"Gaius, is the Wall truly made of blood?" the little girl asked, her voice slicing through the shadows as she stepped into the dim room. The candlelight flickered, casting long, trembling shapes across the walls.
"Where did that big head go?"
Before Aurelia could finish, he emerged from behind the curtain, silent as a shadow. The heavy drapes swayed slightly, and she stumbled back, her small feet scuffing against the cold wooden floor.
"Stop it, Gaius! That wasn't funny!"
"I thought Father warned you never to enter my room," he said, stepping closer, his presence filling the space like a dark tide. His eyes glimmered under the low candlelight, sharp and unreadable, and Aurelia, so small, felt the air tighten around her.
"Mother won't let me read the book," she said, her violet eyes flashing with stubborn courage despite the fear crawling up her spine. "Tell me—Gaius—is the Wall really made of blood, or is it all lies?"
"Sit, Aurelia," he commanded, pulling a wooden stool toward her. It scraped harshly against the floor, the sound sharp in the hush of the room. "The Wall is made of Velmara's blood. It keeps the dark creatures at bay. Without it… everything we know will crumble."
Her chin lifted, determination pushing her forward. "I heard the Wall fell, Gaius. I'm ready for whatever comes next."
"The Wall has fallen," he said, his voice low and precise, reverberating like distant thunder. "Father says we leave soon. But you… you need to understand—fear is the only thing keeping you alive. And I will make sure no harm comes to you. If you obey."
SWING...
The door slammed open abruptly, throwing a cold draft into the room, rustling the papers on his desk.
"Are you out of your mind? Gaius, step back!"
"Get her out," their mother commanded, and the maidens swept Aurelia away, closing the door with a sharp, final click. The room fell back into darkness, the shadows crawling like black ink over the walls.
"How can you have no shame? She's only six!"
"You have no right to enter my chamber. Leave," Gaius said, the dim candlelight glinting off the sharp planes of his face.
"You're a disgrace to this family! She's a child!" his mother hissed.
"You know I care for her," Gaius said softly, his voice like a steel blade wrapped in silk, "and I will bend the world to keep her safe… But you're coming in my way."
"Grow up, Gaius. Grow up!" The last words struck a nerve, filling him with anger. He slowly dropped his gaze and stared at the knife he had kept hidden for a long time.
Was it meant to protect Aurelia from the dark creatures, or was it a safeguard against his own dark thoughts?
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BY NIGHT...
The cities and towns lay in ruins, smoldering skeletons of buildings silhouetted against a blood-red sky. Smoke curled into the air, and distant screams threaded through the wind.
The family of four had already been torn apart. Aurelia had been taken by her father to a safer place, but her mother and Gaius remained separated, each lost in their own peril.
Unbeknownst to anyone, Gaius lingered in his room, as if he had been waiting silently for this day. He pressed his hands against the cool glass of the window, staring down at the chaos below. The screams reached him, sharp and ragged, yet instead of fear, a strange fascination coursed through him, dark and electric.
"Gaius, let's go!" His mother barreled into the room, her clothes torn, a deep crimson staining her side. She had been searching for him, chasing shadows through the ruins, and now she stood trembling but determined.
"No. I'll stay here," he said, his voice calm, unnervingly still.
"Are you serious? We have to leave!" She stepped closer, blood dripping steadily from her side, each drop dark against the floorboards. Her eyes pleaded, desperation carving deep lines into her face.
Gaius's gaze didn't waver. The storm outside mirrored the storm inside him—yet in that moment, he chose fascination over duty, darkness over family.
Then something clicked in Gaius's mind—an instinct, a sound, a shift in the air.
He could hear it.
Something had broken into the house.
"Gaius—hide, hide!" his mother hissed, panic lacing her voice. But Gaius did not move. He stood in the center of the room, calm, his violet eyes glinting in the dim candlelight.
"You listen to me!" she screamed, grabbing his arm, trying to pull him to safety. Her hands shook. Blood seeped through her torn clothes. But he shrugged her off, unshaken. She had no choice but to slide under the bed, pressing herself into the shadows.
The door creaked open.
The figure that entered was disturbingly human-looking—tall, lean, flawless in skin and form—but something about it made the air feel heavy, oppressive, like a storm pressing down on her chest. Its eyes burned with molten silver light, scanning the room as if it could see every secret fear hidden in her mind.
The creature's presence was almost unbearable. She could feel it, a quiet power thrumming through the air, making the walls themselves seem alive.
And then Gaius bowed.
"My lord," he whispered, his voice unnervingly calm.
From beneath the bed, she pressed a hand to her mouth, stunned. Her own son… bowing to this creature? A being born from curses, radiating danger, and yet eerily human.
"Kill her," the creature commanded, looking straight into Gaius eyes,
Gaius turned slowly toward the bed, his expression unreadable. The candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face, revealing the faintest smirk, and for a moment, the shadows in the room seemed to lean closer to him, drawn to his darkness as much as to theirs.
Hearing the command, she crawled out from beneath the bed, rising slowly as if pulled by something heavier than fear. Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to stand.
"Gaius…" she whispered.
He turned toward her.
Their eyes met.
And something inside her shattered.
She searched his face for the boy she had raised—the boy who once clung to her dress, who laughed in sunlight. But the boy was gone. His eyes were cold, unreadable, almost hollow, as if something else had claimed him long before this moment.
"Gaius… you wouldn't." Her voice cracked. "You wouldn't kill me."
The creature remained silent, watching, as if enjoying the collapse of whatever fragile hope she still held.
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To be continued ...