The Veritas Heir

8. THE GAME BENEATH THE GAME

Night covered the city like a heavy coat. Zane sat alone in the backseat of a plain black car. 

It moved quietly through winding roads, climbing toward the upper districts. His fingers tapped against the red card Cain had returned to him.

One week. That was all the Council gave him. Find Cain. Learn the truth. Or die with him.

But how do you find the truth when everyone is hiding something?

…

The car stopped before the dark stone steps of the Consortium’s oldest tower, Stonehall.

Two guards opened the doors. Sylra was waiting at the entrance. Her face was unreadable. “They’re expecting you,” she said.

Zane followed her inside. The halls were colder now. The air smelled of old paper and iron. Every step felt like walking into a trap. “Why here?” he asked.

“Because this is where it all began,” she answered. “The first Protocol. The first betrayal.”

They entered a long chamber. It wasn’t the Council’s usual meeting room. This one was smaller, narrower, with only six chairs.

Zane frowned. “Where are the others?”

Sylra shut the door behind them. “They don’t need to be here,” said a deep voice.

Harlan Graves stepped forward from the shadows. He wore no robe. Just a dark suit. Neat and sharp, with a fake smile. “Only the Executors need to hear your answer.”

Zane turned slowly. “Answer to what?”

Sylra handed him a document. Sealed in red wax. “A contract,” she said. “One that makes you the Executor of the Protocol.”

Zane opened it. The words were clear. Powerful. Dangerous. With this contract, he could override Council votes. Control Consortium funds. Even dissolve certain factions.

It was the sword they promised him. But it came with a leash. “Why give me this now?” Zane asked.

Harlan stepped closer. “Because we want Cain alive. And only you can get close.”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to capture him?”

“Not just capture,” Sylra said. “We want you to bring him in alive. Before the others move first.”

Zane didn’t speak. He just folded the contract and put it into his jacket. “I’ll do what I have to,” he said.

Harlan smiled again. “That’s what I like about you, Zane. You learn fast.”

But Zane didn’t smile because something about this felt wrong. Very wrong.

…

Later that night, Zane walked into the old records room beneath the manor. Dust floated in the air. Shelves stretched for miles.

He searched until he found what he was looking for. A file marked “Protocol Zero.”

Inside were photos. Documents. Blood-stained letters. One name kept appearing, Ashera Veil. His mother.

And another name, almost completely blacked out. Only the first letter remained. “D.”

Suddenly, the lights flickered. Footsteps. Zane turned just as a figure lunged at him from the dark.

He grabbed a book and threw it. The figure ducked, but Zane tackled them into the shelves.

They crashed to the floor. The hood fell. It was Sylra. Her lip bled. Her eyes glowed with panic. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

Zane rolled off her and stood. “I could ask you the same.”

She wiped her mouth. “I was told you’d try to steal the Zero file.”

Zane held it tighter. “Then you were lied to. Because this isn’t stealing. This is surviving.”

Sylra stood up slowly. “That file is cursed. Everyone who reads it dies.”

“Then I guess I’m next,” Zane said, turning his back on her. He didn’t see the tear fall from her eye.

…

At midnight, Zane stood on the balcony overlooking the lower city. Lights twinkled far away like dying stars. His phone buzzed. A private number. He answered. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was broken, shaky. “Zane, it’s me. Elen.”

His heart stopped. Elen. The girl he once loved. The one who disappeared when everything began. “Where are you?” he asked.

“They’re watching me. Listening. I don’t have much time,” she whispered. “I know things. About Cain. About your mother.”

The line cut. Static. Then a robotic voice: “One more step, and she’s next.”

Zane stared at the phone, cold sweat running down his neck. They had her, and they knew he’d try to find her.

…

The next morning, a drone landed outside Zane’s window. It carried a small cube. He opened it carefully.

Inside was a note, burned at the edges. “They lied to you. Again. You’re not their heir. You’re their weapon. Come alone to the ruins beneath the Clockspire.”

“Cain?” Zane read the note twice, then he burned it.

…

The city’s ancient tower, Clockspire, hadn’t chimed in decades. Its base was surrounded by ruins, remnants of an old civilization before the Consortium.

Zane walked through cracked stone arches, each step louder than it should’ve been.

He reached a metal door. It creaked open. Cain stood inside. But he wasn’t alone. Elen was there. Bound. Bruised. Alive.

Zane’s heart twisted. “You took her?” he shouted.

Cain looked almost bored. “No. I saved her. From them. From Graves. From your Council.”

Zane stepped forward. “Why bring her here?”

“Because she knows everything. And I want you to hear it too.”

He nodded to Elen. She looked up, tears in her eyes. “Zane, they used your mother to create the first Protocol.”

Zane froze. Cain continued. “She wasn’t just a mother. She was the architect, and they killed her when she tried to destroy it.”

Zane stepped back. “No!”

Elen choked, “It’s true. They made her choose which son to keep. She gave you freedom, and they gave Cain the fire.”

Cain looked at him. “We are not enemies. We are what they fear most.”

Zane turned to Elen. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“They would’ve killed me,” she whispered.

Cain stepped closer. “So now you know. One path burns. One path kneels. Which do you choose, brother?”

Zane looked at him. At Elen. At the ruins. At the city beyond. He pulled out both red cards.

One for him. One for Cain, and then, he dropped them both. “They don’t get to decide anymore,” he said. “Neither do you.”

Cain’s eyes narrowed. “Then what now?”

Zane took Elen’s hand. “Now we write our own rules.”