The red salon was unlike any other room Aaron had seen in the Pierce estate.
The walls were painted deep crimson, and golden chandeliers dangled above like cages dripping light.
Heavy curtains sealed the windows, letting no moonlight in. Only the fire in the hearth gave warmth, its flames twisting shadows into monstrous shapes across the walls.
Kain stood silently near the door, his silver eyes gleaming faintly in the dark.
At the center of the room, Lord Pierce waited.
And across from him… a woman.
She wore a gown of midnight silk, its threads glimmering faintly with runes only visible when the fire cracked. Her hair was the color of obsidian, tied neatly with a silver clasp.
But her eyes—her eyes glowed faint violet, sharp and unblinking.
Aaron stopped in the doorway, uncertain.
Pierce didn't glance at him, only gestured. "Stand there. Watch. Listen."
Aaron obeyed.
---
The woman's voice was smooth, practiced, the kind that carried authority without effort.
"My lord, I come on behalf of the Royal Court of Gizana. A matter of urgent secrecy has arisen."
Pierce's amber eyes narrowed. "The Court rarely sends an emissary at night. What is it they fear so much they break their own rules?"
The emissary's gaze flickered briefly to Aaron—curious, calculating—before returning to Pierce.
"There are… disturbances. Across the capital, shadows have begun to stir. Citizens vanish. Entire households, gone without trace. And those who return…"
Her voice faltered. For the first time, Aaron saw a crack in her perfect composure.
"…they come back wrong. Whispering things that do not belong to our world."
Aaron felt a chill crawl down his spine. His fingers tightened on the fabric of his coat.
---
Pierce leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.
"And what does the Court expect from me?"
"The King himself demands your assistance," the emissary said firmly. "The noble families trust you, Lord Pierce. Your knowledge of the arcane exceeds even the royal scholars. If this plague of shadows continues, the throne may not stand."
For a long moment, silence filled the salon. Only the fire cracked.
Aaron's heartbeat echoed in his ears.
Finally, Pierce spoke.
"And why," his voice was low, dangerous, "should I give the Court anything? For years they shunned my research. Called it heresy. Called me a blight on the noble bloodlines. And now, when the darkness bites, they crawl back?"
The emissary didn't flinch. "Because you are the only one who can stop it."
---
Pierce's eyes burned brighter, and for a heartbeat Aaron swore the silver patterns on his robe shimmered like moving stars.
Then, suddenly, Pierce turned toward him.
"Aaron."
The sound of his name struck like thunder.
Aaron stiffened. "Y-yes, my lord?"
"Tell me," Pierce said, his amber gaze piercing straight into him, "do you believe shadows can walk? Do you believe the night itself can hunger?"
Aaron opened his mouth, but no words came. His dreams, the whispers, the eyes in the dark—they all pressed against his chest.
"…Yes," he whispered.
A faint smile touched Pierce's lips.
"Good. Then you are already prepared for what comes next."
---
The emissary's expression darkened. "What are you implying, Lord Pierce?"
Pierce rose, his height casting a long shadow across the crimson room.
"I will go to the capital," he said slowly. "But not alone. This boy comes with me."
Aaron's heart skipped. "Me?"
Pierce's tone was final. "Yes. The Court must learn: if they want my power, they must also accept my choice."
The fire crackled louder, as if in agreement.
And in that moment, Aaron realized—
his life as a servant had ended before it even began.
He had stepped into something far larger, far darker.