h4Chapter 340: The Escape/h4

strongVaelthor/Vincent/strong

iAnd then, one night, like lightning ripping the abyss open, the chance we’d been waiting for finally struck./i

It was during Krelth’s so-called grand feast to honor our traditions. A celebration, at least that’s what he wanted everyone to believe. But it wasn’t about tradition, or generosity, or honoring anyone but himself. No—this was nothing more than a shrine to his ego. Every golden cup brimming with wine, every dripping b of roasted meat, every jewel-studded banner hanging from the ck stone walls screamed the same message: look at me, look at how powerful I am.

The feast itself was chaos disguised as luxury. It was less a banquet and more a theater of gluttony. Demons lounged on tables as if they were thrones, tearing into flesh with blood-slicked teeth. The air was heavy with smoke and the coppery stench of spilled ichor. Laughter rang out in jagged bursts, high and manic, bouncing off the obsidian walls until it felt like the room itself was mocking you. Even the guards, supposed to be watchful, stumbled around half-blind, drunk not just on liquor but on the illusion of victory.

It was the perfect cover.

I slipped through the hall in a borrowed servant’s cloak, head lowered, bncing a tray to keep up the act. But the shadows knew me better than silk ever could—they clung to me like a second skin, folding me into the dark until I was barely there at all. Above, Sylthara was at work, weaving through the dreamscape. She slipped into the minds of the sentries, pressing heavy visions into their skulls until their eyes sagged shut and their bodies swayed with the pull of sleep.

The antechamber was worse than I had pictured. Vast, echoing, lit by fire that burned an unnatural violet, every flicker seemed to crawl over the skin. At the center loomed the rack—obsidian carved into something that looked less like stone and more like jagged bone. And there they were: the Void Keys. They didn’t just glow, they pulsed, each one beating like a sick heart. The sound wasn’t sound at all but hunger—whispers of escape and destruction,ced together like poison and honey.

And too close—far too close—sat Krelth himself. A brute made of muscle and ego, lounging like a king who thought the world owed him worship. Across hispy Xyra, more ornament than partner, while the rest of his inner circle tripped over themselves tough at his every grunt. Hisughter shook the chamber, thunderous and smug, and I felt just how small I really was. One wrong move, one flicker of his gaze, and this theft would end with my blood staining his floor.

I clenched my jaw. Not tonight.

i"Syl,"/i I whispered into the void, sending the thought down our mind link like smoke slipping through cracks. i"Now. Tear them apart." /i

The change was instant. The air rippled as Sylthara yanked the strings of their minds. One by one, the party guests froze, their eyes zing over as nightmares crawled into their waking world. Chains nged where none existed. Shadows peeled themselves off the walls and stalked forward like living things. As for my uncle, it was a vision of Shadow, my father, the prisoner they all feared, bursting free. His maw stretched wide and unnatural, swallowing guards whole in one impossible bite after another.

The hall dissolved into chaos. Screams ripped through the air. ck ichor sshed across the tables as goblets toppled and shattered. Krelth shot to his feet, fury twisting his face. "What sorcery is this?!" he roared, shing at illusions only he could see, a tyrant undone by phantoms.

That was my moment.

I lunged, shadows blooming into long, skeletal arms that snatched at the rack. The metal burned against my skin, colder than ice yet thrumming with the heat of a star. One Void Key tore free, writhing in my palm like something alive.

The rms screamed, sharp enough to rattle bone, but the shadows carried me faster than any soldier could run. I darted through corridors where chaos already spread, the cries of terrified demons chasing me like hounds.

Sylthara waited where we nned—at the edge of the crypts, where the stone split open into an unnatural scar. Her face was pale, but her eyes—triumphant.

"You got it?" she rasped, clutching at me as if she needed proof. "Vaelthor—tell me you—"

"Yes." I held the key high, its glow lighting the carved walls like stormfire. Shouts echoed closer. "No time—RUN!"

Together we tore through the final passage, toward the veil. It was less a door and more a wound in reality: a jagged rift that wept void energy, gnashing and swirling like a living storm. The air around it sucked inward with every pulse, hungry to swallow us whole.

I shoved the key forward, twisting its impossible geometry. The veil screamed, then widened, a yawning maw of midnight tearing open to reveal something else—something brighter.

Sylthara caught my arm, nails digging deep. "Vaelthor... if we go through, there’s no turning back. What if they follow?"

"They won’t." My voice was rougher than I intended, but I meant it. "And if they do?" I pulled her close, meeting her terrified gaze with my own. "Then let theme. But not as we are. We shed this skin. We start new."

She hesitated only a heartbeat longer. Then we leapt.

The portal spat us out like chewed gum, hurling us into a world that felt almost unreal.

Dusk.

A forest alive with scents so rich they nearly drowned me—pine, damp earth, wild air untainted by sulfur, pretty birds. The ground was soft, forgiving. No ck stone. No ash. Nothing was on fire. Just moss and grass that caught us as we fell.

For the first time in my whole existence, the sky wasn’t a ceiling of smoke but an endless canvas of fading gold.

Syltharaughed first—half hysterical, half free. The sound infected me, and soon we were both lying in the grass, gasping, clutching each other,ughing until the adrenaline ebbed and the world finally went quiet.

The key disintegrated between my fingers, sifting away like ash on the wind. A one-time doorway, exactly as expected. I sat up, brushing the dust from my hands, and exhaled. No going back now.

"Syl," I murmured, turning toward her. "We can’t be Vaelthor and Sylthara here. Those names are too demonic. They carry too much blood, too much shadow. They’ll sniff us out before we take our first step. From now on..." I let the words hang, savoring the weight of the decision. "...I’m Vincent. Vincent Shadowborn. Mortal enough, yeah? A name that blends in."

For a heartbeat she just stared—and then sheughed. A soft, genuine giggle, so rare it felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

"Vincent?" she repeated, almost tasting it. "That’s a strange name. Do mortals really name their children things like that? Hm." Her lips curved, eyes glinting with mischief. "Fine. Then I’ll be Winter. Winter Shadowborn. Cold, unyielding, but beautiful—like snow that hides daggers."

A grin tugged at my mouth despite my exhaustion. "Perfect. That’s the kind of poetry mortals fall for. Now, the mour. We can’t walk in looking like... well, like demons fresh out of the pit."

I drew out the battered tome I had stolen from the pce library—its pages crammed with sketches and notes on every mortal race worth knowing: humans, vampires, lycans, witches. Sylthara and I had poured over it in stolen hours, practicing in secret, dreaming of a world outside our chains. Now those stolen lessons might actually save us.

I let the shadows answer my call, swirling around me like smoke alive. My horns slid back into nothingness, the rough texture of my skin smoothing until it gleamed pale, almost wless. My hair fell ck as midnight, messily striking, the kind of look that invited both envy and desire. My eyes red silver, sharp enough to cut. My frame stretched taller, broader, sculpted into the kind of figure mortals apparently worshipped—strength carved into flesh, menace wrapped in beauty.

Winter—no longer Sylthara—shifted beside me. Her body softened into something almost celestial. Skin pale as snow under moonlight, eyes crystalline blue that seemed to hide entire oceans, hair spilling in golden waves that caught the light like frozen fire. She twirled once, skirts ring, andughed again.

"Well?" she asked, her voice melodic, teasing. "Do I look mortal enough to fool a Lycan? A vampire?"

I swallowed hard. She was breathtaking. "Gorgeous," I said, the word rougher than I intended. "Dangerous. Like a storm dressed in silk."

Her finger jabbed into my chest, yful. "And you look like trouble. The kind that smiles while breaking hearts."

I smirked, but the bond between us—sharpened by blood, by fire, by everything we had lost—made the air hum. Linking arms, we stepped forward. The forest breathed around us: distant wolf howls rolling under the fading blue skies, whispers of spells threading through the wind, the faint metallic tang that always marked vampire territory, and, beyond it all, the faint thrum of cities where humans dreamed their small, fragile dreams.

It was overwhelming. It was intoxicating. It was alive.

"Ready for this, Winter?" I asked, tasting her new name on my tongue. My pulse raced, not from fear, but ambition.

Her grip tightened on my arm. She tilted her chin, eyes zing. "With you? Always. Let’s go make them pay... brother."

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