Melly’s consciousness slowly returned, as if she were emerging from the depths of a dark, heavy lake. Her breath came in short gasps, her body stiff, and the moment her eyes opened, she knew something was wrong.

Her legs were bound tightly to the legs of a metal chair. Her torso was strapped with rough rope to the backrest, and her wrists were tied firmly behind her. She tried to move, but all it did was chafe her soft skin, sending sharp stings through her arms.

Her eyes darted around, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

A fairly spacious stone room, dimly lit by torches affixed to the walls. No windows. No other sounds, only her own breath and the frantic pounding of her heart.

But when she turned her head forward, her eyes widened in horror.

“Ri… Riven?!”

Riven sat directly across from her, tied in the exact same position. His head hung low, messy hair obscuring part of his face. His chest rose and fell slowly—a sign he was alive, but unconscious.

“Brother! Wake up! Please, wake up!”

Melly screamed, her voice hoarse with worry. She struggled, her small body tensing in a futile effort to free herself. Her survival instincts screamed, and one chilling realization echoed in her mind:

This wasn’t the Rathstura estate.

She stopped moving, swallowing hard. The smell of the room was unfamiliar. No fragrant carpets, no echoing footsteps of guards, and most importantly, she had never seen a room like this in the Rathstura residence.

It was then that she understood, they had been kidnapped.

And before her thoughts could formulate a plan, the silence was broken by the creak of heavy hinges. A large iron door at the end of the room slowly opened.

A sliver of dim hallway light spilled into the room, revealing two figures standing in the doorway.

Their footsteps echoed against the stone floor as they entered.

The first was a tall, slender young man with a handsome yet mocking face. It was Darien Blackthorn. His black hair was neatly slicked back, and his cold eyes stared at Melly like a predator eyeing his prey.

Beside him stood an older man, his face marked with age, but his eyes still burned with ambition. One glance was enough for Melly to understand, he was the father of the young man beside him. Daxon Blackthorn.

A noble’s black robe with gold embroidery flowed gently over his body. In his right hand, he held a slim cane adorned with his family’s crest.

Melly froze, her eyes filled with terror as she looked at them.

Daxon stepped closer, regarding Melly as though she were a young horse being appraised.

“I must admit… I didn’t expect a girl this young to be a Lawbearer,” he muttered flatly, though his eyes gleamed. “And with two affinities, no less. No wonder the Rathsturas kept her hidden.”

Darien chuckled softly as he followed his father. He stopped in front of Riven and gave his leg a light kick.

“And you… that rude servant who once dared talk back to me. Turns out you’re more than you appear.”

He crouched, staring at Riven’s face with a thin smirk.

“Still unconscious? No matter. When you wake up, I’ll make sure you know exactly who’s controlling the game now.”

Melly held her breath. Her chest heaved rapidly.

“Let my brother go! We didn’t do anything!”

Daxon turned to her, his expression calm but cold.

“Ah, but that’s precisely why we can mold you however we want.” He stepped closer, lowering himself until his face was level with hers.

His smile was terrifying—warm on the surface, but utterly hollow inside.

Darien stood upright again, eyes filled with cold hatred. Without warning, he swung a hard punch across Riven’s face—

“NO!!!” Melly screamed, seeing it coming too late.

SMACK!

Blood gushed from Riven’s nose. His head snapped back, the sharp pain shattering his unconsciousness. His eyes flew open, gasping for air.

“Had a nice nap?” Darien hissed, voice like a blade.

Riven quickly scanned his surroundings, dazed from the blow. The world was unfamiliar—cold, hostile. And the first face he saw upon lifting his head…

…was Darien’s, smiling smugly in front of him.

“Welcome back, filthy servant,” Darien whispered.

Riven’s awareness snapped into focus the moment he heard his sister’s voice—her panicked, terrified sobbing. His protective instincts ignited. He lifted his head and saw Melly sitting across from him, tied up just like he was, her young face streaked with tears.

“Me—” Riven tried to speak, to curse the two men before him, but before any words escaped, Darien moved quickly.

His hand clamped over Riven’s jaw, shoving a rough cloth into his mouth and tying it tightly behind his head. Riven’s breath came fast and furious, his eyes burning with hatred.

His glare—filled with murderous intent, wild like a cornered beast—made Darien falter for a brief moment. Something in Riven’s gaze made his skin crawl, just for a heartbeat.

“Tch,” Darien muttered, trying to act unaffected. He grabbed Riven’s head harshly and slapped him hard across the face. The crack echoed through the room, and Riven’s head jerked to the side.

“There’s something I want to discuss with you,” Darien whispered cruelly in his ear, “but not yet.”

He stood up straight, glaring down at Riven, then turned to Melly.

Riven writhed, trying to break free from the bindings on his wrists and ankles. His muscles strained, jaw clenched. But the ropes held firm, and each tug only hurt the skin of his wrists.

Meanwhile, Melly kept sobbing, her body trembling.

“Please… let us go… I beg you… my brother hasn’t done anything…”

Daxon sighed in mock irritation, lowering himself slightly and speaking in a calm but razor-sharp tone.

“Be quiet! Or we’ll start cutting off your brother’s fingers one by one until you shut your mouth.”

Melly gasped, her lips trembling. Her wide, terrified eyes locked onto Darien as he once again approached Riven, this time grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back violently.

“Shhh…” Darien whispered into Riven’s ear. “Look at your sweet sister. See how scared she is because of you.”

Melly held her breath. Her crying halted in an instant.

Daxon now stepped forward, lowering himself to eye level with her. In the dim torchlight, his face looked even older, but his eyes—eyes of a man steeped in schemes and ambition—gleamed coldly.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” he said softly. “Answer honestly, and no one gets hurt. But if you lie…”

He glanced toward Darien. “Cut off one of his fingers.”

Melly shook with fear. Her entire body went rigid, and her lips began to move before her brain could fully process what was happening.

“What’s your name, your brother’s name, and where are you from?” Daxon asked.

“N-name… Melly,” she stammered. “My brother… Riven. We came from… outside the city. We… moved around a lot. I don’t know who our parents are… they died before I could remember.”

Daxon nodded slowly. “And… when did you discover your affinity?”

“A year ago… maybe longer…” Melly whispered, barely audible. “No one taught me. It… just appeared.”

Daxon frowned. “No one taught you? A girl your age, with two affinities, able to control a vortex and you say no one taught you?”

“I just… followed my feelings,” Melly lied, her voice shaking.

Riven stared wide-eyed behind his gag. He knew Melly, she was never good at lying. But now, under threat, he heard the tone in her voice… and he believed anyone who didn’t know her would think it was the truth.

A flawless lie.

He felt pride, fear, and fury all at once.

And immediately, Daxon’s mouth began to spew more questions.

Melly bit her lip and answered as best she could.

Riven wanted to scream, to destroy them where they stood. But his body remained powerless, bound and motionless… boiling with rage that had nowhere to go.

Deep in his chest, Riven’s anger could no longer be described with words.

He swore.

If he ever escaped this place…

…not a single one of them would leave alive.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep