacant expression.
"Next," the guard barked.
Kael stepped forward. The scanner beeped.
"Jon, mute?" the guard asked.
Kael nodded, tapping his throat.
"Gate 4. Move along."
Kael walked through the metal detector. It didn't trigger—he had left his weapons hidden in the garden, burying them under a rosebush. He was going in naked. Weaponless.
He didn't need weapons. He was the weapon.
As he walked into the belly of the beast, he saw the black convoy passing by on the elevated VIP road above him. The tinted windows reflected the gray sky.
Inside one of those cars was Sarae Hart.
Kael smiled, a cold, sharp expression that didn't fit the face of a mute porter.
Hello, brother.