The wind entered the garden softly but something was off.It wasn't the usual breeze that carried the scent of damp earth and blooming petals.
This one was colder… drier. A silence followed, as if the garden itself held its breath.
The gardener, kneeling beside the roses, paused.
He reached out to touch a blossom, his fingers brushing the edges."This one feels strange," he murmured. "The roses… they've lost their shine."
Some petals had curled, their edges blackened as if touched by invisible fire.
He had been watering them moments ago, coaxing their hidden rainbow to bloom.
Now, he froze.
The breeze returned brushing past his cheek like a whisper.
His eyes darkened.
Not with emotion literally.
For a fleeting second, his irises turned jet black.
Quick.
Almost unnoticeable.
---
Just then, a little girl ran up, laughing brightly.
"Brother! Brother!"
Her brown curls bounced in two ponytails, like flower vines dancing in the wind.
She held out her hands.
"Look! I found a purple butterfly!"
The gardener turned. His eyes were calm again green and kind.
He smiled, as if nothing had happened. "Adla, wait," he said warmly. "I'll come over there."
But before he could reach her, the butterfly slipped from her fingers and flew away.
"Brother… it flew away…" she whispered.
Her smile that had shone like sunlight faded.
The gardener knelt beside her.
"Don't worry," he said gently. "Another butterfly will come tomorrow."
She nodded. But her joy had dimmed.
---
That same butterfly or one just like it fluttered into the Master's chamber.
The room was quiet, lit only by a candle.
The butterfly landed near the flame.And then as if drawn by fate it let its wings touch the fire.
It didn't panic.
It didn't flutter.
Its wings burned.
A small fragment dropped to the table glowing purple in the candlelight.
Like a gem lost in the shadows.
At that moment, Irwyn entered quietly, a report in hand.
"Master," he said calmly, "the investigation team has already left."
The Master's eyes didn't move from the burned wing.
"What about the vampire leader?"
"He has named his brother," Irwyn replied."Lord Raven will take the throne."
---
Far away, the path to Darkskin Mountain was cloaked in mist.
The trees stretched high, blocking out the sky, letting no sunlight through.
Fog twisted between their roots like breathing ghosts.
The team moved in silence, horse struggling along the wet trail.
The commander raised a hand. "Stop. We can't go further with the horses. We continue on foot."
They dismounted. Weapons ready.Every step echoed, like the mountain resented their presence.
Then running footsteps behind them.
But when they turned, no one was there.
One soldier fell his arm gone, body limp.
The commander knelt, checking for a pulse.
"Commander?" another soldier asked.
The commander's eyes turned grim. "His pulse is gone. One of us is already dead."
He shut his eyes and sent a telepathic signal "Commander speaking."
Far away, Irwyn froze mid-step in the estate hallway.
"Irwyn speaking."
"Cause unknown. One man dead. Arm severed."
Then a scream.
"AHHH! Help!"
They turned. Another soldier collapsed, blood pouring from his side.
"They haven't even reached the mountain's heart," Irwyn whispered to himself.
"And already… two are gone."
"We proceed," the commander said aloud.
"With whoever's left."
---
The group pressed forward.
They followed strange footprints leading deeper into the fog.
A metallic scent filled the air sharp, suffocating.
"It's not just blood," someone muttered, covering his nose.
"It smells… old. Wrong."
Then they found more bodies.
Twisted. Torn. Scattered like dry leaves.
Some were burned. Some missing parts.
As they searched, something slithered near the commander's boot.
He glanced down. "I think I stepped on a snake…"
But it kept crawling.
A torch lit the shape.
"Commander! That's not a snake it's a vine!"
A black vine, covered in thorns, wrapped around the commander's leg… then his chest.
His eyes widened.
His gun lifted — against his will.
He fired.
A bullet struck a soldier in the head. The man dropped instantly.
"Commander's been taken!" one man shouted.
He charged slicing the vine and the commander's arm in a single blow.
The gun fell. But the vine didn't.
It tightened around the commander's throat. He gasped. "Commander! No! Please!"
The last soldier dropped his sword.
He ran.
Branches slashed his face. Leaves snapped underfoot.
He didn't look back.
He reached his horse, leapt onto it, and fled.
---
Back at the estate, the candle in the Master's chamber flickered.
The burnt butterfly wing still glowed faintly.
Master Ivaan sat motionless in his chair, wearing the same unreadable expression he'd held all day.
Outside, the moon had begun to sink, and dawn crept forward but had not yet taken the night.
Darkness lingered like an old guest who refused to leave.
A gentle knock echoed on the door.
Whoever stood outside didn't dare enter without permission. Not tonight.
After a long pause, the door creaked open.
Eirwyn stepped inside calm on the outside, though his heart was unquiet.
Something deep within had pulled him here, now, at this hour.
"The investigation team that was sent this morning... has returned," Eirwyn said slowly.
The Master glanced at him sharp, silent.
"Master," he continued, quieter now.
"Only one man came back."
He lowered his gaze. "But he's in no condition to speak.
The others… all dead."
The Master said nothing.
Only the candle moved its flame dancing as though whispering a language no one could understand.
No rage.
No fear.
Only stillness.
And yet… in that stillness, Master Ivaan's eyes shimmered like glass on the verge of breaking.
Golden light kissed his lashes.
His lips stayed too calm.
The calm… before a storm centuries in the making.