Lord Eldric and Isolde disappeared up the grand staircase, leaving the vast hall strangely empty.
Only three figures remained — Renn, Liora, and Aeren.
Liora's eyes stayed fixed on the stairs where Isolde had vanished with her father. Her lips trembled, and the dam finally broke. Tears streamed down her face as she choked out,
"It's all my fault. If I was strong enough… this wouldn't have happened."
Renn felt a sharp stab of guilt twist inside him. He placed a hand on her trembling shoulder, speaking firmly but softly.
"It's not your fault, Liora."
She didn't respond. Her gaze was distant, her breath unsteady.
Renn turned toward Aeren, and their eyes met. Aeren gave a slight nod — a silent signal — before stepping closer.
"Liora… it isn't your fault," he said quietly. "If I had been braver, I might have helped you."
His expression carried an unfamiliar weight, almost genuine regret.
Liora didn't look at either of them, but the heavy silence between the three said enough.
Renn glanced between them, wondering what to do next. No answer came.
Time passed. The hall's shadows lengthened, and night eventually swallowed the
estate.
---
At the Ghost Manor
Far away, in the cold silence of the Ghost Manor, Arven arrived with his best men. He had received no reports from his last dispatched unit and came to investigate personally.
The place was too quiet. His instincts told him something was wrong.
"Search every corner," he ordered.
They combed through the manor's rooms, leaving no place unchecked. One subordinate eventually stepped forward.
"Sir… I found something about our missing companions."
Arven's pulse quickened. Finally, a lead.
"Speak," he demanded.
"Their bodies, sir… in the prison."
Relief and determination flared in Arven's mind. Alive. That meant there was still a chance.
"Protection of our people is always the priority," he said sharply. "Lead me there."
The group descended into the cold, damp prison halls, their footsteps echoing against stone walls. The air grew heavier with every step.
At the far end, Arven finally saw them — his people.
But relief curdled instantly into horror.
They were breathing, yes… but barely. Their bodies were mutilated — dissected, organs visible through ragged openings. Chests cut open, mana drained until only a faint,
unnatural spark remained. Some were tossed to the ground like broken dolls, their limbs twisted.
Arven froze. How… are they still alive?
One of the bodies stirred. Slowly, its clouded eyes turned toward him.
The man's lips moved, voice barely a whisper:
"Run…"
Arven couldn't hear clearly, so he knelt, placing his ear near the dying man's mouth.
"Run," came the breath again.
But it was already too late.
Something cold and unseen swept through the hall. In an instant, Arven and his men collapsed silently to the ground.
From the shadows, Aeren stepped into view, his eyes glinting faintly. He looked down at Arven and murmured,
"Darkness always try to find light."
Without another glance, he turned and walked deeper into the cells, disappearing into the darkness.
Inside the vast hall swallowed by darkness, above the grand stairs, a throne sat like a shadowed monument. Upon it rested a man, his face hidden in the gloom, a black-covered book in his hand. He read in silence until a heavy knock echoed from the great door.
"Come in," his cold voice carried.
The door creaked open, revealing a figure clad in armor — not quite a knight, yet moving with disciplined form. The armored man knelt, head lowered.
"My liege, we have two problems. They may interfere with our future plans."
The man on the throne closed his book slowly, his eyes, sharp and cold, falling upon the kneeling figure.
"It is I who decides what is a problem, not you," he said, voice dripping with authority.
The armored man swallowed before speaking. "Our branch in Verdan territory has been infiltrated and… taken."
The man on the throne leaned back slightly.
"Forget about Verdan territory," he replied. "This is not the time for us to reveal ourselves to the world."
Still staring at the ground, the armored man continued, "Someone also attempted to take hostage the daughter of the Verdan family… but we know nothing about them."
The man on the throne's gaze sharpened. "You may leave now."
The armored man rose without a word and left.
Alone again, the man on the throne reopened his book, his fingers tracing the black pages. In the silent darkness, the only sound was the turning of paper, as though the world beyond no longer existed to him.