"Oh dear, would you look at the time. Truly, it does fly when you're having fun," Clara said, glancing at the timepiece hanging on the wall.
"Indeed… Alfred, please lead them to their chambers." Stark rose, offering his arm to his wife as the two left the room.
"Young masters, this way." Alfred bowed slightly, gesturing toward the doors. One by one, the boys stood—sluggish from the heavy meal and the wine that lingered in their systems.
"Kat's cooking is great and all," Charles muttered as he followed behind, "but today's meal was one of the best I've had in a while."
"Don't let your guard down," Chad warned, turning his stern gaze on Charles. "Something about this place feels… off."
"Yeah, whatever," Charles replied carelessly. The dismissive tone made Chad's jaw tighten, but he held his tongue.
"This way, sirs." Alfred opened the back door of the mansion, revealing a smaller house tucked discreetly behind it. "And here is the key." He presented them with an oversized bronze key, the metal heavy and oddly cold. "I hope you enjoy your stay." With that, Alfred gave a polite bow and departed.
Though less grand than the main hall, the lodge had its own quiet charm. Lavender scented the air, and brass chandeliers cast a gentle white glow against the rich brown beams near the roof. Three neatly made beds awaited them.
Remy wasted no time plunging face-first into the middle bed. The linens smelled sharply of lemon, fresh and oddly invigorating. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
"Ha… finally. I can breathe. There were so many close calls back there." Relief softened his voice.
Charles and Chad collapsed onto the other beds, the day's tension weighing them down.
"Yeah… it was really close at the gate," Chad admitted, sitting cross-legged atop his mattress. "But now that we're in the city, we should figure out a plan of action."
His eyes flicked to the walls, shadows playing strangely along the wood. He lowered his voice, almost to himself.
"There's something weird about this place… I just can't put my finger on it."
"I'll keep it brief, because I'm tired…" Chad said, casting a glance at both boys. "We leave tomorrow and head back to town. First stop will be city hall—we'll look for employment there. That'll give us cover to gather information.
"Then we'll hit the pubs. Rumors always circulate in places like that. If there's foul play going on, we'll hear of it. Within a week, we'll know enough—and then we leave."
He could already see the boys' concentration slipping, their weary eyes glazing over. With a sigh, Chad let the rest of his planning die on his lips. One by one, they drifted to sleep.
Darkness folded in around Remy. Then—
"Oh, herald of the shadows… How foolish must you be?" A voice boomed.
Remy stiffened. He knew that voice. Raven.
"You've been awfully quiet lately," Remy snapped, his words cutting through the void. "And the first thing out of your mouth is an insult?"
"And whose fault is that?" Raven's wings beat as he circled above, eyes glinting in the gloom. "I've been calling to you. But you would not listen—you were blind. And now you are deaf. Tell me then, Remy—are you not the fool?"
"Mmm… where am I, anyway?" Remy muttered, stretching out his hands. The air felt open, wide. He was standing in a field, and above him the heavens burned—stars blazing bright, twin moons suspended like silver lanterns, and even the sun, somehow, sharing the same sky.
"Ha…?" Raven's voice drifted lazily, wings cutting across the night. "Honestly, I don't know. You created this place. I should be the one asking you that question. But that's for another day. For now… since you're no longer blind to the world, why don't you open your eyes? That is—if you don't want to die." His voice faded like smoke in the wind.
"Hey—hey! What do you mean?" Remy shouted, but no reply came. The colors bled away, the sky collapsing into shadow. He was falling now—endlessly falling.
"AHHHHHH!" Remy screamed, his voice echoing through the abyss.
"Remy… Remy—wake up! You're having a nightmare!"
"Ha—ha… what?" Remy gasped, jolting awake. His vision cleared to find Chad and Charles hovering above him. His face was slick with sweat, his linens damp and clinging to his skin.
"Bloody hell, mate, what scared you so bad?" Charles asked. His tone was somber, his expression tight—you could tell, despite his usual demeanor, that he truly cared for Remy now.
"It's… it's nothing. I can't remember what happened clearly, but I'm okay." Remy waved them off, embarrassed.
"It's fine. Drink this," Chad said quietly, pouring water from the jug on the table. Remy accepted, drank deeply, then laid back down. Before long, sleep pulled him under again.
The night dragged on, but morning finally came. Sunlight crept through the cracks in the walls, spilling across the room—but no birds sang. Not a single one.
How odd, I thought there would be a lot of birds considering there is a field nearby, Remy thought to himself as he stretched his hands, still sitting on his bed.
The boys rose, dressed, and after exchanging farewells with Stark's family, set out toward town. This time, with some sense of the streets, they navigated the alleys swiftly. Soon the looming spire of the town hall came into view.
"You damned heretics—you took her! You took her!"
The voice erupted from a nearby alley, hoarse with rage and grief.
Crash! Bang!
Shattering glass spilled into the street.
"You… took… my only daughter! You took her!" The man's voice was ragged and broken, each word laced with agony.
"Let's go take a look," Remy muttered, breaking away from the group.
Down the alley he saw him—a man beaten and battered, his clothes torn and slick with blood. One eye bulged grotesquely, as though it might spill from its socket at any moment. His hair, a wild and tangled mass of orange, flared about his face like fire gone mad.
He staggered with each step, swaying like a puppet with its strings half-cut, smashing whatever his hands could reach as he went.