Nael knew the dangers of listening to the Veilborn—their promises always came with strings attached—but even he couldn't deny the advantage their whispers provided. They had revealed a vital truth: the vessel of the Aetherial Flame was in his son's possession, and it would only take a moment of carelessness to snatch it away.

It hadn’t been easy getting the little runt away from Kaedryn. That insufferable thorn in his side was always watching, always protecting. But Nael was nothing if not patient. A well-placed distraction—a horde of hollowed sent toward the Blightlands—had been enough to draw Kaedryn’s attention, leaving the runt unguarded. Snatching them had been almost laughably simple after that. Getting them back to Eryndral, even easier.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the crying.

The sound grated against his nerves, piercing and relentless. No matter what he did, they wouldn’t stop. Every time he drew close, their sobs grew louder, sharp and jagged like broken glass grinding against his ears. His hunger gnawed at him, sharp and insistent, but their tears made his every attempt unbearable.

“Quit crying!” Nael’s voice rang out like a crack of thunder as he slammed his fist down on the table beside them, the force rattling the room. His shadow loomed over them, dark and oppressive, but still, the tears didn’t stop.

His patience, already stretched thin, began to snap. Why wouldn’t they shut up? They were his next meal—an inevitable sacrifice. He refused to be deterred by something as pitiful as their sobs. And yet, a part of him, buried deep under the hunger and the Veilborn’s influence, flickered uneasily. He crushed it down with a sneer, his teeth bared in frustration. He wouldn’t let something so small and weak sway him. Not now.