The moon hung high above Mermaid’s Cove, full and radiant, casting silver ribbons across quiet rooftops and cobbled streets.
Wisps of cloud drifted lazily across its glowing face, as if the night itself were exhaling in slow rhythm.
Inside the Adventurers’ Guild, the final lantern gave a flickering gasp—then went dark.
Silence settled like dust on old stone. Only the steady ticking of the wall clock remained, echoing faintly through shelves still cluttered with half-sorted records and forgotten parchment.
Outside the arched window, a lone bat clung to the wooden eave, shrouded in shadow.
Then—11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOwb20v5MIZ
its eyes snapped open.
Glassy. Intelligent.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLPrRHI14Eb
And unmistakably unnatural.
With one sudden motion, it unfurled its wings and vanished into the night, slicing the air with eerie precision.
This was no idle creature of dusk.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWp1ux2lSwB
It flew not like an animal, but like an agent. Sent, not stirred.
Below, the faint echo of Garron and Alric’s laughter spilled from a nearby tavern, unaware of what passed silently overhead—11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv5U3CnnZ16
unaware that something had been watching.
The bat glided above the coastline like a phantom, weaving between drifting clouds and threads of moonlight. Its flight was swift, deliberate, unerring.
It veered inland—past the slumbering rooftops of Mermaid’s Cove, over the whispering pines, and toward the hills beyond, where few dared to tread after nightfall.
There, nestled in the trees like a secret kept too long, stood the Elmhurst estate.
Not ruined. Not crumbling.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ25yDEHY0fm
But untouched.
Its windows were intact. Its walls, unblemished. Its wrought-iron gates remained closed, flanked by weathered stone lions.
The grass on its grounds had grown wild, yet the manor itself stood in perfect silence—elegant, forgotten, and waiting.
The bat circled once, then descended.
And upon the balcony overlooking the mist-laced grounds stood a man.
Tall. Still. Dressed in shadowed elegance.
He wore a tuxedo of deepest black, pristine despite the decay around him. A ruby pin gleamed at his collar, catching the moonlight like blood on glass.
His pale skin seemed carved from marble, his bearing regal—like a noble from another age.
The bat alighted gently on his gloved hand.
He didn’t move. He didn’t need to.
Crimson eyes, half-lidded, gleamed with quiet malice as he regarded his visitor.
A slow, knowing smile curled his lips.
“So… you’ve returned,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet and cold as the grave. “What news do you bring me, little one?”
The bat chittered, wings twitching in short bursts—a quiet flurry of intelligence.
The man’s smile widened, sharp and amused. “The guildmaster and the captain? Digging for secrets? Here, of all places?” He chuckled darkly. “How poetic.”
With a gentle stroke, he ran his finger down the bat’s back.
The creature shuddered—and then burst into smoke, vanishing like a whispered thought.
“This will be entertaining,” he said softly. “A chance to meet the father of the Saintess of the South.”
He turned from the balcony, the coattails of his tuxedo catching the wind like a dark, whispering cloak.
Behind him, the great doors of the Elmhurst estate creaked open—not from any hand, but as if the house itself obeyed his will.
He stepped inside, his boots soundless on marble, long cracked with age.
Portraits lined the walls—some faded, others slashed, a few turned with faces hidden. None met his gaze.
He passed a tall mirror.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpj3BzK9540
It reflected nothing.
“I wonder…” he mused aloud, his voice echoing through the hollow mansion. “Should I lend them a hand?”
The silence that followed was thick—11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡImwJmj7HBB
the kind of silence that remembered too much.
Dust floated through the air like the breath of the dead.
The vampire moved down the corridor, his steps soundless on the cracked marble, the hem of his coat gliding behind him like a trailing shadow.
He paused beneath the grand staircase, where a once-opulent chandelier hung like a skeletal crown, its crystals dulled by age.
Then, softly—he spoke a name:
“Alwen.”
A beat passed… then another.
And then—from the shadows beyond the hall—a figure emerged.
Tall, gaunt, and dressed in a faded tailcoat, the man moved with the deliberate grace of someone who had once served royalty… and never stopped.
His eyes were sunken, but sharp. Hair slicked back to reveal a pale, angular face.
He wore gloves so dark they seemed woven from ink, and in one hand, he carried a polished silver tray with a single glass resting on it—filled with crimson liquid that shimmered faintly under the moonlight leaking through the broken windows.
“You summoned, my lord,” Alwen said, bowing low with practiced elegance. His voice was dry—like parchment brushed with silk.
The vampire turned toward him, taking the glass with long, pale fingers. “I assume the wards remain intact?”
“Of course. No spirit enters unless you will it. No light without your leave.”
“Good,” the vampire murmured, sipping from the glass. His eyes closed for a moment—appreciating the taste. “I’ll be having guests soon.”
Alwen tilted his head. “Shall I prepare refreshments, or sharpen the stakes?”
The vampire chuckled softly. “Neither, old friend. Let them wander. Let them search. I want them to find records of Crimson Crow.”
Alwen bowed again. “As you wish, Lord Veylar.”
The vampire—Veylar—turned once more toward the vast hall beyond.
“It’s always amusing to see humans playing their little plots, don’t you think?” He lifted the glass, watching the blood catch the moonlight.
The blood shimmered—thick, dark, alive with warmth long since drained from its source.
He tilted the glass ever so slightly, watching the crimson within spiral—11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYf62axNuK3
a slow, elegant storm caught in a world of stillness.
A smile curved his lips, cold and knowing.
“We shall dance again, Saintess,” he murmured,11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyGw1iv9CWo
“as a new game begins…”
He raised the glass in a silent toast—then drank, swift and final.
Without looking back, he let the glass fall.
It struck the marble floor and shattered like ice, the sound knifing through the silence, echoing down the ancient halls like a whispered curse.
And by the time the last echo faded,11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ48UERsI7V1
he was already gone.
The night passed in silence.
Far from the echoing halls of the Elmhurst estate, the world turned, slow and steady—11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfXYQZS1RRi
and with its turning, light returned.
Morning spilled across the hills of Mermaid’s Cove, soft and golden, brushing rooftops in amber glow.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7cFZsWNkJV
Sea mist coiled low through the fields, catching sunlight like breath held in crystal.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ53IhkfrZgc
The breeze carried the scent of salt, pine, and the green hush of dew-drenched earth.
On the hillside, bathed in the tender hush of dawn, Mira’s workshop stood still beneath the waking sky.
Slivers of sunlight slipped through wooden shutters, dust motes rising like stardust in slow, swirling arcs.
The air inside was warm with the scent of tea and parchment.
A kettle sat cooling by the hearth.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmsRkqjdNtc
A blanket lay folded over the back of a chair.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7O2k1Lk6wW
And near the window, Lucien dozed upright on a wooden bench, arms crossed, brow still drawn as though even sleep could not smooth it.
Cassian lay nearby, less composed—sprawled with a hand loosely guarding his wounded ribs, lips parted in breath, a faint grimace etched across his rest.
Above them both, on a shelf crowded with dried herbs and old scrolls, a tiny crystal charm caught the light—and twitched, as if it too was waking.
Then—footsteps.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhfOJBAffag
Light, sure, and unmistakably hers.
Up the winding trail Mira came, hair brushed, a basket nestled at her side, humming softly to the morning.
The woven bundle she carried smelled of fresh bread, wild berries, and the sweetness of jam still warm from the pot.
At the top of the path, she paused.
A breeze stirred the hem of her skirt as she looked up at the slanted rooftop with a knowing smile.
“They probably haven’t moved an inch,” she murmured.
And with the gentlest knock, she rapped her knuckles against the door,11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHkhhLvCpP8
bringing morning with her...
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