Malin sat absentmindedly in his room, the thought of dinner long forgotten, along with his appetite. Now that he was alone, the grief he had kept buried all day surfaced like a tide refusing to be held back. He no longer had to mask the pain behind polite nods and forced smiles.
His thoughts turned inward, spiraling into the shadows of his past. Every memory seemed sharper tonight—his childhood, the hardships, the endless hunger, the loneliness. And then, his parents. The grief of their deaths was a raw wound still bleeding, but what truly broke him was their betrayal. They were the only family he'd ever known, even if they hadn't been the kindest. Even if they were strict, cold, or distant, he had still loved them. Trusted them. And they tried to kill him.
A tear slipped down Malin's cheek. He quickly wiped it away, as though even the room itself shouldn't see him cry. He sighed, a soft, broken sound.
But then, uninvited and persistent, another face appeared in his thoughts—Lord Rhaegal.
Malin had encountered few vampires in his life. The worlds of humans and vampires were strictly divided by hierarchy, and his town—one of the poorest among the human settlements—was rarely visited by elite vampires. None who passed through had ever matched the commanding presence, or unsettling allure, of Lord Rhaegal.
He recalled the flicker of fury on the lord's face when he had asked about his quarters. It wasn't just annoyance, it was something else, something guarded and volatile. Malin couldn't help but wonder: had he overstepped a boundary? Or was there something hidden behind that closed-off expression?
Sleep refused to come. Hours passed with Malin tossing beneath the covers, restless. Eventually, he gave up. Maybe a walk would help—or better yet, a quiet exploration. He might as well get familiar with the mansion if he was going to be stuck in it.
Quiet as a shadow, Malin slipped out of bed and tiptoed out into the hallway.
He moved carefully through the passageway, passing the guest quarters they had cleaned earlier. Curiosity tugged at him, leading him to poke around until he reached the left wing—directly across from Lord Rhaegal's quarters.
Malin climbed the staircase with care, avoiding the creaking steps. When he reached the entrance of the wing, he paused. The door was tightly shut, coated in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, long forgotten. He tried the handle—it didn't budge.
Then suddenly, he felt it.
A presence.
He turned sharply—and gasped.
Two glowing red eyes pierced through the dark.
Malin shrieked, stumbling back until his spine hit the dusty door.
"What are you doing here?" came a sharp, clearly irritated voice.
Malin's heart slowed when he recognized it. "Nothing! I—I just missed my way," he stammered.
Alfred stepped forward from the shadows, arms crossed. "This area is off limits," he said coldly. "If you value your life, don't make the mistake of wandering here again."
Malin nodded quickly, but couldn't resist glancing once more at the sealed door. "What's in there?"
"Leave," Alfred snapped, his voice like steel. The sheer force of it had Malin stumbling down the stairs in retreat. Alfred followed closely, ensuring he didn't linger.
As Malin reached his doorway, Alfred called out again. "Wait."
Malin froze and turned around. "Yes, sir. Alfred."
"Movement after midnight is prohibited in this mansion. For your own safety, stay in your room," the butler said gravely.
Malin wanted to ask why—but something in Alfred's expression made him think better of it. He nodded, slipped back inside, and locked the door behind him.
Once he was sure Malin was gone, Alfred ascended to the balcony overlooking the field.
"I've sent him back, my lord," he said, bowing.
Lord Rhaegal stood at the edge, a goblet of fresh blood in hand, his figure cloaked in shadows that seemed to welcome him like kin. His presence blended into the night like camouflage, golden eyes fixed on the dark horizon.
Alfred stood at his side. "Forgive me, my lord, but… there is something I do not understand."
Rhaegal turned to him. "Speak."
"Why do you insist on keeping the boy?" Alfred asked. "He is… unpredictable. I fear he will bring nothing but trouble."
Rhaegal's lips curved into a faint smile, his expression unreadable. "Since when have I feared trouble, Alfred?"
The butler dipped his head. "Forgive me, my lord."
Rhaegal shrugged. "You may be right. But there is more to him than meets the eye."
The wind swept across the balcony, tousling his hair as his golden eyes glowed faintly—like flames in the dark.
"His origin is unknown. I believe he holds the key to a long-buried mystery," Rhaegal said quietly. "Do not lose sight of him. Watch him closely."
"Understood," Alfred said with a bow.
"You may leave," Rhaegal added, his gaze drifting back to the fields below.
Alfred hesitated for a breath before departing, his face creased with concern. He feared Malin's presence would bring chaos to his master's life—but there was nothing he could do to change Rhaegal's mind.
Despite falling asleep late, Malin was up early. He stepped out of his room, determined to find Philip and begin his chores.
As he made his way to the servants' quarters, hushed voices reached his ears. He paused, curiosity piqued.
"Is he really a servant?" whispered one.
"Yes, apparently," another responded.
"Then why does he get a whole room upstairs while we're crammed down here?"
"That's because the lord favors him."
"He even stopped him from getting punished," a third added.
"I'm telling you, something's not right with that one."
Malin sighed. He wouldn't have minded if they were just gossiping about him—but dragging Lord Rhaegal's name into it? That, he couldn't let slide.
He stepped forward, ready to speak, but Philip beat him to it.
"Are you, by any chance, slandering the lord's name?" Philip asked with a brow raised, arms folded.
The maids jumped in unison. One quickly stammered, "No! We weren't talking about anyone—you must've misheard."
"Yeah," the others chimed in, nodding frantically. "Nothing at all."
Philip narrowed his eyes. "Alright. Then I'll let Sir Alfred decide who's lying. I'll go report this immediately."
"No, no! Please!" one of them cried, grabbing his sleeve. "We're sorry—it won't happen again."
"You'd better hope not," Philip huffed. "You're supposed to be working, not loitering and gossiping."
The maids scurried off like startled mice. When they spotted Malin standing nearby, they nearly tripped over themselves in their haste to get away.
Malin walked up to Philip with a beaming smile. "Morning, Philip! I was just about to come find you."
Philip rolled his eyes. "Lucky me."
Malin grinned even wider. "You really are."
Philip muttered something under his breath and stalked off. Malin, completely unbothered, followed cheerfully behind him.
"So, what are we doing today? Cleaning cursed relics? Scrubbing haunted mirrors? Or maybe—feeding the vampire bats?"
Philip didn't answer, but Malin could've sworn he heard him suppress a laugh.