CHAPTER 84: LORD VELRANE ARRIVES

"I don’t care what lies you’ve told the others," Lanther snarled, his grief-ravaged face inches from Soren’s. "My son is dead while you live. Explain that, street rat."

The great hall had descended into chaos. Lords who had ridden together now turned on each other like starving dogs fighting over the last scrap of meat. Trescan pointed accusingly at Dravien, whose knights had supposedly abandoned their position.

Karvath bellowed about Lanther’s cowardice. Each noble twisted the messenger’s warning about Sylas’s continued movements into leverage against their rivals.

Soren stood in the center of it all, a convenient target for their collective rage. The shard against his chest remained cold and silent, offering no guidance as accusations flew around him like arrows.

"Perhaps the boy made some arrangement," suggested a Karvath captain, voice dripping with insinuation. "Some... understanding with the killer."

"He disappeared into the forest," Harrick added eagerly. "Returned without explanation."

"My lords, this accomplishes nothing—" Ashgard began, but his words vanished beneath renewed shouting.

The massive oak doors at the far end of the hall swung open without warning.

Silence fell instantly, as if a blade had severed the very air.

A tall figure stood in the doorway, unarmored but no less imposing for it. Lord Callen Dathen Velrane wore a long black cloak that brushed the floor, its silver edging catching the torchlight.

His ash-silver hair and neatly trimmed beard framed features carved from cold marble. Those pale gray eyes swept across the assembled nobles with the detached interest of a man observing insects.

Soren’s stomach dropped. Of all the nobles who might have arrived, Velrane was both the most powerful and the most dangerous, especially to him.

The lord stepped into the hall alone, though Soren glimpsed the disciplined formation of Velrane knights waiting in the corridor beyond. Their stillness spoke of more deadly potential than any dramatic posturing.

Callen moved with unhurried confidence, his boot heels striking the stone floor in measured rhythm. He stopped at the edge of the gathering, surveying the room with open disdain.

"I left my son’s blade in the care of lions," he said, his voice quiet yet carrying to every corner of the hall. "Instead I find squabbling crows, picking at carrion."

No one spoke. No one moved. Soren had seen this effect before, Callen Velrane didn’t need to raise his voice to command absolute attention. His reputation for ruthless pragmatism preceded him like a shadow.

"Lord Velrane," Ashgard acknowledged, breaking the silence. "We did not expect your presence."

"Clearly." Callen’s gaze flicked toward the maps and documents scattered across the table. "Otherwise you might have presented a more... unified response to this disaster."

Lord Trescan found his voice first. "My lord, we were ambushed by a killer of unnatural ability. My knights fought bravely, while House Dravien—"

"Spare me your petty accusations." Callen cut him off with a slight gesture that somehow carried more authority than another man’s shout. "I’ve heard enough to understand what happened. You rode out as separate houses rather than a unified force. You maintained your rivalries in the face of a common enemy. You failed, not individually, but collectively."

Ashgard’s jaw tightened, though he made no direct challenge. Even he, master in his own hall, seemed to recognize that Velrane’s influence was too great to dismiss outright.

"The killer displayed abilities beyond our anticipation," Ashgard said carefully. "We have gathered valuable intelligence at great cost."

"Intelligence?" Callen’s mouth curved in what might have been a smile on a warmer man. "Yes, I imagine you have. Though whether you understand what you’ve learned remains to be seen."

He moved further into the room, his cloak rippling like liquid shadow. The nobles unconsciously shifted to make way, none willing to be the obstacle in his path.

Then those pale gray eyes found Soren.

The shard against his chest went from cold to freezing in an instant. Valenna’s presence sharpened like a blade being drawn.

"And my son’s chosen Blade?" Callen asked, his voice softening in a way that made it somehow more dangerous. "What role did you play in this... intelligence gathering?"

Before Soren could answer, Harrick stepped forward, emboldened by the possibility of redirecting blame.

"He was marked, my lord," the young knight said eagerly. "The killer looked directly at him, spoke to him even, while cutting down better men. Then he disappeared into the forest alone and returned unharmed."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the nobles. Lord Lanther’s grief-hollowed eyes burned with renewed accusation.

"He carries something unnatural," Lanther hissed. "Some connection to the monster who took my son."

"A curse, perhaps," suggested Karvath. "Or worse."

The accusations built upon each other, gaining momentum as each lord saw opportunity to shift blame from their houses to this convenient scapegoat.

Callen listened without expression, those pale eyes never leaving Soren’s face. Then he raised his hand, a small gesture that nonetheless silenced the room instantly.

"Enough." The word fell like a stone into still water. "If the boy is marked, then he is mine to examine, not yours to condemn."

Soren felt the shift in the room’s atmosphere. What had been a unified attack against him suddenly fractured as the nobles realized what was happening. Velrane wasn’t just defending his house’s honor, he was reclaiming authority over one of his assets.

Ashgard’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. The lord had clearly expected to control this investigation himself, using Soren as a resource under his command. Now Velrane had stepped in, pulling Soren back under his house’s shield.

"Lord Velrane," Ashgard began carefully, "as the boy was present during my expedition, perhaps a joint inquiry would be most... productive."

"An expedition that failed spectacularly under your command," Callen replied without heat. "I think House Velrane will conduct its own investigation into matters concerning its members."

The nobles exchanged glances, recalculating their positions in this unexpected power shift. Some looked relieved to pass the blame elsewhere. Others bristled at Velrane’s consolidation of authority.

"House Velrane will investigate Sylas’s true nature," Callen continued, addressing the room at large. "And if this Blade carries some mark or connection, then he may well be the key to understanding our enemy." His gaze swept the assembled lords. "Unless any of you have produced better insights from your... retreat?"

The silence that followed carried its own answer.

Callen turned back to Soren, studying him with the clinical detachment of a man examining an unusual specimen. He stepped closer, close enough that Soren could see the fine lines at the corners of those merciless eyes.

"You walk with shadows, boy," he said, voice pitched for Soren’s ears alone. "Tonight, you answer to me."

The words settled over Soren like a shroud. This wasn’t protection, it was another test. And with Velrane, failure meant death.

’The wolf claims what’s his,’ Valenna whispered in his mind, her voice like winter wind through dead branches. ’But remember, little knife... wolves eat their own when hunger comes.’

The messenger stood frozen at the doorway, his warning about Sylas’s movements already forgotten as the nobles turned their attention to Callen Velrane. His arrival had transformed the room’s chaotic energy into something colder, more focused, like a scattered fire suddenly contained in a forge.

Soren felt the weight of Callen’s gray eyes upon him, piercing and analytical. The shard against his chest pulsed with Valenna’s warning, but he kept his face carefully blank. To show fear now would be to invite the worst from Velrane.

"My lord," Ashgard began, stepping forward with the careful movements of a man approaching a wild predator, "we were discussing the appropriate response to this threat—"

"Were you?" Callen’s voice remained soft, yet it cut through Ashgard’s words like a blade through silk. "From what I observed, you were assigning blame rather than formulating strategy."

His gaze swept the room, lingering on each noble in turn. Lord Lanther shrank back slightly, his earlier rage curdling into something closer to fear. Even Trescan, usually so bold in his accusations, found sudden interest in the maps scattered across the table.

"The messenger brings word that Sylas has been sighted near the eastern farms," Ashgard said, gesturing to the still-waiting man at the door. "Three more dead. A pattern emerges."

But Callen dismissed this with a slight wave of his hand. "Patterns mean nothing without understanding. You chase shadows while ignoring the darkness that casts them."

He moved toward the center of the room, his cloak whispering against the stone floor. The space around him seemed to contract, as if the very air yielded to his presence.

"You speak of blame and betrayal," he continued, each word precise as a surgeon’s cut. "House against house. Knight against knight. As if your personal grievances matter when faced with extinction."

Lord Trescan’s face flushed dark. "My knights died because Dravien abandoned their position—"

"Your knights died," Callen interrupted, "because you failed to function as a unified force." His gaze hardened. "Divided, you were prey. United, you might have been hunters."

The rebuke struck with the force of physical blows. Soren watched the nobles’ faces as they absorbed Callen’s words, some with resentment, others with dawning comprehension. Ashgard’s expression remained carefully neutral, though a muscle twitched in his jaw.

"House Velrane will conduct its own investigation into this matter," Callen continued, his tone making it clear this was not a suggestion but a declaration. "Beginning with those who witnessed Sylas directly."

His pale eyes returned to Soren, who fought the urge to step back. The shard against his chest went from cold to freezing, Valenna’s presence sharpening with alarm.