Chapter 221: Headaches And Hidden Sin

Cyrus wanted to stop him, but Kane was already moving too quickly.

His nine tails fanned behind him like silver flames, completely unbothered by the oppressive heat radiating from the lava flows.

This really felt like an adventure.

Not the kind where he dodged synthetic chimeras or got kidnapped by mad scientists. The kind from stories he’d read as a kit—ancient temples, hidden wonders, mysteries waiting in the dark.

Kane leapt over a narrow stream of molten rock, landing on a platform of cooled obsidian. The chamber sprawled in every direction, revealing new details with each step.

Crystal formations jutted from the walls at odd angles, some pulsing with bioluminescent veins.

Pools of water—impossibly clear despite the heat—bubbled gently in carved depressions, surrounded by moss that shimmered like crushed emeralds.

A cluster of bat-like creatures with three sets of wings roosted on a natural arch overhead, their bodies translucent enough to see the glow of their internal organs.

Kane’s fingers traced the wall as he walked, feeling grooves that might’ve been ancient script or just random erosion patterns.

The stone hummed under his touch—subtle vibrations that traveled up his arm and settled in his chest.

"Kane." Cyrus’s voice echoed behind him, strained. "We need to—"

The growl came again.

Louder. Closer.

Kane’s ears swiveled forward as his gaze locked on a passage ahead, partially hidden behind a curtain of those silver-leafed vines.

The calling sound came from there.

Kane pushed through the silver vines, their metallic leaves chiming softly as he disturbed them.

The passage narrowed, forcing him to turn sideways, before opening into a smaller alcove.

The door stopped him cold.

Massive. Ancient. Carved from volcanic stone so black it seemed to drink the lava-light.

But it was the wards that made Kane’s breath catch.

Crimson patterns crawled across the door’s surface in geometric precision—interlocking circles and angular runes that pulsed with slow, deliberate rhythm.

The magical signature felt old, predating anything Kane had encountered in the BSA archives or even in Elias’s lab.

Yet familiar.

Kane’s fingers traced the air inches from the door, careful not to touch. He recognized the biometric authentication matrix woven into the lower section, similar to Veyr Corp’s vault but far more primitive.

No crystalline keys, no blood scanners—just raw draconic magic binding the door shut.

This wasn’t just any locked door.

This was Cyrus’s work.

Kane’s ears flattened as he stepped back, amber eyes narrowing at the elaborate wards pulsing across the obsidian surface.

"This is yours," Kane said without turning around.

Cyrus’s presence filled the alcove behind him, heat radiating off his body despite the supernatural warmth already saturating the air.

"Kane—"

"Don’t." Kane’s tails swished, silver fur catching the ward light. "Don’t try to distract me or tell me it’s nothing."

His amber eyes tracked the spellwork, noting how the wards layered—containment, repulsion, and something else.

Something that felt almost like... grief, woven into the magical fabric itself.

"What are you hiding in there?"

Cyrus’s crimson eyes reflected the lava light, his expression unreadable.

"I can explain," Cyrus began, his voice carefully measured.

But Kane’s world tilted sideways.

The headache hit like a sledgehammer—sudden and vicious, splitting his skull from the inside out.

His vision blurred, the crimson wards bleeding into streaks of light that burned his retinas.

Kane’s knees buckled.

Cyrus moved, crimson energy already flooding from his palm as he reached for Kane’s temple.

The dragon magic pushed into Kane’s mind, trying to soothe whatever was causing the pain. But this time the relief didn’t come.

Kane’s legs gave out completely.

Cyrus caught him before he hit the ground, one arm securing Kane’s waist while the other cradled his head.

"Kane." Cyrus’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with worry. "Stay with me."

Kane tried to answer, but his tongue felt thick and useless. The chamber spun in nauseating circles, silver and crimson bleeding together until he couldn’t tell up from down.

His tails went limp, dragging against the volcanic stone.

Cyrus muttered something in Ancient Draconic—a curse or prayer, Kane couldn’t tell—before adjusting his grip.

In one fluid motion, Cyrus threw Kane over his shoulder.

"We’re leaving," Cyrus announced to the empty alcove, wings already spreading despite their cramped quarters.

Kane’s consciousness flickered; the last thing he registered before darkness claimed him was Cyrus’s hand pressed firmly against his lower back, keeping him secure.

Cyrus pivoted toward the passage, Kane’s unconscious weight secure over his shoulder.

His wings scraped against the narrow walls as he moved, volcanic dust raining from the disturbance.

Then the voice came.

Low. Ancient. Resonant with power that made the very stone tremble.

"It has been... too long..."

The words rolled from beyond the obsidian door, each syllable carrying weight that pressed against Cyrus’s chest.

The crimson wards pulsed brighter, responding to the voice with agitated flares.

Cyrus froze mid-step.

His grip on Kane tightened instinctively, protective even as his entire body went rigid.

"How much longer will you keep me imprisoned in this hell?" The voice continued, tinged with something between accusation and plea.

"Centuries have passed. The realms have fallen. Yet still you bind me here in darkness."

The temperature spiked—not from the lava flows, but from raw draconic fury bleeding through the wards.

"When, Cyrus Veyr Drakhal, will you grant me freedom? Or death?"

Cyrus’s jaw clenched, crimson eyes blazing as he stared at the sealed door.

"Never," he whispered.

Then he turned and fled into the darkness, carrying Kane away from whatever—whoever—lay imprisoned behind those ancient wards.

Cyrus’s wings beat hard, navigating through twisting passages Kane had never seen. Lava veins pulsed in the walls, casting crimson shadows across his grim expression.

He emerged from a fissure at the volcano’s base, moonlight washing over them both.

The jungle stretched below, alive with night sounds that felt too normal after what just happened.

Cyrus landed on a moss-covered outcrop, adjusting Kane’s unconscious weight against his chest.

Should’ve picked literally anywhere else.

A beach resort. Paris. That godforsaken amusement park Kane loved.

But no—he’d brought Kane to the one place still holding his darkest secret.

Because some self-destructive part of him wanted Kane to find it. Wanted someone to finally know the truth.

Kane stirred against his shoulder, mumbling something incomprehensible.

"Too curious for your own good," Cyrus muttered, crimson eyes tracking the sealed cave entrance above.