Together and Unbound

  The jet descended through the crisp night air, its engines whispering as it touched down at Lugano Airport shortly after two in the morning. Outside, the world was wrapped in velvety darkness, broken only by scattered lights glimmering like fallen stars. As passengers disembarked, a sharp chill cut through the night, a stark contrast to the cabin’s warmth. Arius and Freya stepped out, the cold wrapping around them like an icy shroud, and were quickly escorted to a pair of blacked?out trucks waiting on the tarmac.

  The drive to Morcote was brief but tense. The sleeping town lay silent, its cobbled streets deserted, the faint crunch of tires on gravel echoing through the stillness. Trees lining the road rustled softly in the breeze, their shadows stretching and shifting in the headlights.

  Inside the lead truck sat Sofia, the Swiss team leader—a towering six?and?a?half?foot wall of muscle and scars. Built like a tank, with arms like tree trunks and a nose permanently bent from past breaks, she radiated battle?hardened authority. Yet her voice, when she spoke, was unexpectedly gentle.

  “This is as far as we can go,” she said as the trucks rolled to a stop. She nodded toward a narrow path disappearing into the dark mountains. “Any further and we’d be in Isidoros’s territory. That brings complications.”

  Arius studied the path, his long black coat drifting around him like shadow. His wide?brimmed hat lent him the roguish air of the pirate he once was. Freya, in borrowed clothes—a green strap top, fitted leather jacket, black jeans, and white runners—looked both fierce and ready.

  They stepped into the moonlit forest, the air crisp with pine and earth. After half a kilometer, faint chatter and the thud of boots broke the silence. A clearing opened to reveal a hidden base: several log cabins arranged in a U?shape around a frozen fountain, its ice shimmering like glass under the stars.

  A few stragglers wandered the courtyard, their figures silhouetted against the lanterns hanging from the cabin eaves. The moment Arius and Freya stepped into view, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations faltered, eyes turned, and the base seemed to freeze mid?breath, as though their arrival disrupted a carefully maintained rhythm.

  Arius scanned the area, immediately noting the guards hidden among the trees, their attention fixed on the newcomers. Visitors were clearly rare, and the tension was unmistakable. Ahead, the main hall loomed larger than the surrounding cabins, its door slightly ajar—inviting, yet edged with threat. As they approached, the murmurs resumed, now tinged with curiosity and caution. By the time they reached the threshold, the stragglers had already dismissed them, as if assuming they wouldn’t be returning.

  Inside, they were hit by a surge of vibrant energy. The hall blended rustic charm with raw revelry: a high ceiling supported by exposed beams, warm lights casting amber glows, and the thick scents of whiskey, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of blood—evidence of the fierce contests held here.

  A long polished bar stretched across the back wall, its dark wood gleaming. Shelves of liquor sparkled like jewels, tended by a wiry Vampyre bartender whose sharp features contrasted with his easy smile. The bar curved invitingly, drawing patrons into clusters of laughter and shared war stories.

  But the true centerpiece was the sandy ring dominating the room, a gladiator’s pit encircled by a sturdy wooden railing. Torches flickered above a rough?hewn sign: Arena of Champions. Inside, two fighters clashed—Keith, a weathered man in his sixties, and a young woman turned in her early twenties. Their movements blurred with ferocity, bruises and cuts marking each exchange.

  With a sudden burst of speed, Keith lunged, seized her by the throat, and snapped her neck. Gasps rippled through the crowd before erupting into cheers. The woman collapsed, but everyone knew she’d rise again soon. It was simply the nature of their kind.

  Above the fray, on a raised outcrop overlooking the ring, sat Isidoros—a commanding figure draped in an open black shirt that revealed a sculpted, battle?hardened torso. His tanned skin caught the dim light, and the tight joggers clinging to his thick legs only amplified his imposing presence. Barefoot and utterly at ease, he leaned on the railing like a king surveying his domain.

  When he spoke, his voice boomed through the hall, vibrating against the beams overhead.

  “Congratulations, Keith! Another victory to add to your impressive tally!”

  Keith bowed, pride flickering across his face—until Isidoros continued,

  “That win gives you the right to challenge my champion. What do you say?”

  The tension snapped taut. Keith’s confidence evaporated, his face draining of colour.

  “I’m good, thanks,” he muttered, barely audible.

  Isidoros’s laughter erupted like an earthquake, shaking the hall until the crowd joined in.

  “Understandable, my friend,” he said, amusement softening his tone. “No, I wouldn’t ask that of you. You’ve earned a rest.”

  With a snap of his fingers, two Vampyres glided into the ring to retrieve the unconscious female fighter, her body already knitting itself back together. Keith slipped out, heading straight for the bar, where a drink and a chorus of congratulatory slaps awaited him. The camaraderie was palpable—this was a family forged in blood and battle.

  As the room buzzed with talk of strategies and future matchups, Arius and Freya lingered at the edge of the ring, absorbing the electric joy that pulsed through the hall. This was their world’s heartbeat.

  Freya’s heart hammered as she tried to melt into the shadows, desperate to avoid attention. But when Isidoros’s gaze found her, the air shifted. His eyes narrowed, pinning her in place.

  “Well, look who it is,” he boomed, silencing the hall.

  Freya forced a steady voice.

  “Yo, Isi. Just thought I’d have a look around. Heard good things.”

  The lie tasted bitter, but she held her ground.

  Isidoros laughed again, but this time the sound held no warmth. It vibrated through Freya’s bones, deepening the dread coiling in her stomach. His dark eyes fixed on her with unnerving precision, stripping away her flimsy pretense. She tried to hold his gaze, but the weight of it forced her to look away, her heart pounding like a frantic drum.

  “You’re here for another reason, aren’t you? Something to do with Arius?”

  The question hit her like a blow. Her eyes widened. How could he know Arius was back—and how did he not realize she hadn’t come alone?

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “How—?” she stammered.

  “I’ve heard the rumors,” he said, voice chillingly calm. “Even out here, word of his return spreads. No one knows where he is. Some say he’s joined the Guardians. But since you’re here, that can’t be true… can it?”

  Freya hesitated. Lying was dangerous, but so was the truth. Isidoros could kill her before she blinked, and they both knew it.

  “I honestly don’t know where he is right now,” she said carefully. “As the most connected Vampyre in Europe, I was hoping you could help.”

  His stare bored into her, searching for cracks. Technically, she wasn’t lying—she truly had no idea where Arius had vanished to.

  “Can’t help you,” he said at last. “Haven’t seen or heard from him. Not surprising… he hates me.”

  “Can’t imagine why…” she muttered before she could stop herself.

  The room froze.

  Isidoros moved in a blur. He vaulted the railing and landed before her with predatory grace. His hand clamped around her throat, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. Freya’s breath hitched as iron fingers crushed her windpipe.

  “How dare you insult me in my own home?” he growled, voice low and trembling with rage. “I should rip you apart.”

  The crowd watched in tense silence. Freya’s vision narrowed, darkness creeping in at the edges. She forced out a strangled plea.

  “Please… I meant no disrespect.”

  Isidoros’s eyes remained cold, wolfish, as he held her suspended—caught between fury and the unspoken threat of Arius’s revenge.

  “Put her down, Isi.”

  The voice sliced through the tension, freezing every creature in the hall. Heads snapped toward the outcrop as a Vampyre vaulted over the railing, landing with effortless grace. Thalia’s confident smile didn’t waver as she placed a hand on Isidoros’s shoulder.

  “I like Freya,” she said lightly. “And if you kill her, then Arius—if he really is back—will rob me of the pleasure of killing you myself.”

  Isidoros didn’t look at her. His focus remained locked on Freya, whose face was flushed with pain as she writhed in his iron grip. The pressure around her throat was agonizing. If she’d been human, she’d already be unconscious; as a Vampyre, she would heal, but the suffering was real.

  With a flick of his wrist, he released her. Freya plummeted nearly ten feet, hitting the wooden floor with a brutal thud. Dazed, she struggled to breathe.

  “Good boy,” Thalia teased, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

  Isidoros spun on her, fury radiating off him like heat.

  “Don’t test me, woman. I may not be able to kill you, but you’re still mine.”

  “And for every minute I remain imprisoned,” she replied coolly, “I add another piece I’m going to cut you into. We’re past five million now. It’ll take time, but it’ll be worth it.”

  She held his gaze without flinching. Unlike Freya, Thalia didn’t cower.

  Isidoros scoffed and turned away, eyes narrowing at Freya as she pushed herself upright.

  “Leave. Before my patience runs out.”

  “But we just got here!” a playful voice chimed from the bar.

  The crowd spun—nothing.

  “Can’t kick us out yet,” the voice echoed from the doorway. Again, no one caught the movement. Only Thalia sensed the flicker of presence.

  “We need to speak with Brunhilda,” the voice murmured from Isidoros’s throne.

  Isidoros roared, fury exploding through the hall as he lunged back toward his seat, forcing the crowd to scatter in fear.

  A sudden metallic clang rang through the bar, freezing every Vampyre in place. All eyes snapped to Thalia as she rolled her neck, the predator finally unchained. At her feet lay the collar that had bound her—now nothing more than scrap metal.

  For a heartbeat, the room held its breath.

  Then Isidoros screamed, a high, panicked sound that shattered his imposing fa?ade.

  “Get her!”

  The first Vampyre lunged.

  Thalia moved faster.

  She caught him mid?air by the throat, driving him through a table in an explosion of splintered wood. One brutal twist, and he went limp. She tossed him aside without a second glance.

  Another attacker rushed her with a blade. Thalia slipped beneath the strike, drove a fist into his center, and wrenched the weapon from his hand. A heartbeat later, he collapsed, unmoving.

  The others faltered.

  Thalia smiled—sharp, feral, hungry.

  “Come on, then. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  A female Vampyre charged. Thalia sidestepped, seized a broken chair leg, and drove it into her chest. The woman crumpled, strength draining as she hit the floor.

  Two more tried to retreat.

  Cowards.

  Thalia blurred forward, dragging one back by the hair and dropping him before he could scream. The second barely turned before she struck, sending him sprawling across the bar.

  The last Vampyre bolted for the door.

  Thalia snatched a bottle from the counter, shattered it, and brought him down in a single decisive motion. He hit the floor and didn’t rise.

  Silence settled over the hall.

  Thalia exhaled slowly, surveying the bodies around her. Blood slicked her hands, warm against her ashen skin. She ran her tongue across her teeth, savoring the moment.

  “Well,” Thalia mused, stepping over a fallen body as her skin shifted back to its natural tan and her eyes glowed sapphire once more. “That was fun.”

  She turned to the stunned patrons.

  “Anyone else?”

  Silence.

  Smart choice.

  Thalia smiled up at Isidoros, who stared at her in wide?eyed horror. In the blink of an eye, she vanished from the floor and reappeared behind him, moving faster than even he could track. He had always believed himself untouchable—a titan among lesser beings. He was wrong.

  A sharp kick to the back of his knee sent him crashing down. He roared, but Thalia was already on him, her arms locking around his thick neck with unyielding force. Panic rippled through the room as the remaining Vampyres scattered, instincts screaming at them to flee.

  With a decisive twist, his head came loose and Isidoros fell still.

  The hall plunged into a heavy silence. Blood pooled and dripped from the outcrop in slow, rhythmic beats, the metallic scent thick in the air. The crowd stood frozen, struggling to comprehend what they had just witnessed.

  Then—

  Clap.

  Clap.

  Clap.

  The slow, mocking applause echoed from the throne behind her. Thalia turned, eyes narrowing as she met Arius’s amused gaze. He grinned broadly, arms raised as if taking a bow.

  “Well, that was anticlimactic! Hug?”

  Thalia rolled her eyes and slapped him—hard. The impact sent a tremor through the building. Arius touched his cheek with exaggerated offense.

  “Ouch! What is it with you women and slapping me?”

  She slapped him again.

  “What the—stop slapping me!”

  He dodged the next one, catching her wrist with a smirk—only for her other hand to strike him cleanly.

  “You should have seen that coming,” she said.

  He ducked behind the throne. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry! Please stop hitting me; it hurts…”

  Thalia held her hand aloft a moment longer before lowering it with a huff. Arius peeked out, hands raised in surrender.

  “So… hug?” he offered.

  With a mix of relief and lingering frustration, Thalia pulled him into a tight embrace.

  “I thought you were dead for so long, little brother.”

  “Little? You’re three minutes older than I am,” Arius retorted, trying not to laugh.

  “Best three minutes of my life,” Thalia shot back, equal parts exasperation and affection.

  They held each other for a moment, a rare pocket of warmth amid the wreckage. A pointed cough broke the reunion. Freya leaned against the railing, eyebrows raised, amusement flickering across her face. Below them, the remaining Vampyres stood frozen, unsure whether to run or bow.

  “Go on—out,” Thalia ordered, punctuating the command with a sharp kick to Isidoros’s remains. The crowd didn’t hesitate; they vanished in seconds.

  Silence settled over the outcrop. Only Freya, Thalia, and Arius remained.

  “So,” Thalia said at last, folding her arms. “What else are you here for? You didn’t cross half of Europe just to see me.”

  “You’re right,” Arius replied, his tone shifting. “We need to speak with Brunhilda. We’re trying to figure out why she started spreading rumors about a Demon or Angelic blade being able to kill us.”

  “About that…” Thalia’s expression darkened.

  Arius scratched his beard as Thalia continued

  “Last time she and I spoke, she mentioned something about misinterpreting the legends.”

  “Misinterpreting?” Arius echoed.

  “Not wrong—just off,” Thalia clarified. “The material doesn’t kill us. It incapacitates us as long as it’s in our system. Which explains you and Dalareyes.”

  “Well, at least you two still can’t die,” Freya joked, settling onto the throne.

  “Not exactly…” Thalia murmured.

  Arius frowned. “Elaborate.”

  “I’ve got this.” Thalia crossed the room to a heavily locked chest. As her fingers brushed the metal, runes flared to life and the lock clicked open. She lifted the lid, revealing a short sword shimmering with an amethyst sheen.

  “What’s that?” Arius asked.

  “Demornium,” she said proudly, holding it out.

  Arius blinked. “Demornium is black.” He drew his own blade to prove the point.

  “Yours was made differently from mine,” Thalia explained. “Brunhilda showed me a place where another form of Demornium was found—infused with ancient magic, or so she claimed. She didn’t explain much.”

  “So…” Arius said, still puzzled.

  “So, your sword might not be able to kill us. This one can. I actually wounded Michael with it, and he still carries the scar.”

  “Seriously?” Arius raised a brow.

  “I heard about that,” Freya chimed in, leaning closer. “You went into Heaven alone, found Michael, and nearly killed him. At least, that’s how the story goes. The only witness was a Vampyre who followed you and described in great detail how you beat the hell out of an Archangel.”

  Thalia shrugged, a flicker of pride in her eyes. “Didn’t know I was famous enough to have a stalker.”

  “They didn’t last long,” Freya said with a laugh. “The Guardians took them out.”

  “Either way,” Thalia continued, “I had to back off when the other three showed up—with a handful of lesser angels. Even I’m not taking on all four Archangels in Heaven. But I cut Michael’s arm with this sword, and it didn’t heal.”

  “So Brunhilda knows where this other type comes from?” Arius asked.

  Thalia nodded. “She took me there. It’s in a cave system somewhere. I couldn’t take you back.”

  “Then we still need to talk to her,” Arius said.

  He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Great. More cryptic riddles from a woman who always knows more than she says.”

  “Look on the bright side, little brother,” Thalia teased. “Maybe she’ll be impressed with your hair this time.”

  Arius rolled his eyes, though a grin tugged at his mouth. “Yes, let’s discuss how my glorious hair wins over ancient witches.”

  “I said maybe. Last time you had my help.”

  “Please. You distracted them with your charm while I did the real work.”

  Freya la

  ughed. “You two are insufferable.”

  “Maybe,” Arius said, “but we’re not boring.”

  Thalia pulled him into another hug. “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re not dead.”

  “Me too, Thal.” He stepped back and glanced at Freya. “Alright. Let’s go talk to a sorceress.”