the last king of vale

ch-2 The Man Who Came for the Dead

Episode 2 — The Man Who Came for the Dead

WE FOUND YOU, YOUNG MASTER VALE.

Adrian stared at the message until the screen dimmed.

Around him, the underground parking garage had fallen silent again.

Three masked men lay motionless on the concrete. Rainwater dripped from the ramp near the entrance, carrying thin streams of blood toward the nearest drain.

Adrian slowly lowered his phone.

Young Master Vale.

The words should have sounded ridiculous.

They did not.

Not after the photograph in his hand.

Not after the dead assassin had called him Vale.

Not after his own body had fought like it had been waiting twenty-five years to remember how.

A sharp pain ran through his left shoulder.

Adrian looked down.

Blood had soaked through his shirt where a bullet had grazed him.

He barely remembered being hit.

He pressed two fingers against the wound, then looked at the dead men again.

Police.

He should call the police.

That was what an ordinary person would do.

But the moment the thought entered his mind, another thought followed.

Damian Black.

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

The assassins had come only hours after Damian ordered him out of Blackthorn Tower. That could not be a coincidence.

He crouched beside the nearest body and pulled away the dead man’s mask.

A stranger.

Mid-thirties. Military haircut. A thin scar crossed his left eyebrow.

Adrian searched the man’s pockets.

No wallet. No phone. No identification.

Only a black metal coin.

A crown had been carved into one side.

On the other were twelve empty circles surrounding a single letter.

V.

Adrian’s fingers went cold.

He had seen that symbol before.

In the photograph.

Behind the smiling couple holding a baby, a large iron gate stood beneath the same crown and twelve circles.

The baby had been him.

Before Adrian could examine the coin further, the lights above him flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then every light in the garage went out.

Darkness swallowed the entire level.

Adrian rose immediately.

His wounded shoulder screamed, but his body moved before fear could take control. He stepped behind a concrete pillar and listened.

An engine approached from the lower ramp.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Two white headlights appeared in the darkness.

A long black sedan entered the garage and stopped twenty feet from the bodies.

The headlights stayed on.

The rear door opened.

A tall man stepped out.

He wore a dark overcoat over a charcoal suit, untouched by the rain. Silver threaded through his hair at the temples, but there was nothing weak or elderly about him.

He carried no visible weapon.

He did not look at Adrian.

He looked at the dead.

Then he removed his leather gloves, one finger at a time.

“You may come out, Young Master,” he said.

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

Adrian remained behind the pillar.

“Who are you?”

The man turned toward the darkness.

“My name is Elias Kane.”

“That means nothing to me.”

Pain moved across the man’s face, but it vanished almost immediately.

“No,” Elias said. “I suppose it would not.”

Two more men exited the sedan. Both wore black suits and earpieces. Neither reached for a weapon.

Elias raised one hand.

They stopped beside the car.

“I did not come to harm you,” he said.

“That is what people usually say before trying.”

“You have your father’s suspicion.”

Adrian stepped out.

The words had struck harder than the bullet.

“What did you say?”

Elias finally looked directly at him.

For the first time, his composure cracked.

His eyes widened slightly, as if he were staring at a ghost.

“You have his eyes,” he whispered.

Adrian held up the metal coin.

“Did you send these men?”

Elias’s expression changed at once.

He walked toward the nearest corpse, knelt, and examined the man’s wrist.

A small black serpent had been tattooed beneath the glove.

Elias became still.

“Who are they?” Adrian demanded.

“Men who should not know you are alive.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only answer I can safely give you here.”

Adrian gave a humorless laugh.

“Three men tried to kill me, someone called me Young Master Vale, and now a stranger walks in talking about my father. I think we are past safe answers.”

Elias rose.

“You are bleeding.”

“I noticed.”

“You need a doctor.”

“I need the truth.”

A faint sound echoed through the garage.

Metal scraping against concrete.

Elias turned sharply.

One of the masked attackers was moving.

The man Adrian had kicked into the side of a car dragged himself toward a fallen pistol.

Adrian saw it a second too late.

The assassin seized the gun and aimed.

Elias did not move.

One of his guards did.

A suppressed shot cracked through the darkness.

The assassin’s body jerked and collapsed.

Adrian stared at the guard.

The guard lowered his weapon without emotion.

Elias looked down at the dead man.

“Search all three. Burn anything carrying the serpent mark.”

Adrian stepped forward.

“No one burns anything.”

The guards paused.

Elias studied him.

Even wounded, wearing a blood-soaked shirt and standing among corpses, Adrian’s voice carried an authority he did not understand.

For a moment, no one in the garage moved.

Then Elias gave the smallest nod.

“Do as he says.”

The guards obeyed.

Adrian noticed it.

So did Elias.

“You expected them to listen to you,” Adrian said.

“They were trained to obey the head of House Vale.”

“I am not the head of anything.”

Elias’s gaze dropped to the coin in Adrian’s hand.

“That coin was carried only by members of the Vale royal guard. Twelve circles for twelve thrones. One crown above them all.”

Adrian looked at the symbol again.

“Royal guard?”

“Not kings in the way history remembers kings,” Elias explained. “Your family ruled without borders, armies, or flags. Banks moved when House Vale commanded. Governments listened. Wars began or ended because someone in your bloodline made a decision behind a closed door.”

Adrian shook his head.

“You expect me to believe my family secretly ruled the world?”

“No. I expect you to believe someone murdered them because they came close.”

Silence returned.

Adrian’s grip tightened around the coin.

The photograph in his pocket suddenly felt heavier.

“My parents?”

Elias’s eyes darkened.

“Your father, Alexander Vale, was the last crowned master of the Twelve Thrones.”

“And my mother?”

“Isabella Vale was the only person he trusted more than himself.”

“Are they dead?”

Elias did not answer quickly enough.

Adrian stepped closer.

“Are they dead?”

“Yes.”

The single word hollowed the air between them.

Adrian had lived most of his life believing his parents had abandoned him. He had spent years pretending he did not care.

Now grief arrived for two faces he barely remembered.

“How?”

“The night House Vale fell.”

“Who killed them?”

Elias looked toward the garage entrance.

“We cannot discuss that here.”

Adrian grabbed his coat.

“Then stop wasting my time and tell me where.”

One of the guards took a step forward, but Elias raised a hand again.

He did not resist Adrian.

Instead, he looked almost proud.

“There is a place beneath this city,” he said. “A place your enemies have searched for twenty years and never found.”

Adrian released him.

“And you can take me there?”

“Yes.”

“Why should I trust you?”

Elias reached inside his coat.

Adrian’s body tensed.

But Elias withdrew an old silver pocket watch.

A crowned V had been engraved on its cover.

He opened it.

Inside was a faded photograph.

Alexander Vale stood beside Elias, both men much younger. Between them was a small boy wearing a white suit and an irritated expression.

Adrian.

On the back, in careful handwriting, were six words.

ELIAS—BRING MY SON HOME.

Adrian read the sentence twice.

His throat tightened.

“Your father gave me one final order,” Elias said. “I failed to carry it out for twenty years.”

“Why?”

“Because the night I found you, someone had already erased you.”

Adrian looked up.

“Erased me?”

“Your name. Your records. Your bloodline. Even your face was altered in every surviving archive. Adrian Vale disappeared, and Adrian Cole appeared in his place.”

Adrian felt the ground shift beneath him.

Cole.

The name he had carried all his life.

A name that suddenly sounded borrowed.

“You knew where I was?”

“Not until tonight.”

“Then who sent the message?”

Elias’s expression hardened.

“I did not.”

A vibration came from Adrian’s phone.

Another message appeared from the unknown number.

DO NOT TRUST ELIAS KANE.

Adrian slowly raised his eyes.

Elias had seen the screen.

Before either man could speak, every car alarm in the garage erupted at once.

The sound exploded through the darkness.

One of the guards touched his earpiece.

“Sir, we have movement on all ramps.”

“How many?” Elias asked.

The guard’s face tightened.

“At least twenty.”

Elias looked at Adrian.

For the first time, the calm man appeared afraid.

“Your enemies did not come to confirm your identity,” he said.

A red laser dot appeared on Adrian’s chest.

Elias drew a pistol and shoved him behind the pillar as the first bullet shattered the windshield of the black sedan.

“They came to finish what they started twenty years ago.”