Page 122 of Bound to the Dreadlord

"I didn't come back to beg," I say, stepping forward. Daring them to move.

"No?" Maelrik smirks. "Then why are you here, traitor?"

"To kill our father."

The words cut through the chamber like steel.

The room goes still.

For a beat, none of them move. None of them breathe.

Xalith moves first and his fist slams into my jaw. The force of it sends me stumbling back, but I don’t fall.

I expected this.

I twist, grab him by the throat, and slam him into the war table. He roars. I snarl. We are not brothers right now. We are monsters fighting for dominance.

The next second, Vaedros lunges. He is quick, but I am quicker. My elbow catches him in the ribs, and he chokes on a curse.

Drathis does nothing. He watches. Calculating. Judging.

Maelrik laughs, staying at the edges. "Now this is entertaining."

The fight is brutal. Bones crack. Blood spills. The table is overturned, maps scattering like useless memories.

We fight because it is the only way we know how to speak.

We fight because it is the only way we understand being brothers under my father’s cruel rule. The tyranny.

By the end, we are on the floor, panting, bloodied, bruised. But not dead.

That is how I know—they will listen.

"We cannot kill him," Drathis finally says, breaking the silence. "You know that."

I wipe blood from my mouth. "No. But we can seal him."

A slow shift. A thought none of them have dared to say out loud.

"That would require all of us," Vaedros mutters.

"And a sacrifice," Xalith grinds out.

They all look at me.

I nod. "One of us dies."

The room is so quiet, I can hear my own heartbeat.

We all understand what this means. Hazeran cannot be killed, but he can be imprisoned. A blood-binding ritual is the only way. And one life must be given to fuel the magic.

None of them speak.

All of them are thinking the same thing.

Who will it be?

A sound interrupts my thoughts.

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