Dawn came quietly.
The storm had passed, leaving behind a cold, heavy silence that clung to the Draven manor like a funeral shroud.
It was fitting.
Today… Kael Draven would die.
Inside his chamber, Kael stood before a mirror, adjusting his collar with calm precision. There was no trace of panic on his face. No hesitation.
Only calculation.
Behind him, Lira knelt, her head lowered.
"My lord," she said softly, "the message has been sent."
Kael met her reflection in the mirror.
"And his response?"
A brief pause.
"…He seemed pleased."
Kael smiled faintly.
"Of course he is."
Why wouldn't he be?
A rival removed. Cleanly. Quietly.
Exactly as planned.
"Then we proceed," Kael said.
On the table beside him sat the wine.
The same poisoned wine.
Untouched.
Yet soon—
It would become his "cause of death."
"Bring the physician," Kael ordered.
Lira hesitated.
"…He may notice something."
Kael's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Then make sure he doesn't."
Minutes later, the room was no longer quiet.
Servants rushed in and out. Voices whispered. Panic spread like wildfire.
"My lord collapsed!"
"Call the physician!"
"Quickly!"
Kael lay on the bed, motionless.
His breathing—slow.
Barely there.
His skin—pale.
Colder than it should be.
To any observer—
He was dying.
The physician arrived in haste, sweat lining his brow.
"What happened?" he demanded.
Lira stepped forward, playing her role perfectly.
"My lord drank wine late into the night," she said, her voice trembling. "When I returned this morning, he was like this…"
The physician frowned, immediately moving to Kael's side.
He checked his pulse.
His breathing.
His eyes.
Then his expression changed.
"…Poison," he muttered.
Around him, the servants gasped.
Panic deepened.
"Is he—?"
"Can you save him?!"
The physician hesitated.
Then slowly shook his head.
"…It's too late."
Lira lowered her gaze, hiding the flicker in her eyes.
Kael heard everything.
Every word.
Every reaction.
His consciousness remained clear beneath the stillness.
Good, he thought.
Very good.
The physician stood, sighing heavily.
"Prepare the body," he said. "Inform the family."
Footsteps rushed out of the room.
The news spread quickly.
Kael Draven was dead.
Hours later—
The manor was dressed in black.
Servants whispered in hushed tones.
Guards stood straighter.
And in the central hall—
A coffin was prepared.
Kael lay within it.
Still.
Silent.
Perfectly lifeless.
Footsteps approached.
Confident. Unhurried.
His stepbrother.
Even without opening his eyes, Kael recognized the presence instantly.
The faint scent of expensive perfume.
The steady rhythm of controlled breathing.
The quiet satisfaction.
"So," the stepbrother said softly, standing beside the coffin, "this is how you end."
Silence.
"You should have accepted your place," he continued. "Weak people don't survive in this family."
Kael listened.
Memorizing every word.
Every tone.
"I almost expected you to struggle," the stepbrother added with a faint chuckle. "But in the end… you were exactly what I thought you were."
A pause.
"A disappointment."
Kael smiled.
Inside.
Keep talking.
But the stepbrother had already turned away.
"Bury him," he ordered.
"No need for ceremony."
Footsteps faded.
And just like that—
Kael Draven was erased.
Night fell.
The burial was quiet.
Unceremonious.
A shallow grave at the edge of the estate.
The coffin was lowered into the earth.
Dirt followed.
Falling.
Heavy.
Final.
Darkness consumed everything.
Silence.
For a long moment—
Nothing happened.
Then—
Kael's eyes opened.
Pitch black.
No light.
No sound.
Only the suffocating weight of earth above him.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"…Perfect."
A soft scraping sound echoed in the darkness.
The coffin lid shifted.
Cracked.
Then—
Burst open.
Wood splintered outward as something pulled from above.
Not human.
Not alive.
The undead assassin.
It tore through the soil with unnatural strength, its movements relentless, tireless.
Dirt fell away.
Light broke through.
Cold night air rushed in.
Kael reached upward.
The undead grasped his hand.
Pulled.
Slowly—
He emerged from the grave.
Dirt-covered.
Pale.
Alive.
No.
Not alive.
Something else.
Kael stood beneath the moonlight, brushing soil from his clothes.
Behind him, the open grave yawned like a wound in the earth.
"They buried me quickly," he said calmly.
The undead stood beside him.
Silent.
Waiting.
Kael turned his gaze toward the distant manor.
Lights flickered in the windows.
Warm.
Safe.
Unaware.
A faint chuckle escaped his lips.
"Good."
His eyes gleamed in the darkness.
"Let them believe it."
He stepped forward, away from the grave.
Away from his old life.
From this moment on—
Kael Draven no longer existed.
Only a shadow remained.
And shadows…
Did not die.
[End of Chapter 4]