The morning sun poured through the tall windows of Valemont Hall, gilding the polished floors and illuminating the grand drawing room. Seraphina entered quietly, her mind still tangled with the unease that had settled in the house.
She froze when she saw Lord Daven already present, standing near the table where documents and sketches were spread out. He looked calm, composed, the very picture of propriety — though the faint crease of worry between his brows betrayed that he, too, felt the weight of the day.
"Good morning, Seraphina," he said politely, inclining his head. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"You're expected," she replied automatically, though her voice carried a hint of tension.
Lord Daven's eyes flicked toward the seat beside him. "Your father mentioned we should begin planning the engagement. Details, guests, timing… all of it."
Seraphina nodded, sitting gracefully across from him. "Of course."
He spread out parchment with lists of nobles, potential dates for the announcement, and sketches of invitations and venues. As he began explaining, Seraphina tried to focus, but her thoughts kept drifting to Selene.
She hadn't left her sister alone yet today, and the memory of Selene wandering out earlier, returning drenched and quiet, gnawed at her. Yet when she glanced toward the stairs, she saw Selene — sitting in the window alcove, silent, composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as if nothing had happened.
Lord Daven looked up, catching her distracted gaze. "Is something wrong?" he asked gently.
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "Just… worried about Selene. She's been restless lately."
He nodded, understanding more than he said. "Engagements are never easy. I know you care for her deeply."
Seraphina's throat tightened. "Of course." She forced herself to focus. "Let's begin, then."
They spent the next hour discussing guest lists, dates, and formalities. Lord Daven's manner was meticulous, considerate, and yet, Seraphina couldn't shake the unease that clung to her — the feeling that something was subtly, dangerously wrong with the house, with her sister, with everything that once felt safe.
At one point, she glanced toward Selene again. The way she sat there, perfectly composed yet strangely distant, made Seraphina shiver. She wanted to speak to her sister, to ask what had happened during her walk, but every time she opened her mouth, Selene's calm, steady gaze made the question die on her lips.
By the time the discussion ended, Lord Daven stood and offered a polite bow. "We will finalize these plans soon," he said. "Your sister will be pleased, I'm sure."
Seraphina nodded, though her heart tightened. "Yes. I… hope so."
He gave her a brief, reassuring smile, then left the manor, his departure leaving the room quieter than before.
Seraphina remained seated, staring at the empty doorway, and the still figure of her sister across the room. Something inside her whispered uneasily: this engagement may proceed, but nothing in this house would ever be the same again.
The manor slept beneath a heavy silence that night.
The moonlight spilled through the high windows, painting the marble floors with silver shadows. The servants' quarters were still, their faint snores swallowed by the vast corridors of Valemont Hall.
And yet, one door opened.
Selene stepped quietly into the hall, her gown trailing like smoke behind her. A hood concealed most of her face, but her eyes — those cold, lightless eyes — gleamed beneath the faint candle she carried.
She moved with purpose, her steps soft and assured, as though she knew exactly where to go.
Down the servants' stairway.
Through the wine cellar.
Past the crumbling arch that led into the underground passage long sealed to the household.
The candlelight flickered as she descended deeper. The air grew colder, heavier. The walls, slick with moss and age, seemed to close in around her. Somewhere ahead, faint murmurs began to echo — low, rhythmic, inhuman.
When she reached the old crypt chamber, she wasn't alone.
The man stood waiting, his back turned, dressed in a long black coat. His hair, silvered by age, caught the candlelight. In front of him, the sigils carved into the stone floor glowed faintly red — circles and runes twisting like living veins.
"You came," he said without turning.
Selene lowered her hood. "You doubted I would?"
He turned then, his eyes cold but filled with reverence. "The bond between you and the bloodline weakens still. The King grows softer with age — easy to sway, but not yet broken."
Selene's lips curved. "He will be," she said. "I'll see to that."
The man studied her. "The ritual tonight— it is not without cost. You will bleed again, and what you take from him will leave its mark upon you."
"I have borne worse," she murmured. "The pain means little when power awaits."
She stepped into the center of the sigil. The red glow pulsed faintly beneath her feet as she extended her hands. The man began to chant in the old tongue — the same language that had been forbidden since her death.
Selene's eyes fluttered closed. The candlelight wavered.
For a moment, the air trembled — then the ground shuddered beneath them.
Above, in his private chambers, the King stirred violently from his sleep, clutching his chest as a wave of unseen energy struck him. The mirrors in his room cracked. His breath came ragged, as if an invisible force pressed against his heart.
Below, Selene's lips parted in a small, satisfied smile. The blood on her wrist dripped into the glowing runes, and the chamber filled with a faint hum.
"It begins," she whispered. "He will bend to my will before the moon wanes. Valemont will be mine again."
The man bowed his head. "Then the crown will soon remember its rightful mistress."
Her eyes gleamed with cold fury. "No — it will remember its mistake."
The candle flickered once more — and went out.
Only the red glow of the runes remained, pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the earth.