Chapter 18
K.
The vehicle is wrong.
Not the motion; that’s smooth, controlled, faster than anything I can recall encountering. But the interior. Metal and plastic and glass, humming with contained power I don’t understand.
I’ve traveled before. The knowledge sits certain despite my memory’s void. But not like this. Not with screens glowing softly in the darkness, displaying symbols and numbers that mean nothing to me.
“Iron bird,” I called the helicopter. This is similar; technology I can’t place, moving us toward a destination I don’t know. Was Mara right? Did I live in a village cut off from civilization?
The cuffs dig into my wrists. Heavy. Cold. Reinforced with something that makes my flesh prickle and my power stutter.
Six operatives surround me in the vehicle’s interior. Armed. Alert. The suppression devices still hum at low frequency, creating pressure against my skull that makes thought difficult.
They’re not taking chances.
Smart of them.
If I could access even half my strength, I’d tear through this metal shell like parchment. Burn my way free. Return to—
Mara.
I left her behind. Saw her collapse to her knees as they dragged me away. The devastation on her face carved itself into my memory with permanence I can’t escape.
I will come back, I promised.
But how? Bound. Suppressed. Being transported toward an unknown destination by men who clearly know what I am, even if I don’t fully understand it.
The questions have no answers. So I focus on observation instead.
The operatives speak occasionally. Short, clipped exchanges. They avoid looking at me directly, but I feel their awareness. Their… fear?
No. Not fear.
Something else. Something that makes them hold themselves straighter when they think I’m watching. That makes their voices drop when they speak near me.
Reverence.
The realization settles cold in my gut. Whatever I am, whatever they believe me to be, it’s significant enough to warrant this strange combination of restraint and awe.
Perhaps it’s because they know of the golden dragon I become. Bigger than their own. Stronger.
If I could reach for the beast right now, I could put that theory to the test. But I’ve never worked out exactly how I make that change because the dragon has only ever surfaced in emergencies. Now, trussed up like an animal and with my strength subdued, there’s even less chance of that happening.
I’ll bide my time.
The vehicle climbs, then descends. Changes in air pressure register automatically. We’ve left the high mountains. Heading lower. Toward… what? Cities? Strongholds?
Finally, the vehicle slows. Stops.
Doors open. Cold air rushes in, carrying scents of wet soil, exhaust, and something chemical.
“Sir,” an operative says quietly. Just that one word. But the weight he gives it—the careful deference—sets my teeth on edge.
They guide me out into gray light. I blink, adjusting.
Not mountains. Those are beyond the foothills we’ve reached. Towering in the distance.
We’re in some sort of facility. A sprawling complex of ugly structures made from metal and stone. High walls stretch in all directions. Lights hum overhead, casting everything in harsh white.
The technology is everywhere. Screens. Glowing lights. Doors that open without keys.
None of it is familiar. All of it feels wrong.
They march me down corridors that branch and turn with deliberate complexity. Designed to disorient. To prevent escape, even if I break free.
Another door. This one heavier, reinforced with metal that gleams dully.
It opens into white.
Everything is white.
Walls, floor, ceiling—all sterile brightness that makes my eyes water. No windows. No decoration. Just a metal table bolted to the floor and two chairs facing each other.
Interrogation room. I know this without knowing how.
They guide me toward one chair, lock my cuffs to a ring embedded in the table. Moving about me with caution.
Then they leave. But not before one of them inclines his head. A small gesture. Almost a bow.
The door closes with a sound like finality.
I’m alone.
I test the restraints immediately. Pull against the cuffs, feel them bite deeper. The suppression buzz intensifies—responding to my attempt, perhaps. Punishing resistance.
I stop. Assess instead.
The room offers nothing. No loose fixtures. No weak points in the construction. Small boxes set high in the corners emit red light at steady intervals.
I scowl at the unblinking eye that seems to be fixed in one. As if it’s watching me.
Then I sit. Controlled. Patient.
And I wait.
Time passes. Minutes. Hours. Impossible to tell.
The door finally opens.
Two men enter. Both dressed in expensive suits that carry the weight of authority. Both moving with the careful confidence of people accustomed to power—but there’s something else in their bearing as they see me.
They stop just inside the doorway. For three heartbeats, neither man moves.
They’re looking at me like I’m supposed to understand something. Like my presence here should mean more than it does.
The first is perhaps fifty. Tall, lean build, dark hair graying at the temples. His eyes are flat brown, but they burn with intensity as he takes me in. His expression carries expectation.
The second is younger—maybe forty—with a more athletic build. Dark hair, sharp features, eyes that gleam with intelligence and calculation. He moves like a fighter. Like someone who’s killed before and will again without hesitation.
But right now, both men are looking at me with something close to amazement.
It makes my skin crawl.
They approach slowly. Deliberately.
I keep my expression neutral. Give them nothing.
The older man stops at the table’s edge. For a moment, he simply looks at me. Then he places his right fist over his heart—a gesture so formal, so archaic, that my own chest tightens in recognition I don’t understand.
“I am Roland Vex,” he says. “This is Alastair Creed.” He pauses.
“We apologize for the… unpleasantness of your retrieval. I believe there was some rough handling involved, and I can assure you that the culprits have been suitably disciplined. But circumstances demanded we act. We’ve been waiting for you. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him bluntly.
“Of course,” he says quickly. “So foolish of me to forget. You need context. The clans have grown weak. Corrupted. Only you—” He stops. Swallows. “Only you can restore what must be restored.”
Only me?
The words sound like they should mean something to me.
They don’t.
“You have me confused with someone else,” I say. Flat. Toneless.
Creed’s eyes narrow slightly. “You cannot mean that.”
“I do.”
Silence falls. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Vex leans forward. “I understand your… reluctance. But surely you understand the state of things? The modern clans. Their weakness. Their integration with inferiors.” His jaw tightens. “You know what must be done.”
I don’t. But I’m starting to understand that they believe I know.
“Why have you brought me here?” I ask directly.
“To offer you what you deserve,” Vex says. His earlier uncertainty vanishes, replaced by zealot’s fire. “What you’ve always deserved. Your rightful place at the head of our movement.”
“Your movement,” I repeat carefully.
“The restoration.” Creed leans forward. “Of natural order. Of proper hierarchy. Our kind should not hide in shadows. Should not bow to human weakness. Should not dilute our bloodlines with inferior genetics.” His voice drops. “You know this. You’ve always known this.”
Pure blood. Hierarchy. Dominion.
The language sends warnings through my system.
“You speak of conquest,” I say.
“We speak of restoration.” Vex’s hands flex.
“Our kind built civilizations. Ruled continents. We are superior in every measurable way—strength, longevity, power. Yet we hide. Bow to human authority. Pretend to be less than what we are.” His eyes burn.
“The modern clans have forgotten what it means to be pure. To be worthy of the gift.”
I’ve heard rhetoric like this before. Know it in my bones, though I can’t place when or where.
It always ends in blood.
“And you believe I should lead this restoration,” I say carefully.
“Not believe.” Creed’s voice carries absolute certainty. “Know. You are the restoration. Everything we’ve worked for. Everything we’ve preserved.” He pauses. “You cannot have forgotten what you fight for. What you’ve always fought for.”
But I have forgotten.
Everything.
They don’t know this. They speak to me as if I should understand. As if these words should resonate. As if I should be nodding along, agreeing, planning.
I do none of these things.
“I will not help you,” I say.
Vex blinks. As if he genuinely didn’t consider this possibility.
“Wait,” he says carefully. “Perhaps you misunderstand our intentions. We are not asking you to create something new. We are simply… continuing what you began. What you would want.” His voice rises with passion.
“The clans need this. They’ve lost their way.
Grown soft. Integrated with humans. Diluted their bloodlines.
” He leans closer. “You know the cost of such weakness. You’ve seen it.
And you know what must be done to correct it. ”
I know nothing of the sort.
But I’m starting to understand something more dangerous.
They think I’m someone I’m not. Someone important. Someone who shares their vision.
Someone who would willingly lead them in conquest.
“What I know,” I say slowly, “is that you have mistaken me for someone who shares your beliefs.”
Creed’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in his eyes. Calculation.
“Then perhaps I can convince you,” he says.
“I doubt it.” I settle back in my seat, leveling them with a stare.
“The woman,” he says quietly. “She matters to you.”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
“You will not touch her.”
“We have no interest in harming her,” Vex says, waving dismissively. “She’s human. Beneath notice. But—” His eyes glitter. “She is leverage. I can send my men back there if I must. But you are too intelligent to sacrifice an innocent for stubbornness.”
Rage floods my system at what he’s implying. The suppression devices scream, responding to the surge of power trying to break free.
Pain lances through my skull.
I grit my teeth against it. Force the fire back down.
Creed watches this with fascination. “Remarkable. Even suppressed, you nearly broke through.” He stands. “Imagine what you could do at full strength. With proper focus.” He moves toward the door. “With proper purpose.”
“I am not what you think I am.”
“You are exactly what we think you are.” Vex stands as well.
“Whether you choose to accept it or not. The blood knows. The fire knows.” He places his fist over his heart again.
“We have waited. Prepared. Built this organization from scattered remnants. Preserved the pure bloodlines. All for this moment.”
They’re at the door when Vex turns back.
“Consider what we offer,” he says. “Not servitude. But leadership. The world as it should be, with our kind ruling as we were meant to. As you know we were meant to. All we require is your acceptance.” His smile is cold.
“Stand with us. Lead us to reclaim what humanity stole. And the woman goes free. Protected. Untouched.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you condemn her.” Creed’s voice is matter-of-fact. “And you betray everything you believe in. Everything you’ve worked for.”
Believe in. Worked for.
As if I know what that is.
“We will give you time,” Vex says. “To consider. To think about what matters. But know this—” His eyes flare. “You will stand with us. Because you are what we are. Because the blood calls to blood. Because you know—even if you pretend otherwise—that we are right.”
The door closes.
Lock engages with finality.
And I sit alone in white silence, their words echoing in the space they left behind.
Stand with us. Lead us. You know we are right.
I don’t know who they think I am.
But I know what they want.
They want me to help them conquer the world.
And they believe—with absolute, unshakeable certainty—that I will.