The Veritas Heir

5. HUNTERS IN THE DARK

The shot had missed, but barely. A whisper more to the left, and the bullet would have ended everything.

Zane Veil stood behind the broken balcony rail, his chest rising and falling in sharp breaths. 

The stone where the sniper’s bullet hit was cracked and still smoking. Tiny pieces of dust floated in the air.

Around him, chaos. Guards ran in every direction. Red lights blinked in the dark, scanning rooftops, trees, and shadows.

Sirens howled somewhere deep in the manor grounds, but Zane didn’t move. Not yet. He stared out into the dark, beyond the lights. He wasn’t scared. He was angry.

…

Sylra stormed out onto the balcony, gun raised. “You alright?” she asked, eyes scanning the rooftops.

Zane nodded slowly, though his hands were still shaking. “Where did it come from?”

Sylra turned, shouting orders. “East tower! Find the shooter! Lock the perimeter!”

Zane’s fingers closed around something small on the stone. A piece of glass. Dark. Tinted. Smooth on one side, jagged on the other.

He lifted it and showed her. “Sniper lens,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Custom. Whoever fired this doesn’t miss often.”

Zane tucked the glass into his pocket. “Then I want to meet them.”

Sylra looked at him. “You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” he said. “And now I know what’s next.”

…

Zane didn’t sleep. Instead, he went to the surveillance room with Sylra and Commander Ash. The room was hidden below the library, behind a bookshelf that only opened with Sylra’s palm.

Inside, dozens of monitors glowed. Cameras fed live footage from every corner of the manor.

Ash stood with arms folded, watching the footage from just before the shot. “There,” he said. “East wall. Movement.”

He tapped the screen. A blurry shadow moved across the rooftop, then it disappeared. Sylra leaned in. “Zoom in.”

The figure wore black. Slender build. Moved like a ghost. Then one moment froze the room. The figure paused, turned, and looked directly at the camera.

Zane’s stomach tightened. Not just because of the stare, but because of what he saw around the shooter’s neck. A silver chain. With a matching pendant.

…

“No way,” Zane whispered. “That’s impossible.”

Ash frowned. “You know them?”

“I don’t.” Zane started, then stopped. He touched the pendant under his shirt. The one he had worn since he was a child. The one his mother gave him. The one that unlocked the box that changed his life.

And now someone else had the same one. Sylra was already pulling files. “The Protocol symbols are rare. Heirs are usually bloodline-exclusive.”

“You think they’re related?” Ash asked.

“Or made in the same forge,” she muttered. “Either way, this is not a coincidence.”

Zane stepped away from the screen. His mind spun. Whoever fired that shot wasn’t just trying to kill him. They were connected to him.

…

Later that morning, Sylra returned with a new file. She looked more tense than usual. “There’s something you need to see,” she said.

She led Zane to the west wing of the manor. It was older here. Dustier. The walls were cracked. Paint peeled in corners. It felt forgotten.

At the end of the hallway was a rusted door. She unlocked it and stepped inside. It was a hidden study.

Books lined the walls. Old maps. Blueprints. Letters stacked on desks, and at the far end, a locked drawer.

Sylra picked the lock in seconds. Inside was a photo. Zane pulled it out.

It showed two boys, twins. One with a small scar under his left eye. Both smiling, standing beside a woman who looked exactly like his mother, but younger.

His voice came out hollow. “That’s, that’s her.”

“Your mother,” Sylra said.

Zane pointed to the boy with the scar. “That’s me.”

Then he pointed to the second boy. The one wearing the same pendant. “Who’s that?” he asked.

Sylra looked him in the eye. “Your brother.”

…

Zane sat on the old couch in silence. His thoughts were loud. Messy. Sharp. All his life, he thought he was alone.

No father. No siblings. No family. But now? A twin? Where was he? Who raised him? Was he the one who fired the shot?

Sylra placed a small envelope on the table. “This was hidden with the photo.”

Zane opened it slowly. Inside was a short letter. “If the Protocol ever activates, the twins must never meet. Two flames in one world will burn everything down. Only one heir may rise.”

There was no name. Only an old symbol at the bottom, a circle broken in half. Half black. Half white. 

Zane stared at it, and a new fear grew in his chest. The shooter wasn't just trying to kill him. He was trying to take his place.

…

Later that night, Zane stood in the armory, staring at shelves of weapons. He wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t trained like Sylra or Ash.

But if someone wanted to erase him from the world, he needed to learn fast. Sylra stepped beside him, holding a gun. “No hesitation,” she said. “Not anymore.”

Zane nodded. He picked up a blade. Light. Sharp. Easy to carry.

“I don’t want to be like them,” he said. “The ones who built this empire with blood.”

Sylra looked at him. “Then don’t be,” she said. “But survive. First.”

…

That night, Zane received a strange message. It came through a locked Protocol channel on his phone. One only high-level heirs could access.

The sender had no name. Only the symbol. Half black. Half white. The message read, “Meet me. Midnight. The Silent Room. Come alone. Or the next shot won’t miss.”

Zane showed it to no one. Not even Sylra. Not even Ash. He waited until the lights in the manor were low, then slipped out into the cold hallway.

He moved like a shadow, just like the shooter had. Following instinct and fear.

…

The Silent Room was an old space in the east wing, unused for years. No cameras. No microphones. It had once been a place for planning wars. Now it was dark.

Zane stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Silence. Then, A figure stepped from the far corner.

Same build. Same face. Zane froze.xIt was like looking into a mirror, but one with darker eyes and sharper features.

The boy had the same voice. Same smile.xBut colder. “Hello, brother,” the stranger said.

Zane stared. “Why did you try to kill me?”

The boy shrugged. “Because only one of us gets to live in the light.”

…

They sat across from each other at a long stone table. No guards. No weapons. Only words.

Zane spoke first. “Why didn’t I know about you?”

The boy, who called himself Cain, smiled bitterly. “Because Mother split us. You got the streets. I got the cage.”

Zane frowned. “Cage?”

Cain nodded. “Raised underground. Trained by the streets. Fed lies about you. About her.”

Zane’s heart hurt. “She never told me.”

“She couldn’t,” Cain said. “They made her choose.”

Zane leaned forward. “So what now? You take the empire?”

Cain’s smile vanished. “I don’t want the empire,” he said. “I want to burn it.”

…

Cain stood. He placed something on the table. Another Protocol card. But this one was blood-red.

“The next trial is war,” Cain said. “You’ll have to choose. The crown or your soul.”

Zane stared at the card. Cain’s voice was soft now. “I didn’t miss that shot, brother. I chose to warn you.”

Zane stood too. “Why?”

Cain walked to the door. “Because the real enemy isn’t me.”

He paused before leaving. “They’re coming for both of us.” Then he was gone.

Leaving Zane in the dark room, holding the blood-red card, and realizing he was no longer playing a game. He was standing at the center of a war.