The air in the basement was stale and damp, tasting faintly of rust and stone. Aeren's footsteps echoed softly as he moved deeper, his lantern casting a thin, wavering glow against the old walls. He had explored much of House Verdan in his silent hours, but tonight his path wound farther than ever before—through corridors that sloped downward, into the bones of the abandoned estate the servants whispered about as the Ghost Manor.
At the far end of a narrow passage, he found it: a massive iron door, ancient and heavy, its hinges mottled with age. He pressed his palm against the cold metal, feeling the faint
hum of a locking mechanism. A careful push, a muted groan of rusted hinges—and the door opened.
The sound struck him first.
"Please! Please, no—don't leave me here!"
"They'll come back… they'll come back and—"
"I have gold! Let me out, I'll give you everything!"
"Meat… fresh meat…" hissed a guttural, inhuman voice.
He stepped inside.
The corridor beyond was lined with cells, each framed in thick bars. Prisoners—gaunt, hollow-eyed—stared through the shadows as he passed. Some clutched at the bars, their fingers bone-thin and trembling. A few cells held not men, but creatures—twisted shapes of fur, scale, and claw—muttering in sounds too close to words.
"Child? What are you doing here…?" a woman whispered, her eyes darting nervously toward the dark end of the hall.
"Get me out—please, gods, get me out!"
"Hungry… so hungry…"
Aeren did not slow. Their voices washed over him like a tide, distant and meaningless.
He was searching for something.
At the farthest corner of the prison hall, where the torchlight barely reached, he found it—an empty cell, dust clinging to the corners. Large enough. Secure enough.
He worked quickly. One by one, he carried the bodies he had hidden elsewhere, depositing them inside the cell with meticulous care. The prisoners watched in silence now, their earlier cries swallowed by confusion and dread.
When the last body was laid to rest in the cold stone chamber, he stood for a moment, listening to the faint muttering that still echoed in the darkness.
"It's time to return," he murmured to himself.
Turning, he retraced his steps at a run. From the deep cells of the Ghost Manor to House Verdan's main mansion was a long journey through winding passages and the overgrown grounds between the estates. Even running at speed, it took him nearly half an hour to cross the distance.
The first light of dawn was bleeding into the high windows as he entered the mansion—slipping back into the servant corridors faster than his earlier descent, silent as if he had never left at all.
By the time Aeren returned to his quarters in the main mansion, the first streaks of dawn were beginning to show. He stripped away the dust and grime clinging to him and stepped into the small washing alcove. The cold water bit at his skin, but he didn't rush. He scrubbed carefully, working away every trace of the night's work. Nearly an hour passed before he was satisfied.
Pulling on a fresh uniform, he straightened the cuffs and fastened the collar. From this moment onward, he was back to his role—PB, the personal butler-in-training. His first duty of the morning was to attend to the youngest lady of the house.
At precisely six, he left his room, making his way through the servant halls. Along the way, he passed familiar faces—other servants, footmen, kitchen hands. He greeted each with a polite nod or quiet "Good morning." Some returned the gesture, others ignored him entirely.
A few minutes later, he reached the door to Lady Isolde's chambers. Aeren's eyes fell on a figure already waiting there—a maid, arms folded, posture crisp. Liora.
"You're one minute late," she said coolly, her eyes sharp as glass.
Aeren bowed slightly. "My apologies."
Liora's lips pressed into a thin line, irritation clear in her gaze. She didn't respond, simply turned back to the door and knocked firmly.
"Lady Isolde," she called.
No answer—only the quiet shuffle of movement beyond. Then a faint click as the door unlocked.
It swung open to reveal the youngest daughter of Lord Eldric, dressed not in silk gowns but in a fitted set of training clothes. Like Aeren and Liora, she was still a child, though the focused look in her eyes hinted at a will beyond her years.