Morning arrived like a lullaby.
Soft. Golden. Blissfully unaware.
The Evandelle manor woke beneath a curtain of light — sunlight spilling through high glass windows, dancing across white marble floors and silk drapes. The scent of honey bread drifted from the kitchens, mingling with the faint perfume of wisteria that always seemed to linger in the halls.
Servants hurried by, arms full of fresh linens, while laughter echoed faintly from the courtyard.
Elara's laughter.
Bright. Musical. Untouched by sorrow.
Zelene closed her eyes and breathed it in — the scent, the sound, the pulse of home. Her fingers trailed along the carved walls she'd once memorized as a child. Here was the scratch she made after a sword practice gone wrong. There, the small dent from Caelan's failed attempt at "refining his fencing stance."
Home.
It still remembered her.
And yet — somewhere in the quiet, something felt missing.
A pull.
A gravity.
Kael.
She didn't mean to think of him.
Didn't mean to remember how his voice wrapped around her name like a vow, or how his silences said more than most men's declarations.
But he lingered.
Like smoke. Like a thought that refused to die.
His face rose unbidden — sharp jaw, moonlit eyes, the calm intensity that unsettled her heartbeat. Every inch of him was the kind of beautiful that didn't fade when you blinked; it haunted you after. And worse, she'd grown used to that presence — his steady watchfulness, the quiet way he filled a room without ever demanding it.
And now, without him, everything felt too light.
Like her world had lost its balance.
Zelene shook her head sharply. "Enough," she muttered to herself. "You're home."
And for a while, she let herself believe that was enough.
Dinner at Evandelle
By dusk, the manor shimmered with warmth. Candles flickered against polished silver, laughter filled the dining hall, and for the first time in months, the Evandelle family felt whole again.
"Father," Zelene teased as she reached for the wine, "how many times have I told you? Less red meat, more vegetables."
Duke Alaric Evandelle — noble, broad-shouldered, the picture of dignified strength — lifted his brow. "My dear, if you wanted me miserable, you could've said so."
Caelan nearly choked on his drink. "He's hopeless, Zel."
Their mother, Seraphine, let out a silvery laugh that warmed the entire room. "He listens to no one, not even the council. What chance do we have?"
Elara giggled beside her, cheeks flushed. "Mother says he's incorrigible."
"That's because he is," Caelan replied.
"Watch your tongue, boy," Alaric warned, but the mirth in his tone betrayed him.
The laughter that followed was easy — genuine, unguarded.
For that fragile hour, there were no titles, no wars, no bloodlines. Only family.
Their voices overlapped — the clink of crystal, the echo of laughter.
Zelene smiled faintly, looking around the table — her father's proud grin, her mother's luminous eyes, Elara's innocence, Caelan's teasing smirk.
This was what peace felt like.
A rare, fragile thing — easily broken, yet worth every breath.
Seraphine's gaze lingered on her daughter, quiet, knowing.
A softness, almost sorrowful, flickered in her eyes — gone before Zelene could name it.
Nightfall
It was the kind of night that pretended to be kind.
Silent. Still. Almost too still.
Zelene tossed beneath her blankets, the silence pressing heavy against her chest. She'd never been one for superstition, but tonight, even the moonlight felt wrong — too pale, too thin, like the stars themselves were holding their breath.
Her thoughts betrayed her again.
Kael's voice, deep and measured, ghosted through her memory.
"I don't make promises I can't keep."
She sighed. "You're not here," she whispered into the empty air.
And somehow, that absence stung more than she wanted to admit.
Restlessness won.
She exhaled and pushed herself upright.Maybe she could speak to Father — tell him of her plan to return to Dravenhart next week, now that the capital seemed calmer.
She slipped out of bed, wrapped herself in a robe, and padded through the silent halls — the marble cold beneath her bare feet. The candles flickered as she passed, their light stretching long shadows that followed too closely.
Her parents' chamber door loomed at the end of the hall.
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "I'll tell him tonight," she whispered to herself.
About Dravenhart. About leaving next week.
Her hand touched the brass handle.
"Father?"
No answer.
"Mother?"
Only silence.
A prickle of unease crawled up her neck. She turned the handle and pushed.
The door creaked open — and the world shattered.
The scent hit first. Metallic. Sharp.
Blood.
Then came the sound — slow, steady drops against marble.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Moonlight spilled through the shattered window, pooling over the floor — revealing red.
So much red.
Her mother lay motionless, her nightgown a river of silk and blood. Her silver hair fanned around her like fallen light, her eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
Zelene's breath broke.
"...Mother?"
A movement — across the room.
Her father.
Alaric — the unbreakable, indomitable Duke — was on one knee, sword in hand, blood streaming from his arm. He swung weakly at the figure before him, his breath ragged.
The man turned.
Cloaked in black.
A porcelain mask reflecting her own horror back at her.
And those eyes — cold, bottomless, void of mercy.
"Father!"
Alaric's gaze snapped toward her. Even through the blood, his eyes burned bright — fierce and desperate.
"Zelene…" His voice trembled, breaking under the weight of a lifetime. "Run."
"F–Father, I can—"
"Run!"
The shout ripped through the silence like a blade.
Her heart cracked.
Her feet moved.
She stumbled back, vision blurring as tears stung her eyes. Behind her, the clash of steel screamed through the night — then a sound she would never forget.
A final, heavy thud.
Her scream tore from her throat as she fled.
The halls burned.
Smoke curled from the far wings of the manor, filling the air with ash and despair. The once-white marble glowed crimson beneath flickering torchlight.
"ZELENE!"
She spun — Caelan's voice — raw, panicked — cut through the chaos. He appeared from the corridor, a sword glinting in his hand, blood streaked across his sleeve.
"They've breached the gates!" he shouted. "Half of them turned against us. Thank goodness, you're safe."
"Elara!" Zelene gasped, gripping his arm. "Where's Elara?! We need to find Elara!"
"She might be in her room"
He tossed her a sword from the wall rack. "Here, take this."
She caught it clumsily, her hand trembling. "Where's Ray?"
"I don't know! I just saw him earlier today"A rumble shook the floor — an explosion from the east wing.
Zelene clenched the handle. I hope he is somewhere safe.
"Good. Don't die, Zel."
The faintest hint of his power pulsed in the air — a subtle tether calming her heartbeat, anchoring her in the middle of chaos.
They ran.
Through smoke and screams, through the broken remnants of everything they once called home.
Servants lay fallen. Tapestries burned. The air trembled with the sound of glass shattering and steel clashing.
Caelan's power — the Evandelle gift of emotion — pulsed faintly around them, steadying her heart, dulling her panic. But it couldn't touch the deeper pain clawing at her chest — grief, fury, disbelief.
Zelene's vision blurred from tears and smoke. She tightened her grip on the sword — not from strength, but from the desperate need to do something.
Her power hummed beneath her skin, wild and begging for release — the ancient gift that could decide the fate of others.
But her father's final words echoed louder.
"Zelene. Run."
So she did.
Through the burning halls of Evandelle, her world unraveling behind her, her heart splintering with every step —
and the stars above, for the first time in her life, refused to shine.