The manor lay under a velvet hush that night. Each window shuttered, each candle snuffed out. The halls that had been filled with laughter and light over lunch now stood silent, holding only the soft rhythm of slumber.
Riella lay awake, restless, the weight of the day still pressing against her chest. She turned on her side, watching the thin slice of moonlight spill across the floorboards. It should have been peaceful. Yet something in the air felt—off.
A creak. Too deliberate to be the house settling.
Her breath caught. She sat up, straining to listen.
Footsteps. Soft. Careful. Coming from below.
Her heart began to pound, not from fear alone, but from the certainty that whoever moved at this hour was not meant to be here.
She rose, feet bare on the floor, her nightdress whispering around her legs. She stepped into the hall, shadows clinging to her like a second skin. And then—
The first flicker of flame.
A sharp scent hit her nose: smoke.
Her pulse leapt. She raced toward the stairwell just as a shout rang out. Chloe's voice—broken, panicked.
The fire spread too quickly, curling up the wooden beams like it had been waiting. Within seconds, thick, black smoke rolled through the corridors.
"Amelia!" Riella's voice cracked as she stumbled toward her friend's room. She shoved the door open and found Amelia collapsed near the window, a handkerchief pressed weakly to her mouth, her face pale.
"Amelia, stay with me," Riella whispered, pulling her up, coughing as the smoke clawed at her lungs.
Another cry rang out—Chloe's.
Riella dragged Amelia out into the hallway, where the glow of the fire painted the walls in furious orange. She saw Chloe at the end of the corridor, clutching her arm, her sleeve charred and smoking.
"Chloe!"
"I'm fine," Chloe gasped, though the burn along her forearm told a harsher truth. "The girls—get them out!"
"I'm not leaving you!" Riella shouted back.
She pulled Amelia with one hand, reached Chloe with the other, and tried to steer them toward the servants' passage. But through the haze, her eyes caught a movement—dark, deliberate.
A figure in black. Face covered. Watching.
She froze.
The intruder's head tilted, as if he had been waiting for her to notice. The flames painted him in shifting light, his shadow flickering like something not of this world.
And then—he spoke.
His voice was low, but it cut through the crackle of burning wood like steel.
"Calista… the daughter of the sun."
The name struck her like a blow. Her breath stilled, her body cold despite the heat around her.
Calista.
No one here knew that name. No one.
Before she could speak, before she could move, the figure turned and vanished into the fire, swift and silent.
"Riella!" Chloe's voice yanked her back.
Smoke choked her throat. Amelia was slipping again, limp in her arms. Chloe stumbled, clutching her scorched arm.
There was no time to chase shadows. No time for questions.
She pulled them both with all the strength she had left, into the stairwell, through the crackling walls of fire, each step a battle against the searing heat.
And all the while, the name burned louder in her mind than the flames around her.
Calista. Daughter of the sun.
Who had spoken it?
And how much longer could she hide from what it meant?
The fire had finally been beaten back. Hours felt like minutes in the chaos, and by the time the last ember was smothered, the once-proud manor groaned like a wounded beast. Smoke still curled from the scorched beams, the air heavy with soot and ash.
Riella sat on the cold grass outside, her gown torn and streaked black, her lungs burning from the smoke. Amelia lay beside her, pale but breathing, her chest rising and falling steadily at last. Chloe, though conscious, winced as a servant wrapped bandages around her burned arm.
The image of the man in black would not leave Riella's mind. His eyes—she hadn't seen them, but she had felt them, cold and piercing through the smoke. His words replayed again and again, hammering against her skull.
"Calista… the daughter of the sun."
She shivered. That name was not meant for others' ears. Not here. Not now.
But she said nothing. Not to Chloe, not to Amelia. Not yet.
"Who would do this?" Chloe muttered, her voice thick with pain and anger. "Why burn my house? Why now?"
Riella's lips parted, but no words came. She wanted to speak, to say she had seen someone, but the weight of the name he carried in his mouth—her name—pressed too heavy on her tongue. She only shook her head, eyes cast down.
Amelia stirred faintly, whispering, "Riella…" before slipping back into uneasy sleep.
Riella brushed a strand of soot-darkened hair from her friend's face, swallowing the lump in her throat. She needed to be strong—for them both. But inside, terror and confusion warred with each other. Whoever the masked man was, he hadn't come for Chloe. He hadn't come for Amelia. He had come for her.
And he knew.
---
Far away, in the stillness of his estate, Dimitri stood in his study when the messenger arrived—breathless, covered in soot, and trembling.
"My lord—the manor… Lady Chloe's manor. It burned in the night."
Dimitri stilled. For a moment, he didn't breathe.
"Casualties?" His voice was flat, but his hand had curled into a fist behind his back.
The soldier hesitated. "No deaths. Lady Chloe suffered injury. Her companions—Lady Riella and the other girl—they survived. By her hand, it seems. She pulled them both from the flames."
Relief hit him sharp, unbidden, almost painful in its intensity. She was alive.
But that relief was short-lived.
"Cause of the fire?" Dimitri demanded.
The soldier shifted uneasily. "Unclear, General. But… witnesses say a figure was seen fleeing into the woods. Dressed in black."
The air in the room tightened. Dimitri turned away from the man, his jaw clenched. A figure in black. No accident then.
And if Riella had been there—if Riella had been the one seen…
A dark certainty pressed at the edge of his mind.
It has begun.
He dismissed the messenger and stood in silence, the flames of the fireplace flickering before him. His thoughts tangled between duty and something far more dangerous. He had promised her mother to protect her, to keep her hidden, safe. But the shadows had found her anyway.
"Calista," he whispered under his breath, the forbidden name heavy in the quiet room.
He closed his eyes. He could not afford to want her. He could not afford to lose her.
But both were already happening.