Chapter 11: Binding Chains, Breaking Rules
Veldaric stood on the uppermost deck of the Dreadnought-class mecha flagship docked in orbit over the Capital. The view was spectacular—stars like bleeding silver against the void, the distant shimmer of planetfall—but his attention was fixed on the singular pulse of energy that had just rippled across his internal magic sensors.
Not magical. Not psychic.
Bloodline-coded. Deton signature. Cipher-grade encryption.
Julien.
He clenched his hand against the cold railing, metal groaning beneath his fingers. The bond he'd carved into Julien wasn't perfect—it was illegal, unfinished—but it had still linked them. Enough that when the cipher activated, Veldaric felt it like a spark to the heart.
He hadn't anticipated this.
He had known Julien was special. Fragile, sharp, infuriating. His. But this...
A Ciphered Heir. The only remaining living code-bearer from a bloodline the Empire had tried to extinguish.
And now that it was awake… others would smell it. Hunt it.
Veldaric's voice dropped into the command channel. "Bring my personal craft online."
"Marshal, you have an inspection in—"
"Cancel it. Deton is no longer safe in the Academy. Prepare a retrieval team. Stealth protocols."
"Sir—"
"I'm going myself."
He cut the channel. No one questioned him twice.
Julien couldn't sleep.
The cipher card glowed faintly on the desk, even hours after the memory had ended. He'd tried warding it, wrapping it in a stasis lock. Nothing worked. It wanted to be seen. To be held.
A single message had reappeared along the corner, repeating itself in a slow, flickering loop:
> He knows.
He's coming.
Julien pressed his forehead against the cool wall, trying to center himself. Thoughts spun wildly—Aureline, Veldaric, Elsin, his own lost identity. The Empire didn't protect relics. It used them. Weaponized them.
A knock startled him.
Sharp. Rhythmic. Controlled.
Only one person knocked like that.
The door opened before he could answer.
Veldaric stepped inside, face shadowed beneath the collar of his highcoat. Not military today. Civilian black with ancient trim—coded for war, not appearances.
"You activated it," he said.
Julien swallowed. "So what if I did?"
Veldaric crossed the room in three steps. There was no gentleness to him now. Only restraint, like every breath cost him effort.
"You could've died," he growled. "They could've burned your memories. Do you even know what that card is?"
"I do now." Julien met his gaze. "You don't get to control everything, Marshal."
"Don't I?"
He shoved Julien backward—not hard, but fast—until his back hit the wall. One arm pinned him there, the other curling protectively around his waist, almost tender in contrast to his expression.
"You carry something older than the Empire," Veldaric said lowly. "Something sacred. You think I'm letting the Council dissect you? Turn you into a fucking breeding vault for legacy mages?"
Julien's breath hitched. "You care because of the magic—"
"I care," Veldaric cut in, voice taut with something savage, "because I marked you. Because I saw what you were before the card woke. And now that it has... they'll come. The Court. The rogue collectors. Even the ones from the Outer Shards."
Julien tried to look away. Veldaric didn't let him.
"Do you want protection?" the Marshal asked softly.
"I don't know," Julien whispered. "I want answers."
"You want to live," Veldaric corrected. "And to live, you'll take the bond. You'll come with me. You'll leave this school, these games, and I'll chain you where they can't reach."
Julien shivered.
"And if I run?"
Veldaric leaned in, forehead against his, voice breaking against his lips.
"Then I will hunt you. And they will never find your body. Because it will be buried somewhere inside me."
Silence crackled between them.
Then, finally—Julien reached out and gripped Veldaric's coat.
"I hate how safe that sounds."