Oso

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Dominic Blackmoor

Time: • Evening then Night

Interactions: • Vex @Tpartywithzombi

The crowd pressed tight around the steel cage, every one of them howling for blood, the stink of sweat, smoke, and cheap whiskey thick in the air. The floor was sticky, the lights dim and swinging, and the pit smelled like iron and violence.

Dom leaned back against the fence, shirtless, wrists taped and dark with someone else’s blood. His own split eyebrow bled down the side of his face, jaw set, a hand-rolled cigarette burning low between his fingers. He dragged deep, slow, and let the smoke curl out of his nose.

Below him, the promoter was barking through the mic, voice cracking with excitement. A couple of women hauled the last poor bastard Dom had broken clean out of the cage. The man’s face was a mess of swelling, teeth scattered like dice across the floor, ribs caved where Dom had buried his elbow. He was alive, though he might’ve wished otherwise.

Somewhere in the city, Kess & Lucian were both digging for answers in their own ways. The whole pack was coping and hard at work. Dom was working too...working to get the devil out of him so he could be ready for whatever came next. This was mandatory.

He dropped the butt of the cigarette, crushed it under his boot, then whistled low for the waitress passing with the beer tub. She winked, slid one through the fence. He cracked it open against the steel and took a long pull, foam catching in his beard. Then he rolled his neck, shoulders popping, and turned as the next fighter stepped through the cage door.

The crowd roared louder.

A monster of a man, six and a half feet, tattoos climbing up a chest like a wall, nose already crooked from breaks that had never healed right. They called him “Brickhouse,” and for good reason. His fists looked like hammers, his grin was all hate and hunger.

The bell rang.

Dom didn’t raise his hands. He walked straight into him. The first punch snapped his head sideways, the second drove into his ribs, and the third split his lip. He let it happen, teeth bared, tasting the blood, needing the pain. The crowd lost its mind.

Then Dom spat red on the mat, and the switch flipped.

He fully came alive. A headbutt cracked Brickhouse’s nose wide open, cartilage bursting. Dom’s elbow smashed down across his cheek, splitting it open to the bone. He hooked the man’s arm, slammed a knee into his stomach until bile hit the floor, then dragged his head down and drove it into the steel so hard the whole cage rattled.

Brickhouse stumbled. Dom didn’t let him fall. He hammered fists into his jaw, one after another, until the man dropped. Then he grabbed a handful of his hair, dragged his head up, and whispered something low enough only the broken bastard would hear before slamming him down one last time.

There was a brief moment of awe and silence. Then the pit erupted, the roar so loud it rattled the lights above.

Dom stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping from his face, a wolf in his natural state. He looked out at the crowd for half a second, then turned his back on them all and going for another drink of his beer.

---

Later, in the dingy back room they called a locker room, Dom sat on the splintered bench, peeling tape off his wrists. A half full bottle of whiskey sat beside him. His knuckles were swollen, skin raw.

The door creaked open.

Boots scuffed against the floor, and around the corner came a tall, wiry man. Pale as bone, hair black and unkempt, a silver chain blindfold glittering faintly in the half-light. His jaw was sharp, lips set in a knowing smile.

Aeryn Vale; Frontman of Vein Theory.

He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, tilting his head as though he could see the room anyway.

"Hell of a show," Aeryn said, voice smooth, almost amused. "Good to remind this city why you’re king of the wolves."

Dom didn’t look up at first. Just kept unwinding the tape, shoulders rolling, calm as if he hadn’t just dismantled man after man in front of a hundred screaming degenerates. Finally, he glanced over, eyes golden and tired.

"That why you came here, Vale?" His voice was low, gravel rough. "To hand out compliments?"

Aeryn chuckled, pushing off the wall and strolling closer, every step sure despite the blindfold. He dropped down onto the bench beside Dom, grabbed the whiskey without asking, and took a long swig. Then he let the silence breathe, his smile faint.

"No," he said finally, setting the bottle between them. "I came to offer condolences. From me, from the band. Logan was one of the good ones." He paused as his smile twisted. "Well. If there are any good wolves."

Dom’s mouth twitched, just enough to show the hint of a smile.

"Fucker hated our music," Aeryn added, handing the bottle over to Dom. "But times like these call for release. And in case you haven’t heard big guy…Vein Theory’s back tonight at the Underground. Come on down. Drink’s on me. Iron Fangs don’t got to pay a dime tonight."

Dom took a pull from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not the biggest fan of your music either, pretty boy." He said coyly.

"No need to answer." Aeryn stood, smoothing his coat. "Just think about it."

He left without another word, the door creaking shut behind him.

---

A couple hours later, Dom sat in his office at the Cracked Fang, a fresh bottle open on the desk. Logan’s ring sat there too, carrying the weight of the whole fucking world. Dom leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on it, jaw tight. The anger sat heavy in his chest, quiet but burning. He’d hoped the fights would help get it out of him…It wasn’t enough.

The phone on the desk buzzed.

He picked it up, thumb swiping over the screen.

A picture from Vex. Middle finger in the air, grin wide, pupils sharp as pinheads. The background was obvious…the Underground, no mistaking it.

Dom’s mouth set in a hard line as his eyes focused on those pupils. She was using again.

He stared at the picture a beat longer than he should have, thumb brushing the edge of the phone as he contemplated how to respond. Then he set it down, exhaling slow and putting the phone in his pocket.

“Goddammit…” he muttered under his breath.

A moment later he grabbed the keys to his bike, pushing up out of the chair.

Looked like he was going to the show after all.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

The Strangers

The sound of his boots against scorched planks was casual, unhurried. The Stranger moved like he owned the ship, like the battered souls gathered before him were already his for the taking. He stopped near the front of the crowd, turning to sweep his gaze over the survivors. The grin on his lips didn’t touch his eyes.

“Let’s skip the guessing games, shall we? My name’s Captain Beckett.” He gestured behind him with an easy flick of the hand. “That lovely mountain of a man there is Gnarly. Need I say more about him? And this vision right here is Rory. Dangerous doesn’t even begin to cover her, though I imagine you’ll get a chance to learn that firsthand if you’re unlucky enough.”

Gnarly gave a sharp-toothed grin as he folded his massive arms, his presence alone commanding silence. Rory, in contrast, leaned on the railing as though she were bored, her jade green eyes scanning the crowd waiting for anyone to test her patience.

Beckett then spread his arms like a preacher at a pulpit.

“Here’s the truth of it. It doesn’t matter who you were, what banners you carried, what gods you prayed to, or where you thought this pretty little ship was taking you. That part of your story is over. You’re in Port Verge now. Which means you belong to Prince Ravic Dane until he decides what to do with you.”

Murmurs rippled through the survivors, some angry, some fearful. Beckett’s grin widened at the sound.

“So I suggest you make peace with it, because we’ve got eyes on you, guns on you, and worse things than that if you start making poor decisions. Lucky for you, the Prince has a taste for introductions. He’d like to meet a few of you fine folk, see what sort of prizes fate has crashed onto his shores.”

He tilted his head, voice dropping into something crueler.

“But not all of you. Some will stay right here, safe and sound with your devilishly handsome captain.”

Jovik Cindralis stepped forward, jaw clenched, and shook his head. “You’re not taking my passengers anywhere… I’ll go, I’ll meet your Prince”

“Uh-uh-uh.” Beckett raised a finger and clicked his tongue, eyes sparkling with mock reproach. “You know better, Captain. A Captain’s job is to stay with his ship. Die with it, if necessary.”

The pistol appeared in his hand so fast it was almost magic, the gleam of polished steel catching the light. He tapped the barrel against Cindralis’s temple in obvious threat.

“I’m sure you understand the message. But… they do say caution is a virtue for a reason.”

He snapped his fingers.

Gnarly stepped forward and made his move. His boot came down hard against Cindralis’s knee with a sickening crack. The Captain went down with a strangled cry, sweat breaking across his brow as he hit the planks.

Beckett crouched just enough to smirk at him.

“See? Just as I said. You’ll be staying here with your ship. And now you’re in no condition to travel.”

He straightened, holstering his pistol with a spin of the wrist, and turned back to the crowd.

“Now then.” His grin returned, pretty and entertained by his own antics. “The boss beckons. So…” He spread his arms wide, inviting the silence to stretch into dread. “Who wants to meet a real Pirate Prince, eh?”

✨Beyond The Veil✨

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: Locke's place • Time: Night

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Locke didn’t flinch when she dragged him in. He simply let her.

For a heartbeat, he let her have the illusion of control, her kiss hitting sharp against his mouth, frantic and angry and desperate all at once. Then, he took over.
Slow, but not rough, his fingers curled at her jaw, steady, grounding her even as her pulse raced against his skin. He kissed her the way he always did when she broke first, drinking in her desperation. The heat between them thickened, breathing heavy enough to fog the windows.

And then...he pulled back.

Not far enough to give her space…but just enough to remind her she wasn’t in charge here. He was her favorite drug, and the chaos in him couldn’t help but make her body beg for more. He dragged the tip of his thumb across her bottom lip as he looked at her with eyes like hunger. His voice, when it came, was low...threaded with that Irish rasp that he knew did things to her she’d never admit.

“Thought you didn’t need me tonight.” He said teasing, his head lowering so his lips could press the faintest kiss against the sensitive skin of her neck.

Without breaking from the act, Locke flicked his fingers once, and Mercy bolted out the window, wings catching the rain as she vanished into the night. He kissed Sable’s neck again, this time with a little more desire...eager to see her next move.

Her chest heaved with both need and frustration at herself. Sable narrowed her eyes at him when he pulled back, knowing exactly what he was doing. The damn man knew her more than she would ever admit to anyone. He was something she craved, and she absolutely hated that he knew it.

The throbbing in her temples was all but forgotten the moment his lips hit her neck. A growl reverberated from her chest. ”I don’t need you. I hate you.”

Letting out a shaky breath, her eyes closed once more and she bit down hard onto her lip to not give him the pleasure of her sounds. She was not going to fall for this again. Damnit, she was stronger than this.

”You know I can make you stop.” A warning, yet one that held no real malice.

The grin that appeared on his face, now reaching territory that could be described as utterly arrogant, was one that he felt he had earned here. “Oh I know you could...You could open that door and walk away right now if you really, really wanted to...” He said, his breath hot against her neck. “Or, you could be a good girl and show me just how much you hate me...We both know how good that hate feels, don’t we, love?” His hand trailed up the distance of her leg as he kissed her neck again, letting her feel the desire coursing through his body.

Her eyes had momentarily darted over to the car door, her eyes on the handle. All it would take was to reach one hand out to pull it, and she would be outside. Sable extended the fingers of her right hand and moved her hand to the side. However, the praise that left his lips immediately made her body freeze. She couldn’t help the parting of her lips or her eyes starting to roll back in her head.

Damnit.

Bringing both hands up, she shoved them against his chest hard enough for the Fae to fall back against his own seat. She growled under her breath before bringing one knee up to her chest. It didn’t take much for Sable to push herself off of the passenger seat and climb into his lap. Straddling both thighs on either side of his legs, she looked down at his face and shook her head.

”This doesn’t mean anything.” She had said it every single time, and meant it. Yet the fact that he had saved her from dying shifted a foreign part of her that she wasn’t ready to face. The woman grabbed at the bottom of his shirt before crashing her lips once more against his in a fiery kiss.

Locke didn’t fight her when she shoved him back...nor did he resist when she climbed into his lap like she owned the very space between them. His hands slid to her thighs instinctively, and he couldn’t help but squeeze them as he pressed his body upwards against her.

Sable played her little game like always, but her mouth on his told the real story. He caught her lower lip between his teeth in the kiss, slow enough to make her shiver, then pulled back just far enough for her to see the grin curving his mouth.

“Oh no, of course not, love...It never does.”

His voice dropped low, laced with that Irish curl, and Locke’s lips found hers again, hotter...hungrier, as the car’s windows began to fog with the evidence of what neither of them could deny.

There was no more talking.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

@FunnyGuy Tobias is approved as far as I'm concerned

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

---

The deck still moaned beneath its own weight, wood groaning as it settled into a wounded hush. Cracked beams and twisted brass glinted in the soft haze of clearing smoke. The storm had passed...yet in its wake came silence, and the Captain stood in its center.

Captain Cindralis slowly pulled off his half-burned coat, revealing a bloodied sleeve and a stiffly held left arm. He did not flinch. His eyes swept the ruined bridge with a soldier’s precision as he assessed the scene.

He stepped over a fallen crewman and crouched beside another, laying two fingers to the neck. There was no pulse. He let out a frustrated sigh, then he stood tall again and began to give orders to the crew scurrying around him .

"You, help me with the navigator...he’s still breathing. You...get down to sickbay and tell them we’ve got wounded inbound. If they can’t walk, carry them. If they’re gone…" He didn’t finish that sentence. "Move."

More orders followed...quick, measured, resolute. He rallied those still on their feet, organizing small teams to comb the ship’s shattered guts. They would search every cabin, every corridor, every crawlspace for signs of life. Those able-bodied enough to move would assist with the wounded or be ushered to the main deck.

"We do not leave our dead uncounted. We do not leave our living alone."

The battered ship stirred once more, not with engines this time, but with motion...purposeful, mourning, human. Crew and passengers alike heeded the call, gathering as instructed, bringing stretchers or leaning on companions as they climbed from darkness into the light.

Time passed, slow and solemn. The Stormrider rested crooked against jagged stone, one wing clipped, its elemental ring inert and steaming. Salt hung thick in the air. The only sound for a while was work: boots thudding on planks, the low voice of someone whispering a prayer for the lost.

Eventually, those that could came together for a meeting.

The crowd that had gathered on the scorched and broken main deck parted slightly as the captain stepped forward, posture upright despite the fatigue clawing at his bones. His voice, when it came, was low but unwavering.

"I wish I were standing before you with better news."

He paused, letting the wind whistle through the torn rigging behind him.

"We’ve suffered loss today. Many good people...crew, civilians, and comrades...gave their lives in the battle above as well as the descent. I’ve walked the halls of this ship, and I’ve seen the cost. But I have also seen the reason we’re all still here."

His gaze swept across the crowd, lingering on those who had fought, those whose hands were still stained with soot and blood.

"It’s because of you. Because when chaos erupted, some of you stood tall. Some of you ran toward danger instead of away. You didn’t do it for coin or contract. You did it because it was right. And because of that… this wasn’t the massacre it could have been."

He paused, gathering his thoughts before speaking again..

"But survival has only bought us time."

He turned toward the cliffside and the pale sea beyond it, as if the land itself were listening.

"We’ve come down in the Lhazaar Principalities. For those unfamiliar, these waters aren’t ruled by kings, but by blades and sails. The men and women who call this coast home are pirates, mercenaries, and self-styled royalty. And while they’re not known for charity…"

He turned back, his tone sharp now, authoritative.

"They are not fools. They are not beasts. They care for gold, leverage, and image. And House Lyrandar has deep pockets. Our vessel may be damaged, but it still bears their crest...and that makes it an investment."

There were murmurs in the crowd, a few hopeful, others wary. The Captain raised a hand to settle them.

"I expect an envoy will arrive before long...curious who we are, what we carry, what we’re worth. When they do, I expect heads to be level and blades to remain sheathed. We cannot afford panic, and we gain nothing by looking like prey."

He stepped closer to the center of the gathering, no longer speaking like a captain, but like a man.

"This ship will fly again. That I swear to you. But it won’t be because of luck…it’ll be because every one of us does their part. There’s strength in unity, even out here."

A final breath. A grounding stillness. Then the order:

"Prepare yourselves. Rest if you can. Check your wounds, your weapons, your wits. The worst may yet be ahead...but so is our chance to face it together."

The seconds that followed the Captain’s speech lingered like fog on the deck. Then...faint at first...a slow clap echoed from the rear of the crowd.

One. Two. Three deliberate strikes of palm to palm.

A shimmer in the air bent the light like heat, and then...suddenly, impossibly...he was there.

The Stranger

The man who appeared wore his confidence proudly. Braided hair hung down one shoulder, tied tight and laced with copper rings. His shirt was half-laced, his coat tailored but well-worn, the deep green collar etched with curling embroidery that hinted at wealth...be it his or someone elses. The image of a jade-scaled dragon coiled across his sleeve in tattooed defiance, and a pair of ornate pistols hung low at his hips, swinging like fangs at rest.

He moved through the gathered crowd at ease, ducking between passengers and crew alike without so much as a glance or a care for their reaction, boots thudding softly on scorched planks. There was a serpentine grace to him, a looseness in the shoulders that only the truly calm, and often dangerous, possess.

When he spoke, his voice curled around every syllable, smooth and deliberate with a sultry, honeyed Brelish drawl.

“Now that,” he began, motioning lazily toward Captain Cindralis with two gloved fingers, “was a bloody stirring speech.”

He smiled, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Rousing, really. Tugged on me heartstrings in ways I didn’t know were still tender.” A mock sigh. “Talk of unity and strength and all that noble grit. Makes a man want to stand at attention...if you know what I mean.”

He paused just long enough for the innuendo to linger.

“The Captain’s right, of course. Thar be pirates in these islands.” He pitched his voice into a theatrical growl, mocking the old tales of sea dogs and rum. “Self-proclaimed royalty, blades-for-hire, and vicious little monsters hiding behind charming grins.”

He gestured to himself.

“Present company included.”

By now, some of the crowd had started to murmur, others backing away slightly. Still, the stranger walked unhindered, circling toward the front of the assembly.

“But there was one teensy, tiny, miniscule thing the hot white-haired hunk of a captain got wrong...”

His grin widened as he came to a stop beside Cindralis, close enough to draw steel if he were so inclined… but all he did was give a slight, overly formal bow.

“The envoys aren’t incoming.” He winked with utter joy. “They’re already bloody here.”

Just as he spoke the last words, two more figures appeared just like him out of thin air.

The Second Stranger

The Third Stranger

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Dominic Blackmoor

Location: • Church Time: • Night

Interactions: • His Trusted Two

Dom let the silence sit for a second longer, then the faintest flicker of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head once, low, more to himself than them.

Lucian… Calm and diplomatic as always.

Kessler…Blunt and full of nothing but piss and vinegar.

Exactly like he knew them to be.

He pushed off the table, standing straighter now.

"There’ll be time enough for both of you to prove yourselves." His voice was steady, no softness in it. "But in the end…only one of you takes that seat. That’s the way it has to be."

He paused, then looked between them, weighing them…not as friends this time, not even as brothers. Just as the last two men left who could carry this weight.

"But tonight there’s work to be done. No use in wasting time going and forth on the matter here and now. It’ll come in time."

He turned, but stopped just long enough to add over his shoulder...

"And boys…a good place to start’d be bringing me the fuckers who did this."

Then he walked away.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Bastion

Race: Warforged
Class: Guardian
Location: Airship – Top Deck
Mentions: Phia @princess, Menzai @samreaper, Captain Cindralis
Injuries: Shoulder still leaking fluid

Bastion stayed by Phia and Menzai as long as he could. He made sure they breathed easy, that the shadows of the Necromancer’s magic left no sign of pain behind. He waited until he knew they would wake to see each other’s faces.

When that certainty settled in his core, he rose and brushed the hair from Phia’s face so that her vision would be clear once she woke. Then he moved…his steps carrying him away from the bar, through the scattered passengers and the battered deck. His sensors swept for signs of the wounded, searching for any small flicker of life that still needed guarding.

He moved through the wreckage full of calm, even as the ship groaned under the strain of what it had endured.

Eventually, Captain Cindralis’ voice cut through the air as the comms sparked to life. The announcement turned fear into chaos. Screams rose again, boots thudded across splintered planks, mothers clutched children, old sailors barked useless orders, and the elemental ring sputtered above like a dying star.

Through it all, Bastion kept moving.

A flash of scales caught his eye. Familiar lavender scales. He stopped.

Near the rail, a lone figure knelt. A dragonborn man, shoulders hunched so far forward it looked as though he might collapse in on himself. His claws rested limp on the deck, trembling. His eyes were wide, staring past what lay before him, seeing nothing at all.

And in his arms, the young Dragonborn girl who had greeted him earlier. Kaelira was her name. He remembered…she had gifted him a small paper airship. She was so sweet, her father…not so much.

She lied there, small and still, her blood staining the wood of the ground beneath her. The girl had been slain. Something like sadness whirred in Bastion’s core, somewhere deep.

He felt the air shift, the pitch of the ship’s engine rattling like a broken drum. The deck lurched beneath his feet. Somewhere, someone screamed again.

But Kaelira’s father did not move. The man did not brace…he didn’t even blink. The world around him could have burned to ash and he would have stayed exactly where he was, lost inside the silence that comes when everything worth loving is torn away.

Bastion’s optics flickered. His mind processed countless outcomes in a blink. None of them ended well for the man clutching his daughter’s body.

So Bastion did what he was made to do.

He ran to him, boots pounding the deck as the ship tilted, wind howling through the torn sails. Bastion reached the man, dropped to his knees, and without a word, folded his massive body over him and the child’s lifeless form.

The ship bucked hard. Bastion slammed one fist into the deck, driving metal through timber until it caught deep in the frame beneath. His other hand clutched the father’s back, locking him in place as the wind roared past. He pressed his plating down, a wall of ivory and sheer resolve surrounding his wards. No blast of debris would touch them. Nothing would happen to them…Both the father, and the corpse of his fallen daughter would be protected.

Around him, passengers screamed and braced. The sky outside twisted with rushing clouds as the Stormrider began its rocky descent.

Yet Bastion stayed rooted. He would not be moved.

He did not fear the drop, nor the impact, nor the ruin waiting below. His mind carried only one thing.

If this man would not protect himself, then Bastion would do it for him.

His voice was a whisper, half swallowed by the thunder of the failing engine.

“Hold on,” he murmured to the dragonborn, not even sure if the man could hear him. “You will make it through this. I swear to you.”

And when the ship met the earth, he did not let go.

The Stormrider struck earth like a wounded leviathan, its bones shrieking through timber and iron. The world above became a roar of splintering beams and tearing sails, a wild churn of wind and grit.

Bastion’s fist held fast, buried deep in the cracked planks, his other arm braced across the dragonborn’s back like a living bulwark. The impact jarred him through every plate and joint, rattling his core until sparks danced behind his optics.

But the father did not move. He did not brace. He stayed folded around Kaelira’s lifeless shape, sheltered beneath Bastion.

When the final groan of the ship settled into a silence broken only by distant shouts and the hiss of steam, Bastion released his hold on the timber and slowly lifted himself, plating creaking with the strain.

He looked down. The dragonborn’s shoulders trembled. For a heartbeat Bastion thought he might collapse completely. Instead, the man turned his head...not up at Bastion, but toward the body of his child. His claws dragged through the girl’s lavender scales, small fingers gone cold beneath them.

And then the father’s eyes rose, red-rimmed and full of ruin. They met Bastion’s with a fury that came from somewhere deeper than rage...the hollow fury of a man who had been forced to live when he wanted to follow his child into the dark.

His voice came out raw, a whisper torn ragged by grief.

“How dare you…” He sucked in a shuddering breath, his fangs bared just slightly as if that could hold back the flood. “I was to be reunited with my Kaelira…Do you understand what you have done!? There was a pause. Bastion’s head tilted in confusion. Could it be true that the man hadn’t wished to be saved? If so, why would one pursue such a fate? “All your kind is good for is killing. But you bloody fool…why…why didn’t you just let me die?”

Bastion only stood there for a moment, still blocking the wind with his broad frame, watching the man as he clutched the tiny body closer.

For a moment Bastion almost spoke...to explain, to apologize, to promise something he couldn’t give. But instead, he only lowered his head.

“I only meant to help.”

He didn’t reach out. Didn’t offer comfort the man would not accept. He simply stayed...a silent guard as the dragonborn father bowed his head, shoulders hunched protectively over the little girl Bastion could not save.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Violet & Cassius

Part One

---

Violet looked to her father, her red eyes meeting his expression. She had seen it many times in herself.

”I’ll go look for him. You should get mother home safely. Cassius and I shouldn’t be far behind.”

With little else said, Violet stood from her seat after having witnessed everything this evening she was more then ready to leave. As she tucked her chair into the table her eyes glanced back over to Alexander's empty seat. She was more concerned about where Alexander had vanished too, perhaps it was better he hadn’t seen what took place.

Her brow furrowed.

She didn’t linger much longer before taking her leave towards the hallway. She walked past a few guards finding herself greeted with only closed doors. No sign of Cassius. And no sign of Alexander.

She let out a worried breath.

Cassius rounded the corner, boots striking loudly against the marble floor.

He didn’t look back…not at the hall behind him, not at the ghost of Charlotte’s voice still ringing in his ears. He simply couldn’t… Not without shattering into a million pieces.

He kept his head down, jaw tight, steps fast enough to outrun the words he knew he’d regret later if he let himself feel them now.

When he looked up, he nearly collided with her…

Violet.

Of course it has to be family.

Lowering his hand from his face, the deep scratches in his flesh made themselves known. Blood still painted his cheek, but he didn’t bother to wipe it. The wound was nothing compared to the scar across his eye, nor could it match the trench on his own sister’s forehead where the axe had met its mark… But this new wound was a symbolic one. It was not the physical injury that hurt the most. Not by a long shot.

With the fresh cuts revealed, Cassius stood up straighter and let the emotion fall away from his face as much as he could manage. Looking into the red eyes of Violet before him, he finally greeted her.

“Sister.”

It came out rougher than he meant, almost bitten off.

He forced a smile… A very Cassius smile... but it wasn’t enough to hide all of his pain.

“I sure hope I haven’t caught you starving.” He jested, pointing to the blood on his face.

“funny” she said with little emotion, the strong smell of Iron flooding her.

Scarlet had done well to keep the bloodlust at bay. It no longer ruled her the way it once had, but pretending it wasn’t still there,lurking just beneath her skin,would’ve been a lie. The scent in the air was sharp, metallic, impossible to ignore. Her eyes dropped to his face, smeared with blood, and her throat tightened with the familiar pull of hunger she wished she’d outgrown.

Behind him, movement caught her eye,guests beginning to slip away, murmuring to each other in hushed tones as the atmosphere thinned and the night began to fade. Scarlet’s gaze shifted as her hand clamp down around Cassius’ wrist, her grip tight, almost desperate. Without a word, she dragged him down the hall and out of sight.

“Father wanted me to find you, some stuff has happened inside the banquette you missed.” Her hand reached into a pocket that had been sewned into her dress pulling out a white handkerchief with her initials stitched in black and a small embrodered raven. Without much thought she used it to clean the blood off of him, appearing to be unbothered by the sight of it.

“What happened?”

Cassius allowed her to wipe the cut, letting the sting settle in. He didn’t thank her for it with words, but he did offer a gentle nod to his sister...who he knew had also gone through the ringer that evening.

His eyes flicked to hers when she asked what happened. The truth was so simple, yet so goddamn complicated.

His lip curled, humorless.

“A misunderstanding.” He said without emotion, almost matching her tone. Instead of elaborating further, Cassius simply addressed her other words. “Now your turn. You said there was more excitement after I stepped out? Well…what did I miss?”

Violet did as requested and informed him about the events in the banquette, about the queen and the witch hunters. Roman and Mina had never returned to their seats but she held back what was still on her mind; Alexander missing from his seat.

As many of the guests continued to shuffle out she led Cassius out into the garden, she knew that many of the guests were likely in a hurry with their carriages that waiting for some of the other families to take their leave first was better. That way Cassius and Violet could likely sneak out unnoticed. She also held the hope that she could possibly catch a glimpse of Alexander allowing some relief to her concern.

Cassius stepped beside her as the garden swallowed the noise of the castle behind them. The chill in the air bit at the fresh cuts on his cheek, but it helped keep his mind sharp and anchored him in his skin when everything else still felt like it was drifting away.

“I believe the goal was for those who felt safe to no longer feel that saftey” she added as they reached the center of the gardens. As they stopped Violets eyes continued to trail into the distance as if searching for something or someone.

He let Violet’s words replay in the quiet between them. The witch hunter with the girl in chains... the spectacle of it all... and then the image of the queen herself being dragged from her own hall like some petty traitor while her son looked on and did nothing to stop it.

He breathed out a humorless sound that might have been a laugh if it had any warmth left in it.

“So that’s the shape of it now, then... blood means nothing if it stands in the way of power. Even to Wulfric.” He shook his head, lips curling in a way that wasn’t quite a smile. “The crown eats its own. Always has.”

He fell quiet for a beat, boots crunching over gravel as they reached the garden’s heart. He let the wind pull at the edges of his coat, the cold biting through the heat still coiled low in his belly. Then his eyes flicked sideways to Violet and the way her gaze kept slipping over his shoulder, then drifting past his other side, scanning the hedges, the paths, the distant shadows where lanterns did not reach.

He tilted his head just enough to follow her eyes, the corners of his mouth ticking upward, but there was no humor in it.

“You are not subtle, sister,” he murmured, voice softer now but oh so tired still. He let his gaze follow hers once more before it landed back on her face. “Who are you hoping to find out here?”

Her crimson eyes drifted toward Cassius, the sharp edges of her expression softening for the briefest flicker of a moment.

“Roman,” she murmured, the name barely audible,spoken more out of habit than truth. Even as it left her lips, it felt wrong. A lie dressed in softness. Beneath the surface, her blood stirred, heated with the quiet rage that simmered every time she recalled his performance,his carelessness, the ease with which he embarrassed her. She could still feel the sting on her cheek.

“He went off with Mina, I guess. They were both gone when I came back to the table.”She gave a slight shrug, but it lacked conviction. It was more an attempt to brush it off than a genuine dismissal.

“He could hardly keep his eyes off her at the gallery. I suppose one flame had to die for him to light another.”

Though Roman was never the one she truly searched for in that moment his words still twisted like a cold knife at the base of her spine. The memory of his voice, the look on his face, that look in his eyes, it clung to her. She drew in a breath and straightened her posture, wrapping her arms around herself in a slow, self-soothing motion. It wasn’t for warmth. It was to hold herself together.

Cassius watched her carefully...the way her voice dulled it, the shrug that wasn’t really a shrug, the arms wrapping tight around herself.

He didn’t buy it, not for a heartbeat. But maybe tonight wasn’t the night to call her on it. He understood well enough what it was to keep certain truths buried down deep where no one else could pry them loose.

So, he just nodded and ran with her words, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sly smile.

“Roman…” he echoed. “Right. Well if I’m being honest…dear sister…I’d suggest that we’ve both seen more than enough of that oversized piece of shit for one night. His eyes searched hers for a beat longer, then flicked away toward the distant hedges she kept glancing at. “But I’m sorry… that things with your behemoth didn’t work out to your heart’s desire…I know you’ve been through hell, Violet, and you didn’t deserve what happened in there. Especially not from someone you thought you could trust.” He didn’t let the words hang too long, as a more genuine form of his smirk appeared. “I could always kill him, if you want.” His head tilted to the side in jest as he met her gaze once more. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed for you, ya know.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, soft and fleeting, more out of habit than joy. She let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I have killed someone either.”

Her hands, once tense at her sides, uncurled slowly, fingers loosening as though finally giving in to the weight of the night. A quiet sigh slipped from her lips, heavy with something unsaid.

“I’m sorry your evening’s been just as cursed…”

Her eyes flicked to his face, lingering where the blood had been. A shadow of concern passed through her gaze, but she didn’t mention it aloud. Instead, she shifted slightly, her voice dipping lower, quieter, more exposed.

“If I’m honest…” she hesitated, eyes fixed on some faraway place only she could see. “Roman reminded me of that girl I used to be. The one with too much hope and not nearly enough fear. She had all these dreams she read about in books dreams that felt real, like she could reach out and touch them if she just tried hard enough.He was that too me…to her.”

She paused again, her jaw tightening, voice rougher now as if she was trying to hold something steady that wanted to break.

“All she used to worry about was who she might marry one day… what her children would look like.” Her laugh this time was bitter and brittle, swallowed before it could fully form. “But now? It feels like everyone I ever trusted has changed. Like they’re showing me sides of themselves I don’t recognize anymore.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands, watching them as if trying to decide who they belonged to.

“The life I thought I knew… the life I wanted… it’s just gone. It died when I did.”

She took a breath, then another, slower this time, more deliberate. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again.

“Or maybe…” she looked up at last, meeting his eyes, “it’s me who’s changed. And I’m only now starting to see it.”

Instead of responding immediately, Cas held her words in reverence for a moment. The breeze blew between them, tousling his hair and causing the flora around them to sway back and forth.
As he moved to brush the hair out of his face, he looked deep into his sister’s eyes with intention. He wanted her to know that he sees her. Both the girl that died and the woman that stands before him now. He would never claim to know her unique brand of pain, but he could look her in the eyes and show her that was more than familiar with his own…and prove to her that not everyone would leave her so easily.

“My mother used to say that the person we are today always dies to make room for who we’ll become tomorrow.” His eyes broke away, filled with nostalgia as he remembered the way her voice would sound when she said it. “She was a woman forced to reinvent herself in order to survive. More than once, I’d wager.” Letting a gentle hand rest on Violet’s shoulder, Cassius looked into her eyes again with the same conviction as before. “Now it's your turn, I’m afraid. For all the hell it's caused, this new life also gives you the chance to start over. To be who you really wish to be.”

She looked at Cassius with a surprised expression, she hadn’t expected this. Though, she hadn’t expected anything that happened tonight.

He took a deep breath, letting his hand fall into her own, before lifting their conjoined hands up for them both to see. “You’re not the only one questioning yourself tonight, I promise. But for now...for just a little while…how about I just be your charming brother, you just be my grumpy sister, and let’s just go get a fucking drink. What do you say?”

“My kind of drink? Or…” Her expression was unreadable for a moment, eyes locked on his like she was weighing something behind them. Then, the edge cracked, and she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Yeah. Let’s grab a whiskey.”

She stepped forward, falling into stride beside him. She took one more not so subtle look over her shoulder. Still, no Alexander.

“How do you know who you wish to be?”
The question came out suddenly as she turned her head back. Her tone was casual, but there was something heavy buried beneath it. Something unsettled.

She didn’t look at him right away. Just kept walking, eyes ahead.

“All I know is… I don’t ever want to be humiliated like that again.” Her voice tightened, but she pushed forward. “It’s been eating at me. The way I chased after him,like some stupid little girl holding onto a fairy tale. If Alexander hadn’t said something…”

She trailed off for a beat, jaw flexing before she finished the thought.

“Would I still be running after him? Just clinging to what could’ve been instead of seeing what’s been right in front of me this whole time?”

Finally, she glanced sideways at Cassius not searching for answers, just needing to say it out loud.

“Sorry, It’s been a long night. My mind has been racing all evening.”

Cassius chuckled, just once, at her little jab, but let her have her time to speak. He listened with respect, and when he finally spoke again, his tone was softer but honest.

“I’m not even going to pretend I’ve got the answers tonight. I used to think I knew who I was… what I wanted. But when I left everything behind and sauntered off here to Sorian... gods, some days I don’t even know why I’m here.”

He gave a rough laugh under his breath, more exhale than sound as he shook his head.
“Truth is, I don’t think we ever get to know who we want to be forever. We just figure out who we want to be today…and tomorrow, we do it all over again.”

Cassius looked over at her, that sly grin back for just a flicker. He could feel the slightest hint of the sting from the scratch marks on his face as the smile formed. Violet nodded in understanding as she returned his smile glancing once more at the scratch marks clearly made by a human by the way they were formed.

“Take tonight for example…I want to be the version of me who’s so drunk that the only thought my mind could possible conjure is…more whiskey, please.”

A soft chuckled escaped her lips as Violet nodded in agreeance “Make it a double” she added with a smile.

And with that, they were off…

Cassius kept his shoulder near hers as they crossed the courtyard lamps, the hush of wind pulling at their clothes as they moved down Edin Ave. The castle walls loomed behind them now, their stones heavy with secrets best left there for the night.

They passed beneath the lanterns that lined Flora Road, their glow painting fleeting gold across their faces as they hooked around the back side of the massive Sorian Library…then slipped past the bend that curved them toward the deeper hum of the streets, lined with shuttered brothels and half-lit doorways, the hush of muffled laughter trailing out into the night. Cassius only rolled his shoulders back, keeping his sister close as they crossed the mouth of that crooked alley and carried on toward the promise of rough timber walls and whiskey on tap.

Before they could even come within view of their destination, however, something deep in Cas’s gut caused him to slow his stride. He let his eyes scan the shadows spilling out from the alleys behind the library’s high wall, the soft rustle of something that wasn’t the wind pricking at the edge of his hearing. The area ahead looked much the same…lamps flickering, a stray drunk laughing to himself, but underneath it all, the air had gone tight, as if the night itself was holding its breath.
The silence continued to creep between them, Violets mind plagued still with her thoughts.

“Violet...” His voice came out sudden and deathly serious as crimson eyes looked up at him. “Something’s wrong.”

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Location: The Streets of Halcyon • Time: Late Night

Interactions: Sable @Sadie

The city blurred around him. Neon and rain smeared together on the windshield while the Coupe purred down the back roads like a bolt of black lightning. Locke kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose at his thigh, thumb tapping slow against his rings as he replayed Noah’s grin behind his eyes.

His mind couldn’t stop drifting to Angel…to the mess waiting for him tomorrow. Old ghosts and all of that bullshit. He forced his mind back to the here and now and accelerated even more. The faster he drove, the more of his focus was needed and the less opportunity his mind had to wander.

When the vibration hit his phone, the buzz pulled him out of his self-inflicted haze. He flicked his eyes down, one hand drifting off the wheel just long enough to unlock the screen with a lazy drag of his thumb. Two message from Sable were there waiting for him.

The first message was simple. It must’ve come through when he was on his way to meet with Noah, and he hadn’t realized that he missed the notification. It was a handful of words that didn’t pretend to be more than they were. You busy tonight? Sable never wasted time on pleasantries. She just asked for what she wanted, and Locke was a fan of her methods. No games…no attachments…just pleasure. He thought about it for a second, the idea of pulling her hips over his lap and letting the memory of the night fade away for a while. That was exactly the kind of thing he needed tonight.

The second message caught him a little off guard. Just numbers…her coordinates. She didn’t wait for him to answer the first before she sent the second, which told him enough.

“Mm… desperate little thing tonight, aren’t ya?” he murmured, thumb tapping the screen. He wondered if the itch he often helped her scratch had her climbing up the walls for him. Maybe she just wanted him to knock the sharp edges of a bad night loose. He could do that…and he was damn good at it.
The coordinates lit up on his dash, pulling him down a barely-lit stretch of crumbling warehouse blocks. The street was mostly a puddle as he slowed the car just enough to catch the alley where her signal ended. He switched the headlights off with a flick of his wrist and the Coupe sighed into idle with a nice purr.

He saw her right away, and his mood changed instantaneously.

Sable was right there, crumpled at the far end of the alley, half her hair stuck to her cheek, some kind of bag at her side like she’d dropped it mid-run. One knee was bent under her, and her face was hidden from him. Seeing her like that when he’d never even caught a glimpse of vulnerability in her before… It was heavy, but he didn’t hesitate. He had to help her.

Locke stepped out of the car into the misted dark, the rain brushing his collar and seeping into the seams of his shirt. He rushed towards her carefully…and when he reached her he crouched low, his hand moving as he braced near her shoulder. He didn’t shake her, instead he just let his fingers brush a strand of hair back from her temple, his breath warm as he leaned in. A rush of wings broke the hush of rain as Mercy dropped from her perch…feathers cutting the cold air in one clean line, before settling on his shoulder as he checked on Sable.

Her talons found purchase in the fabric at his collar, the faint drag of claws sharp but careful. She tilted her head once, eyes black and slick as oil under the streetlamp. He could feel the question in her silence, the way she adjusted her wings like she was waiting for him to give her an update. He did not, but he did speak to the poor girl on the pavement.

“Sable…” He said, hoping to wake her. His voice was soft. It always was, when he wanted it to be. She didn’t move, save for a soft catch of breath that told him enough.

She was alive.

He glanced around, quick. No shadows in the dark, no wrong footfalls in the puddles nearby. Then he gathered her in one smooth pull, careful but firm. She wasn’t heavy, not to him. She folded against him like she’d done more than a few times before, though not quite like this. Her cheek pressed into his chest, just enough to catch his warmth.

Locke murmured something low and Irish under his breath…old words that didn’t matter now, just something that he had picked up from his father years ago.

He carried her back to the Coupe, the rain slick on his hands as he opened the passenger door and eased her in with care.

One last look up and down the street. One last brush of his thumb over her jaw as he leaned in close enough for her to feel his breath when he spoke again.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll handle it from here.”

He settled behind the wheel a moment later, the Coupe alive again under his hands, purring soft as he pulled away from the alley and back into the night.

Locke drove quiet through Halcyon’s veins, the streetlights spilling gold across her skin as they cut through the belly of the city. He barely looked at the skyline, didn’t bother to check the mirrors more than once. He just focused on getting home.

Eventually, the building rose up out of the concrete, glass, and dark stone. He pulled the Coupe into the underground, let the engine tick down into a hush while the low lights of the garage flickered overhead.

Locke didn’t move to open the door yet. Just sat there for a moment, eyes flicking to the pulse in her neck. Slow, but still there. Good enough for now.

He felt Mercy’s weight shift on the headrest behind him, her claws drumming soft against leather. He turned his head just enough to catch her oil-slick eyes in the rearview.

“Go on, love,” he murmured, voice just loud enough to carry inside the cab. “Upstairs. You know the window.”

He fished the word out of memory…the thing he’d tucked away for nights like this, the on that was waiting in the false bottom of his liquor cabinet, just another bottle if you didn’t know better. Old glamour in a vial, mixed with something he’d bartered for in Blood Market Row. Something like Narcan, but for drugs with more of a supernatural flair.

“Bring me the purple vial in my stash.”

Mercy blinked once, a quick sharp click of her beak, then she was gone. Wings brushed the roof as she slipped out into the night again, a shadow climbing the side of the building with purpose.

He looked back at Sable, her breath misting the passenger window.

“Hang in there, sweetheart. I’ll give you a little bit of my luck tonight.”

Then he waited, breathing steady while the sound of rain outside kept time for him. Sable didn’t stir, didn’t even twitch when the Coupe gave a soft groan as it settled deeper into idle.

Two minutes later, the soft thud on the hood told him Mercy was back before he even saw her. She dropped down from the roof like a whisper of dark wings, landed on the warm metal just outside his line of sight, then hopped up onto the side mirror to flash those knowing eyes. A small glass vial, black as old ink, dangled from her claws.

Locke opened the door just enough to reach for it, his fingers brushing cold glass as he gave Mercy a small nod and let her slip back up to her perch on the headrest inside. She preened once, ruffling out the rain.

Locke turned back to Sable, twisting the cap off with a careful flick of his thumb. The vial hissed when opened, not like a carbonated drink...more like it was alive

“Easy now,” he murmured as he cupped her chin gently, thumb brushing the smear of grime from her cheek, tilting her head back just enough to get her lips parted. A few drops of the dark liquid slipped past her teeth, touched her tongue, and the vial glowed faint in his hand like a soft ember.

He watched her throat, waited for the swallow, the small hitch of breath that said the worst part was done. One more drop for luck, then he corked it tight and slipped it into his pocket.

Locke leaned back, watching her for the telltale twitch in her fingers, the slight flutter in her lashes. The black spots that had been dancing behind her eyes would start to burn out soon. Not pleasant, but effective.

“There we go,” he whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

“Welcome back, love.”

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Dominic Blackmoor

Location: • Church Time: • Night

Interactions: • His Pack

Dom stayed standing at the head of the table, his hand resting flat on the scarred wood, blistered palm still faintly smoking where the silver had bit him deep. He watched every last pair of eyes.. youngblood and old guard alike…and when he spoke, it cut through the leftover hush like a leader should.

“You heard me tonight. You know what’s gotta be done.” He turned his head, slow, deliberate, making damn sure every last one of them felt the weight behind his stare. “We do this together, bleed together. We don’t run our mouths on the street, we don’t take bait like rabid dogs. We hunt smart. We’re gonna hunt loud when it’s time, quiet until then. If you got a doubt, you bring it home... you bring it here. You don’t ever bring it to an outsider.”

He let that hang, then he gave them the smallest nod. Something about it felt fatherly.

“Go on, then. Get to work. Watch each other’s backs. Don’t make me bury another one of you. This packs needs all of us, and I need all of you in it.”

The scrape of chairs followed, boots scuffing concrete, murmured farewells and quiet nods between brothers and sisters who knew they were stepping out into a different kind of night than they arrived in.

He waited…didn’t flinch when the last door clanked shut and the echoes faded down the hall.

He glanced at the empty chair that used to be Logan’s, then back to Kessler’s battered face, then Lucian’s steady eyes. He didn’t bother sitting. He stood, braced on the table with both palms, burned hand raw against the wood.

“Alright. Just us now.” His voice was lower than it’d been all night... rough, but honest, stripped to the bone. “You both know what needs sayin’. This pack can’t drift. Can’t be without a second…Not now.”

He rapped Logan’s ring against the table. “One of you is gonna wear this. One of you is gonna step up. There ain’t another soul I trust for it.”

He pushed off the table and turned them dead-on.

“I’m not asking you to decide tonight, and it doesn’t matter how. I don’t care if you flip a coin for it or tear each other’s arms off. I care that whoever takes that seat carries Logan’s weight... keeps these kids in line, keeps my blind spots covered. I need someone mean enough to scare ‘em straight, smart enough to keep ‘em alive, and loyal enough to keep me from losin’ my damn head when this gets worse. And it will get worse.”

He tapped his chest once, right over his heart.

“So say what you need to say. Sort it between you. If you can’t pick then I fuckin’ will, but when Church calls again, that chair don’t stay empty. You understand me?”

He didn’t wait for a nod. He just met their eyes, one after the other... a quiet command that didn’t need repeating.

Outside, the wind rattled iron. Inside, it was just three old dogs and the ghost of one more.

“If you got anything else for me…please, lay it all on the table. No more time for secrets.”