Morning broke dull and gray over Dravenhart Manor — the kind of light that didn't warm, only revealed.
Mist clung to the gardens, curling over the old stones like a reluctant breath. The manor's silence felt heavier than usual, as though the night's chaos still lingered in its bones.
Zelene hadn't slept.
She sat in the library's back corner, a single candle burning beside her and Ray leaning against the doorway, watching her flip through aged tomes Miren had kept locked away in the western archives. The bindings were cracked, the ink smudged — the records of the Dravenhart line dating back hundreds of years.
Each page smelled of dust, iron, and secrets.
"Third ledger from the left," Ray said, tossing her another brittle book. "Found that near the restricted shelves."
Zelene caught it carefully, brushing off the soot.
The crest on the cover was unmistakable — Dravenhart sigil, surrounded by faint runic markings.
When she opened it, her breath caught.
It wasn't a family record. It was a doctrine.
"To bear the mark of Dravenhart is to bear the voice of the First Shadow. We are his vessel, his continuation. Our strength is his will made flesh."
Zelene frowned, scanning faster.
The text read like scripture — devotion twisted into purpose, a belief that the curse was not punishment, but divine selection.
Ray moved closer, frowning over her shoulder. "So it's kinda of a religion. The curse became a faith?"
"Not just a faith," Zelene murmured, turning the page. "A covenant. It says here that each generation has a keeper — a 'Watcher of the Mark.' Someone tasked to preserve the curse, ensure it never fades."
She looked up sharply.
"Miren."
Ray's expression darkened. "Then she's not just loyal. She's indoctrinated."
Zelene nodded slowly, the pieces locking together like falling stones. "Her family must have served as these 'Watchers.' They weren't servants — they were guardians of the curse itself. That's why she said it was holy."
She flipped another page, scanning the ink-stained lines.
There — written in trembling script, likely from a dying hand:
"When the blood grows weary, the Watcher shall awaken the Shadow's heart again. Even if the bearer resists."
Zelene froze. "Awaken the Shadow's heart…"
Ray's jaw clenched. "That means—she's trying to trigger it. Make it stronger."
Zelene closed the book, the thud echoing through the still room.
"She's pushing him toward the same end as his father."
Silence settled.
Outside, the bell tolled softly in the distance — the morning hour.
Ray glanced at her. "What will you do?"
Zelene didn't answer right away. She rose, setting the doctrine aside.
"Whatever it takes to end this. Even if Kael refuses to believe me."
The sound of boots on marble cut through her thoughts.
A soft knock echoed from the door.
"Lady Zelene," came the butler's formal tone. "His Grace requests your presence in his study. Immediately."
Her heart skipped once. "Thank you. Tell him I'll be there shortly."
Ray's brows furrowed. "You think he knows what is happening?"
"He knows something." She straightened her cloak, steadying her breath. "But I doubt he knows everything."
---
Kael's study was washed in morning light, the fire already burned low in the hearth. He stood behind his desk, posture rigid, gloves on — always gloves, now.
The storm-gray of his eyes gave nothing away.
"Your Grace," Zelene greeted, her tone calm but guarded.
He motioned for her to sit. "You look exhausted."
"I could say the same."
For a moment, neither spoke. The crackling of the dying fire filled the silence.
Then Kael exhaled quietly and slid a folded letter across the desk.
"Your father has been informed of your return. A carriage will leave at noon."
The words hit harder than expected. "...Return?"
"You've done more than enough," he said evenly. "The manor will handle the rest internally. It is no longer safe for you here."
Her fingers tightened around the letter. "Is that an order or a dismissal?"
"Both."
Her breath trembled with disbelief. "After everything I've done? After what happened last night?"
His eyes hardened, though guilt flickered beneath. "Last night proved that this curse is beyond your reach — or anyone's. You were almost killed, Zelene."
"I was closer to the truth than anyone in this house!" she shot back. "Miren is not protecting you—she's controlling the curse, feeding it!"
Kael's voice rose — just once, sharp and final: "Enough."
The silence after that felt like glass cracking.
He looked away, jaw clenched. "I cannot accuse without proof. And I cannot let you be destroyed trying to find it."
Zelene's chest tightened — part fury, part ache.
"This isn't about the curse anymore, Kael. It's about who you choose to believe."
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
The light from the window caught the edge of his gloves — faintly trembling hands, hidden behind discipline.
When she finally spoke again, her voice was softer.
"I won't leave until I see this through."
"Then you leave me no choice," he said quietly. "You will be escorted out by noon."
Her throat ached, but she stood anyway, the faintest tremor in her steps.
"Then I suppose I'll have until then."
When the door closed behind her, Kael's composure cracked — just for a second.
He pressed his palm to his temple, the whispers of the curse hissing louder than before.
And through the haze of pain, he thought only one thing:
If she stays, the curse will take her too.