The Lies we become

CHAPTER ONE – THE SHADOW OF DOUBT

The Castle Gates – A Step Into the Unknown

Drake stood at the towering iron gates, his pulse steady but his mind a storm.

The castle loomed ahead, black stone swallowing the light. The air was thick, cold, humming with something unseen.

He had seen castles before—ruins, relics of forgotten wars.

But this was not a ruin.

This was something alive.

A monument to something that had never died.

He exhaled, stepping forward.

The gates groaned open before he touched them.

Like they had been expecting him.

The Hall of Echoes – A Test Without Words

Drake walked through the corridor, the candlelight barely holding against the abyss stretching above.

Draven was waiting.

Seated at the far end of the chamber, the firelight flickering against his sharp features, one leg casually draped over the other. A picture of effortless control.

His smirk was there—subtle, knowing.

Not a greeting. A challenge.

Drake stopped several feet away, his grip tightening on the talisman still hidden in his palm.

Draven tilted his head.

“You hesitated.”

Drake’s jaw clenched. “What?”

“When you stepped inside,” Draven mused, his voice smooth, measured. “You hesitated.”

Drake felt his blood heat. “I didn’t.”

Draven leaned forward just slightly, dark eyes gleaming.

“No?” A slow smile. “Then why do you look like a man questioning his own steps?”

Drake’s breath slowed, controlled.

He wouldn’t let Draven pull him into whatever mind game this was.

“I know why I’m here,” Drake said, his voice even.

Draven hummed. “Do you?”

A flicker of something in Drake’s chest—an irritation too close to unease.

He ignored it.

“I’m here for the truth,” he said. “I’m here because of her.”

The smirk held, but there was something behind it now. Something weightier.

Draven watched him for a moment longer before finally rising to his feet, slow, deliberate.

He took a step closer. Then another.

The room didn’t feel cold, yet Drake swore the air around him thinned as Draven neared.

Draven stopped just within reach. Not touching. But close enough for the weight of his presence to press against him.

“Then let’s begin,” Draven murmured.

And the doors behind Drake shut.

CHAPTER TWO: THE LIES WE BECOME

The castle was too quiet.

Not the kind of silence that came with the dead of night or the stillness of a forgotten ruin. This was different. This silence had weight. It pressed against the walls like something waiting to be heard.

Drake had spent years within these halls, training under Draven’s watchful eye, drinking in the knowledge of a world that had been hidden from him since birth.

He had been taught the ways of their kind—taught that power was survival, that the weak were devoured, and that his mother, Valora, had been beyond saving.

Draven had told him the story himself.

"You were a boy," he had said once, standing by the great hearth of his study, firelight flickering against his sharp features. "You saw only what they wanted you to see. She was burning, and I took her. I saved her from the flames. But she was already lost."

Drake had believed him.

He had needed to believe him.

Because the alternative—the idea that he had spent lifetimes building himself into something shaped by a lie—was too much to bear.

But now…

Now, something felt wrong.

The talisman in his hand burned against his palm as if the truth had been carved into it, waiting for him to listen.

"You never lost me."

His mother’s voice. The last thing she had said to him before she had gone up in flames of her own making.

Drake tightened his grip.

She had left this behind.

Not by accident.

Not as a relic of a past already buried.

She had left it for him.

To find.

To understand.

A slow, creeping unease curled in his stomach as he moved through the halls of the castle. He had always known them—every shadowed corridor, every stairwell twisting deeper into the dark.

And yet, tonight, the walls seemed taller. The corners are sharper. The air is heavier.

Something in this place knew what he was beginning to suspect.

And it didn’t want him to.

He stopped in front of the great doors to Draven’s study, his pulse a slow, steady thrum.

Then, with a breath, he pushed them open.

The room beyond was lit only by candlelight.

Draven sat in his usual chair, one leg draped lazily over the other, a book open in his hands. He didn’t look up.

“You’re troubled.”

Drake stepped inside. The doors shut behind him without a sound.

“I found something,” he said.

Draven’s eyes flicked toward him. “Did you?”

Drake hesitated.

He had spent years studying under this man. Learning from him. Trusting him.

Even now, standing here with doubt curling around his ribs like a noose, he wanted to believe in the version of events Draven had fed him.

Because it was easier.

Because if Draven had lied—if his mother had not been beyond saving—then Drake would have spent centuries fighting for something he might never have chosen for himself.

Still, the words came.

“She left this for me.”

He held up the talisman.

Draven’s gaze flickered to it, and for just a fraction of a second—too fast for most to notice—the smirk at the corner of his mouth faltered.

It was the smallest thing. A moment barely seen.

But Drake saw it.

His fingers curled around the talisman, his heart hammering harder.

“You told me she was already lost,” he said, his voice quieter now. Measured. “That there was nothing left of her.”

Draven leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

“She was lost.”

Drake shook his head. “Then why did she leave this? Why did she tell me I never lost her?”

Draven studied him.

Then, with a slow, easy motion, he set his book aside and stood.

The room felt smaller.

Draven moved toward the fire, placing a hand on the stone mantle as though considering his next words.

“She burned,” he said, his tone almost thoughtful. “That part, you already know. But what you don’t know, Drake, is what the fire does to something like us.”

Drake frowned.

“You think this is about fire?”

Draven turned his head slightly, shadows playing across the sharp planes of his face.

“This is about choice.”

Drake’s grip on the talisman tightened. “What are you saying?”

Draven looked at him then, his gaze steady. Unshaken.

“She didn’t die that night, Drake,” he said simply. “She chose to leave.”

The words landed like stones in Drake’s chest.

A slow, creeping chill spread through his veins, an understanding forming before he was ready to accept it.

“She chose to burn?” His voice barely sounded like his own.

Draven’s lips twitched—half amusement, half something else entirely.

“She chose to be free.”

Drake took a step back.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Draven moved closer, his presence suffocating.

“You’ve spent lifetimes believing she was taken from you,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “That she was a victim of their fear, of their weakness.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching Drake the way one might study a creature on the verge of breaking.

“But she wasn’t.”

The talisman in Drake’s grip felt heavier now.

“She didn’t fight me when I turned her,” Draven continued. “She embraced it. Because she knew, deep down, that mortals are nothing but dust waiting to be swept away.”

A pause.

Then—

“She left you behind, Drake.”

The room was suddenly too small.

The fire was too warm.

The air is too thin.

Draven smiled, slow and knowing.

“She left you,” he murmured, “and she never came back.”

Drake’s pulse thundered in his ears.

His mother’s voice echoed in his mind.

"You never lost me."

But s

He had.

Hadn’t she?

His breath came shallow. His thoughts tangled.

And in the flickering light of Draven’s study, the truth that had shaped his entire existence—

Cracked.