Theodor Crest was a patient man. Slow to anger—and slower still to act upon the outrage that boiled within. Yet these past few weeks had tested even his composure. His frustrations could no longer be denied. They gnawed so deep, it felt as though they chewed through muscle and bone.

It had been meant to be a simple mission. Track down the young upstart—and stop him in his tracks. An example would have needed to be made, of course. The House of Crest could not lose one of their own to some parentless waif. Not without lesson. Not without stir.

Blood was meant to spill. Bones, to break. Havoc's eyes—he would have burst. His liver—ripped free. And to crown the night, Theodor would have torn out his spine, yanked from the gut and flung to the crowd. A spectacle. A warning. Then, in due time, he would have withdrawn to his city. Orders could be rushed. Revelries, however, could not.

But that was not how events had transpired.

No.

He had not come to Heureux to find his quarry plated, carved, and ready to serve.

What greeted him instead was disarray—foul and flagrant—spilling like poisoned drink across the edges of his family's domain.

Of course he did not stand for it. No filial heir could.

But from there, his troubles evolved—from speculative and supposed, to actual and assumed.

'Surely they cannot keep this up much longer,' he muttered, traipsing the same trodden trail he had trekked the day before.

The day before that.

And the one before that.

'You should feel honoured,' Octavia said, an unhinged smile warping her face into something close to suspicion. 'Can you imagine how many forests have to burn just to keep you off the field? I mean—something like this could not even be bought with paper. A Sequence this wild can only be funded with blood.'

'Do be quiet,' Theodor replied, sparing the woman at his side no more than the briefest glance.

He did not recognise the specific Sequence, but he knew the malignant malodour of mercurial magics well enough.

Regrettably, this was not the first time he had been trapped in a loop.

He was not sure if rival cultists were trading notes, but every one he had encountered seemed to possess some version of the trick.

Some rituals banished you—body and soul—into labyrinthine dreamscapes. Others merely hurled you to places unknown, where something waited to greet you.

This was more sophisticated than all that. It warped space itself. A single path—the most direct to the Desmond estate—looped back upon itself, paving an endless trail.

One could be forgiven for mistaking Theodor's ceaseless strolling as futile. It certainly felt that way. It had for weeks. Whether he moved or stayed still, he drew no closer. The conventional wisdom would be to rest—to stay idle—and portion his strength for when the spell was undone.

Like many conventions Theodor was familiar with, that one was woefully ignorant.

He might not have recognised the specific ritual, but he was intermittently acquainted with its inner workings.

Something this powerful required fuel—and even more so when continually strained.

Every step he took pulled at the seams of its casting. His daily stroll stretched the cult's resources, thinned their ranks—because Octavia was right. These magics thirst for blood.

He could already see the result of his efforts. The Sequence held—but cracks had begun to spread along the edges.

Tiny breaks—easily ignored by lesser minds. Patches where the grass beyond the path browned slightly, as if exposed to harsher sun. A pebble here, a stone there—just far enough out of place to draw the eye.

Subtle signs, but telling. The spell was beginning to unravel.

He foresaw the end. Yet it left him… disquieted.

So long as he was trapped, the task had been clear: walk, move, strain the Sequence, and stretch its stitching until it came undone. But once the work was finished—then a choice would have to be made.

'Do you know your problem, Theo?' Octavia hummed, tapping a finger to her blood-red lips. 'You worry too much—always have.'

'Perhaps that is why we make such a fitting pair. I am ruled by duty. And you—'

He paused, halting mid-step.

His gaze slid to his subordinate. He took in the frilled ends of her black skirt, the pristine white of her elbow-length gloves. She was fetching, certainly—but no more, no less than any from his retinue of suitors.

Even so, in his own way, he appreciated her presence. He would not see her cast aside lightly.

That was why he waited.

To be sure.

No—to be certain. Even as a scion of Crest, he would not move against House Le'Buteur without anything less.

'You have your own sense of duty, do you not?'

'Why, of course, sir,' she said without pause. 'I cherish my family no less dearly than you cherish yours.'

Theodor took a slow step toward her. His voice dropped to a murmur.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

'Then tell me this—when the moment comes, which duty will weigh heavier? The one to your namers... or the one you owe to me?'

Octavia stared back at him blankly.

It was a convincing act.

But Theodor was not so easily deceived. The hostility in her eyes—however faint—betrayed her. She could not hide from his scrutiny. Not now. Not when he had chosen to see.

'I suppose it doesn't mean much,' she sighed, a smile—impish yet resigned—curling at the corners of her lips. 'But it was never my idea.' Her eyes flicked up to meet his. 'Still… if you knew all along, why linger here so long?'

Black, leathered wings tore from Theodor's back. Splintered bone shimmered into being, slotting together to form the skull of a dragon.

Octavia leapt away, an ivory sickle taking shape in her grip. All around her, the earth cracked and trembled—skeletal arms clawing their way up from below.

'Why, indeed?' Theodor murmured. 'I will answer your question. But first, answer mine: why now? Why here?'

The dead continued their crawl around her. And from behind, an obsidian sarcophagus rose from the stone.

'Why now?' she mused. 'My father's will. Why here? A Beast of Undoing.'

At her words, Theodor raised a brow—though his expression soon dulled to indifference.

Whatever reasons the Le'Buteur household had for forging a new Dungeon-Cell mattered little. They would fail all the same.

Theodor's father—the Conquering Drake—had never been a fool. He had always known the Le'Buteur family were perilously ambitious. He would not have insisted they be kept close otherwise. Their entanglement in the criminal world was no secret. Not to him. Not to anyone.

The Crest household was not famed for Remnants of divination. That was not their strength. The elements, they could command. Death and life bent to them as a mother bends to her young. Even space itself had, on occasion, been shaped by Crest hands.

But no matter the purity of their Harmony, when it came to Remnants of tracking or foretelling, they were woefully inadequate. For that, they contracted out.

Outsiders, however, were never allowed to peer too closely into their affairs. So they made do with the few Remnants they could wield—limited, yet potent, confined to their bloodline. It was enough to glimpse Aaron's fate in the forest—Havoc's blade arcing toward his throat—but not enough to prevent it.

And it should have been enough to foresee this.

This moment.

No doubt, a curiosity to his father. One he would permit to run its course.

'Well?' Octavia asked, lips tightening into a pout. 'It's your turn. If you knew I was working with the sect, why wait until now to act? You could have broken free weeks ago.' She narrowed her eyes. 'Our little trick with the road—it does not work without a host to keep open the door.'

Theodor closed his eyes. He gently shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

'Is it not obvious?'

Octavia raised a brow.

'We are friends, Octavia—'

He paused. A chill spread through his chest, spiking along the arteries, frosting blood, marrow, and bone. Until all that remained was the numbing cold. The same glacial heart he had carried his whole life. The same abject indifference that had left him so alone. Feared by all—family and friend. Even now.

'—I had hoped not to kill another friend.'

There was no more need for talk. He would have words before her shallow grave—though Theodor had no intention of leaving a body behind.

With a beat of his leathered wings, he soared back, landing weightlessly upon the stone. He extended an arm, dense waves of Harmony surging into the Dread-Dragon's Maw as he wrested control of the bones Octavia had summoned.

Her skeletal army was bound to her will. He could not seize them all—she would never have summoned them otherwise. But her gambit had been unwise all the same.

Through countless spines, ribs, ulnae, and skulls, the jagged shards he commanded burst through her horde as if nothing stood between them but air.

The blades of bone tore through her. They perforated her frame. Her comely form was reduced to meat.

She was dead. Without question.

But Theodor was not fooled.

Like him, Octavia was a Champion. Like him, she was vastly powerful. But where they differed? He had but one life to spare. Octavia? She had been hoarding hers for decades.

From the ebony sarcophagus came a howl. The lid cracked open, and a figure fled its depths—disembodied, demented, damned. The spectral form burst into flames, shrieking its anguish to heaven's ear.

Perhaps it was a prayer. Theodor could not say. But surely the creature longed for justice. Yearned for vengeance. For the life stolen from it to finally be avenged.

If it had been a prayer—like all others—it went unanswered.

For the spectre burned in sulphurous flame. And its captor—its killer, in life and in death—rose from its ashes. Renewed. Restored. And wholly revived.

But not for long.

Theodor swiped a hand through the air. A sea of shattered bone surged forward, spiralling around her. They gnawed her flesh down to fluid—until all that remained was a stain on the ground.

Still, she rose again.

And still he killed her.

Ghosts fled the coffin as though set loose from hell. Sulphuric flames surged in their wake—Octavia, a jealous devil, claimed their escape as her own.

It was a matter of patience—and a matter of time. There were few within his Rank Theodor would call equal.

Octavia had impressed him. She truly had.

But count her an equal?

Not in this life. Nor any other she steals.

The little shit—his dearly departed brother—thought he would be the pride of their Household. Boasted endlessly about the quality of his Harmony. The only one of their brood to be born with it pure.

There were advantages to Blessed Harmony, for certain. But true power? That was only partly inherited. The rest was taken—by force.

And it was that force which now flowed through him.

The Heritage of Plunder.

Even as he killed her. Even as his Harmony drained from his Core—it was restored through the act. Fortified. Tempered. Made more mighty as he fought.

'Wait!' Octavia howled within the storm. 'Wait!' she cried again.

Sentiment had long since frozen over. But curiosity still burned.

He slowed the tempest. The bones still whirled about her, their jagged edges merely grazing her naked frame. They did not clamp. Did not gnash. Did not tear.

'You have my attention,' he said coldly. 'You would do well to hold it.'

'I—I can tell you how to stop the Beast,' she said, her pride warping into a whimper as a blade kissed her cheek.

'Is that all?' Theodor sighed. 'I already know how. I just kill them all.'

'And… if you cannot? Not in time?'

'Then I kill the Beast,' he replied, voice like stone.

These were his family's lands. He did not care much for its people—but that was no reason to let them fall into a Dungeon-Cell.

It was a nuisance. But unavoidable. Havoc could wait.

First, he would cleanse the streets of vermin. Then he would finish what he came to do.

He raised a hand, the storm poised to strike.

But before it could fall, Octavia clamped both hands around the handle of a broom, drawn from the air with a shimmer. Her smile lingered just long enough to taunt.

And then she vanished.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.