It was midnight when the great doors of the White ancestral castle groaned open. Hidden deep within an ancient forest and untouched for over a year, the once-silent halls now stirred again as their true heirs returned.
The moon hung low above the treetops, casting silver beams across the ivy-clad stone. The massive white doors creaked as they swung inward, unveiling the cold, dark corridors beyond.
Eira stepped over the threshold, beside her walked Emma Bloom, and just behind them, Elijah White, leaning heavily on his cane. The moment Eira entered the grand foyer, a wave of memories surged through her. Her chest tightened as she looked up at the vaulted ceiling, the twin staircases curling like arms around the entrance.
I missed this house, she thought, taking a deep breath. Even if it never truly felt like mine… it was still home.
This was where she had spent the early years of her life after waking from her coma. This castle, with its candle-lit halls, secret staircases, and the ever-watchful portraits, held within it the echo of her growing years. It felt colder now…and emptier.
Elijah raised his wand.
"Aperio Domus."
With a series of distant clicks and creaks, the sealed doors of the inner halls unlocked one by one. Lights sparked to life in their sconces, chasing away the gloom. The corridors, long-forgotten by time and dust, opened once again for the Whites.
As they stepped further in, a soft pop echoed through the air, and a small figure appeared in the hallway.
"Welcome home, Lord White. Young Miss," said Ludi, the ancient house-elf, bowing low.
The old elf's ears twitched as he turned to Elijah. "The study has been cleaned and prepared for you, my lord."
Then he turned to Eira with a respectful nod. "And the young miss's chambers have also been aired out and made ready."
"Thank you, Ludi," Eira said gently. "And… Emma's room?"
"Already arranged, young miss," the elf replied promptly.
Eira gave a small, grateful smile. "You've done well."
Ludi bowed again, then looked to Elijah, awaiting further instruction. Elijah, however, had turned his eyes to Eira.
"Go and rest," he said quietly. "You'll need your strength."
"Why?" she asked, studying him.
"Because next week," he replied, his voice steady, "under the light of the full moon, we begin the Ritual of Ascension. I will pass the lordship of the White family to you."
Eira froze. "What? Grandfather—why? Isn't it… too soon? You always said I'd inherit when I turned eighteen…"
A long silence stretched between them. Then Elijah let out a heavy, weary sigh.
"I know," he said. "But I can't wait any longer, Eira. I have to burden you with this responsibility now."
His voice was soft, barely above a whisper — and it terrified her.
"What are you saying?" Eira asked, her heart starting to pound. "What do you mean you can't wait?"
Elijah didn't speak. Instead, he slowly rolled up his sleeve.
Eira gasped.
His arm was no longer the familiar pale skin of an aging man. It had turned a deep, sickly red — veins bulging and glowing faintly beneath the surface like they were filled with molten fire. It looked almost… inhuman.
"It's spreading faster than we expected," Elijah said. "Much of my body already looks like this. The moment it reaches my heart—" He paused. "That will be the end."
"No—no, what is this? What happened to you?" Eira murmured . "There must be a cure! St. Mungo's—they can fix this, right? Please, Grandfather…"
He shook his head.
"It's an ancient curse, Eira. A forgotten one. Untraceable and irreversible. I've searched every library, spoken to every specialist. I even consulted Nicolas Flamel himself… and even he could not help me."
He paused again before continuing.
"Even if a cure once existed, it is long lost. I have been battling this curse for years. Quietly. Secretly. And now… I no longer have time."
Eira's lips trembled. Her hands balled into fists. "No… no, it's not fair," she whispered. "Why you? Why now?"
Elijah's eyes, filled with sorrow, softened as he looked at her. He reached out and gently placed a hand on her head, stroking her hair the way he used to when he first saw her when she was a toddler .
"You've made me proud," he murmured. "And happy. Happier than I've ever been. To know that someone… someone truly cared for me. You gave me that. That's why I held on this long. Just to see you grow."
Eira's eyes brimmed with tears. Her voice broke as she asked, "Why do you have to leave me too? Why does everyone I care about leave me?"
"I don't want to," Elijah whispered. "But I'm tired, Eira. So tired. I've carried this family's weight for too long. I've sacrificed too much. But my last duty — my final task — is to place the future of the White name in your hands."
Tears streamed silently down Eira's cheeks as Elijah straightened. "Emma," he said quietly, "take her to her room. She needs rest."
He turned and walked away, slowly, toward the corridor leading to his study. Eira stood there, unmoving, watching his retreating figure as it disappeared into the shadows.
Emma gently touched her arm. "Come, young miss."
Together, they walked up the grand staircase. Eira's room was exactly as she had left it — the soft grey wallpaper, the elegant canopied bed, the books on the shelf untouched. It was a frozen portrait of her childhood and her mother .
She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, her eyes distant.
"You know," she whispered, "it's the worst kind of sadness — knowing someone you care for is dying, and you can't do anything about it."
Emma sat beside her in silence.
"I don't understand," Eira continued. "Why is it always me? Why must I always lose the people I grow close to? First my mother, and now… him?"
Emma wrapped her arms around her. "It's alright," she said softly. "You can cry. You don't need to hold it all in."
And Eira did. She cried quietly, shaking with each breath as she clutched at her robes, letting the grief pour out. After a while, her sobs quieted, and she leaned back, her voice barely audible.
"I want to be alone."
Emma nodded, stood, and quietly left the room.
Eira lay back on the bed, her tear-filled eyes fixed on the ceiling. These halls held a tapestry of memories—some steeped in pain, others radiant with beauty. Her thoughts drifted to Elijah. Once a distant, cold patriarch, he had been merely a formal figure in her life, not family. Yet, over time, he transformed into something more: a guide, a guardian, a true father figure—unlike the cruel man from her past life, who had been her enemy, inflicting only pain upon her and her mother. In this life, Elijah showed her that not all men were the same. Some were Kind, protective, selfless, he reshaped her perspective on men entirely. But now, that man was dying, and she was powerless to save him.
She turned over and buried her face into the pillow, the silence of the ancient castle pressing in around her.
Time passed.
The door creaked open.
Emma stepped in silently, just to check on her. When she saw Eira had fallen asleep, curled into herself, still in her robes, she gave a small sigh of relief.
Without a word, she pulled the blankets up gently over her, lingered for a moment beside the bed, then quietly left.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
And the entire manor fell into silence once again.