CHAPTER 10:

Verion chuckled when he saw Grey's disheveled appearance. “You look horrid!” Grey shot his uncle a sideways glance, anticipating what was to come. Clearing his throat, Verion continued, “I have some news. Two things, actually. Both are quite significant, with far-reaching consequences.” He gestured toward the ground. “You might want to take a seat for this.”

Grey fought to contain his anxiety. What news could Verion have? Could it be about the Kyria? Could it involve his mother? As Verion retrieved a tattered pamphlet, Grey's mind raced with anticipation.

“It appears you truly are my nephew, according to historical records. And by 'history,' I mean these weathered parchments penned by individuals long deceased.” Verion shuffled the worn pieces of paper in his hands.

Grey stared at his uncle, his mouth hanging open. “Are you kidding me? That’s it? I already knew you were my uncle. I thought you had something important to share.” Disappointment filled Grey as he pushed himself up from the floor.

Verion shrugged. “Can you blame me for confirming? I wasn’t entirely sure of our relation. My sister swore an oath of celibacy, but who was she to keep promises?” Grey sighed and turned to leave. “However, I do have another matter to discuss—” Verion paused, rubbing his chin as he carefully selected his words.

“There will soon be a blonde woman residing with us.” Verion thought to himself, Nailed it.

“What? I’ve barely been here a week. Why does it matter if more people arrive?” Verion tapped his cane impatiently. “What's the matter? What are you not telling me?”

“She's the princess.” Verion's hand shot to his mouth, attempting to retract his words.

“She's what?” Grey struggled to comprehend.

“A friend's daughter. She requires accommodation while her father attends to matters, so I—” Verion fabricated a more acceptable explanation. “So I offered our hospitality here at the Crimson Keep until she can return home.”

“I am so thrilled you’ve enlightened me with that information. It truly brings a new level of insight...” Grey's sarcasm was cut short by Verion slamming his cane into the ground.

“I don't appreciate your sarcasm, boy.”

“Apologies. It’s been a long day.” Grey rubbed his arms, recalling Toran's grueling training. He winced at the memory. “By the way, Toran mentioned you instructed him to train me.”

“I did. I assumed you needed some occupation in this impeccable prison. It can be rather dull at times. Did you find it beneficial?” Verion toyed with one of his rings, distracted.

Grey tried to shrug but ended up rubbing his shoulders instead. “As enjoyable as it could be.”

“Did Mary give you a tour?”

“She did. The gardens were magnificent, but I particularly enjoyed the library.”

“A scholar, are you? Do you understand the common tongue?”

Grey glanced at the ground. “Not yet, but with time spent among the books, I believe I will.”

Verion raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. I’m pleased to see you adapting well.”

“As best as one can. It's still a challenge.” Verion rose from his seat and approached Grey, enveloping him in a surprising embrace. Grey was taken aback but accepted it.

“Life consists of navigating unfortunate circumstances to our advantage. Let’s make the most of this one, shall we?” Verion released Grey, stepping back. Adjusting his coat tails, he returned to the matter at hand. “You mentioned the Kyria attacked the Nightshades, correct?”

Grey nodded, lips pressed together. “Yes. They resembled dragons, with wings and formidable size.”

“Yes, yes. That describes the Kyria. I intend to delve into their history.” Just then, Mary entered the keep, interrupting their conversation.

“Lord Verion,” she nodded, “young sir. Dinner will be ready in an hour. Should I set the table?”

“Yes, please, Mary. I’d like a family dinner tonight.” Verion turned to Grey, who was still covered in mud and grime. “You look appalling. Clean up before dinner.” He then addressed Mary. “Don't escort Grey to the dining room. Let's see if he can find it on his own.”

Grey exchanged bewildered glances with both Verion and Mary. “What in the world?” Verion chuckled, ushering Grey out.

“Go get cleaned up, kid. I’ll see you at dinner.”

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"This is ridiculous," Grey muttered to himself, frustration evident in his voice as he faced yet another door. "How am I supposed to find the dining room in this marble maze?" He approached another door, yanking it open, only to be greeted by darkness. "Ugh!" Grey threw his arms up in exasperation, but the cuff of his coat held them back, reminding him of his confinement. He pressed his face together, trying to contain his frustration as he surveyed the endless row of rooms stretching out before him. Lowering his head, he moved on to the next door, turning the handle with care.

"Sir, perhaps you should allow him in," Toran suggested, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the boy. Verion observed Grey's futile search for the dining hall with amusement. "This is rather cruel," Toran remarked.

"Nonsense!" Verion crossed his legs, resting his gilded cane on his lap. "It's all in good fun! Wouldn't you agree, esteemed guests?" He gestured toward the high-ranking nobles seated at the table, accompanied by a stunning woman.

"Oh, Lord Verion!" exclaimed a rotund noble in purple. "You are quite the prankster! And who might this noble guest be that you're teasing?"

Another noble, even more elegantly dressed, interjected, "Lord Perick, your flattery is indeed charming, but let's keep it to a minimum tonight, shall we?" He rolled his eyes and swept his hair back.

"Robert!" Lord Perick rose, his face turning crimson.

"Always the epitome of elegance, aren't you, Robert?" The noble in dark green satin sat at the far end of the table, separated from the others' squabbling. "Could you two please spare us your bickering? Some of us are trying to enjoy ourselves." He draped his arm around the beautiful blonde woman beside him, smiling warmly.

Verion rose, spreading his hands. "Now, gentlemen, let's not spoil the mood! Gerard, Robert, Perick—we're all friends here! Let's enjoy this splendid feast I've prepared! Mary, my dear." Mary appeared from the corner of the room, dressed in a maid's attire. "Would you kindly bring out the food?" Mary nodded and silently exited.

Grey groaned as he opened another door, only to find darkness once more. "Something's not right. It has to be one of these." His resolve wavered, but hunger spurred him on. Suddenly, he thought he heard laughter behind one of the doors. Standing up straight, he cautiously approached the door and opened it. Darkness greeted him again. He closed the door slowly and backed away, but the laughter persisted. Tentatively, he reached for the knob of another door, softly peeking inside. To his relief, he found a lavish spread of food adorning a jeweled table. With a sense of triumph, he swung the door open and strode in

Grey locked eyes with Verion and grinned victoriously. Verion chuckled and snapped his fingers, plunging the room into darkness. "You're joking," Grey protested, his voice drowned out by laughter from Verion and the other guests. Deciding he had teased the boy enough, Verion snapped his fingers again, bathing the room in a mysterious, dim light. He motioned for Grey to take a seat.

"Glad you could join us," Verion said, his tone subtly sarcastic.

Glaring at him, Grey sat down beside Toran. He surveyed the unfamiliar faces at the table—gold-adorned men seated next to Verion, with impeccably sculpted women beside them. Feeling out of place, Grey lowered his gaze and began to eat. Verion smiled, sitting back down. The room fell silent as everyone ate, tension hanging thick in the air, making Grey's appetite disappear.

Verion scrutinized his guests—noblemen of the realm wielding significant power. "Grey," he addressed his nephew from across the table. "Allow me to introduce you to some of the esteemed gentlemen here." Grey set down his fork, focusing on his uncle. Verion continued, his smile widening. "That gentleman there is Lord Perick! He oversees much of the silk industry in the western realm, a shrewd businessman who achieves his goals with finesse. Whether independently pioneering an entire industry or orchestrating a clandestine child trafficking network for lesser nobles, his acumen is unmatched. He ensures their silence through ruthless blackmail. Quite the skill, wouldn't you agree?" Confusion clouded the guests' expressions, while Lord Perick turned pale.

"Seated across from him is Lord Robert, leader of the Red Union—an organization dedicated to maintaining peace among the realm's kingdoms and their inhabitants. Born into obscurity, he ascended to the highest echelons of one of the most revered organizations through sheer determination. In addition to his role in the Red Union, he serves as the primary informant for the Black Sparrows, a terrorist group intent on overthrowing the king. Some recent bombings in the capital trace back to his collusion with the organization." Robert began to rise, but a glare from Verion forced him back into his seat.

"And tender-hearted Gerard," Verion began, his expression darkening as his anger simmered beneath the surface. "I wish I had kind words for you, but you're truly a despicable person through and through." The nobles around the tables shifted uncomfortably, unable to maintain their composure. Verion turned to Grey, his smile gentle yet tinged with gravity. "Grey," he said, rubbing his chin and inhaling sharply. "I'm not sure how your sense of justice or moral compass aligns, but mine is narrow and pointed. The line between right and wrong is often blurred, and sometimes, we have to rely on intuition." He paused, straightening his posture and addressing his guests. "Sometimes, we just have to make a guess."

Suddenly, Verion's baby blue eyes flashed crimson, and his scarlet blazer crackled with energy. "Lord Verion—" Robert began, but before he could finish, a thin thorn pierced his heart, silencing him. His body slumped lifelessly to the floor, prompting a scream from one of the women. Verion then turned his gaze to Perick, and in an instant, he too fell victim to a red thorn. Gerard attempted to flee, but he was swiftly met with the same fate, collapsing before he could reach the door.

Grey watched in shock as the scene unfolded before him, the killings swift and precise. Swallowing hard, he turned his gaze to his uncle. Verion loomed over the dinner party, his form engulfed in swirling crimson flames. Several tails extended from his back, their ends resembling hands. "Esteemed guests," Verion said flatly, "thank you for joining us tonight. The king values your continued support." With that, he reverted to his normal appearance, the hellish flames receding to reveal his pale complexion and scarlet blazer. "Mary, please escort our guests out," he instructed calmly. "I'm sure they're eager to return home. It's been a long evening for everyone." The remaining guests hastily departed, leaving Grey frozen in fear.

Unable to move or think, Grey felt a hand on his back, grounding him. "Hey, kid," Toran's voice broke through his shock, and Grey met his gaze, his eyes hollow with fear. Toran glanced at Verion. "Was it necessary to expose him to this?"

Verion rubbed his thumbs together, his teeth grinding. "Boy," he addressed Grey, who looked up at him, trembling. "At the temple of the priestess, you asked me a question. Do you remember?" Grey shook his head, struggling to recall. "You asked what I did for the king," Verion continued, his gaze fixed on the fallen nobles. "I'm his executioner."

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As the door slowly creaked shut, Grey clung to the handle, his heart pounding. His mind whirled with confusion and tension as he made his way to the bed, pacing anxiously. The metallic scent of blood lingered in his nose, and the lifeless bodies of the nobles weighed heavily on his mind. He rubbed his temples, the ache behind his eyes intensifying. "Executioner?" he repeated, his voice trembling. Opening the balcony doors, he sought solace in the cool breeze, but his rapid, shallow breaths betrayed his mounting panic.

Collapsing onto the bed, Grey struggled to catch his breath as dizziness engulfed him. His thoughts raced, questions unanswered and fears unspoken. After what felt like an eternity, he regained control of his breathing, the knot in his chest loosening. Closing his eyes, he succumbed to exhaustion.

Awakening to the distant tolling of a bell, Grey peered out the window at the dawn breaking over the town. Rising slowly, he made his way to the bathroom, his steps heavy with fatigue. In the mirror, he saw a fractured reflection of himself—tear-streaked and weary. His complexion had paled, his once-rugged features softened by care and confinement. With a trembling lip, he whispered, "Ma," longing for the comfort of his mother's gentle embrace.