Dinner was unusually quiet. The clinking of silverware echoed in the grand dining hall like ticking time bombs, each second stretching longer than it should. Lyra sat across from Seren, whose cold smirk seemed to know something she didn't. His piercing, silver eyes lingered on her a little too long, making her heart race in discomfort. Not a single word was exchanged between them.
Only silence—and that insufferable smirk.
The flickering candlelight danced on the walls like shadows trying to escape. Lyra pushed food around her plate, appetite long gone. She couldn't forget Seren's cryptic words from earlier that day, the way he had leaned in and whispered things that made her skin crawl. As if he knew something she didn't. As if she was a piece on a board and he was already ten moves ahead.
When dinner ended, Seren rose first, bowed slightly with an unsettling grace, and escorted her to her room. The corridors of the mansion seemed longer tonight, the halls darker. Paintings she hadn't noticed before now seemed to watch her. Their eyes were too lifelike, too present.
"Sleep well," Seren murmured as he opened her door. His smirk widened. "If you can."
The door closed behind her with a heavy thud.
She stood still for a moment. The silence of her room was deafening. Not a single sound from outside. No wind. No distant creaks of the mansion settling. Just the sound of her breathing, ragged with unease.
She lay on the velvet sheets, but her heart wouldn't rest. Her fingers traced the edge of the contract she had hidden under her pillow. So many rules. So many unknowns.
And Adrian... where was he?
Still, exhaustion finally crept into her bones and dragged her under.
---
**In the Realm of Dreams…**
It began slowly. A gentle pull, like being drawn underwater.
Darkness.
Then... flickering torches.
Lyra stood barefoot in a vast, ancient chamber made entirely of stone, the air thick with the scent of blood and smoke. The floor was inscribed with runes glowing faintly red. The walls were covered with haunting murals—depictions of winged beasts devouring cities, of a boy with glowing eyes walking through fire.
Relics floated mid-air, suspended as if the room rejected gravity. Chains dangled from the high ceiling, some stained with rust... or blood.
And at the center of it all, Adrian.
Kneeling. Alone.
Bare-chested, drenched in sweat and blood. His skin was pale like moonlight, marked with bruises and scratches as if he'd gone to war with shadows themselves. His dark hair hung loosely around his face, soaked and wild. Every part of him seemed carved from sorrow and rage.
And on his back...
A dragon.
Tattooed in exquisite, haunting detail—a beast with outstretched wings that wrapped around his ribs and trailed to his spine. Its eyes were golden ink, yet glowed like fire. Beautiful and terrifying.
It felt alive.
The kind of tattoo that wasn't merely art—but a curse, a mark, a promise.
Adrian's head lifted slowly, and his face turned toward her.
Blank.
Emotionless.
But behind that emptiness, something festered—like the remnants of pain buried too deep to show.
In his hand was a long black sword, its blade wet and dripping crimson.
And his mouth... bloodied.
Blood on his chest. His arms. His jaw.
"Adrian?" Lyra whispered.
Her voice echoed too loudly in the chamber.
He looked at her now, his eyes unreadable. But there was no warmth in them. No softness. Only a storm.
Then—he stood. Slowly, gracefully. A quiet kind of menace.
The dragon on his back seemed to shimmer as if it breathed.
Lyra stumbled backward, panic rising.
But the door she came from was no longer there.
Instead, the chamber twisted—and opened into something else. A vast land of crimson mist and shattered bones.
Now the dragon was real.
Towering.
Its wings stretched across the blood-soaked sky. It perched on a mountain of corpses—slaughtered beings with their eyes still open in horror. Its claws gripped their remains like a throne of death.
It looked at her.
Then roared, fire bursting from its jaws.
Lyra screamed, her breath short and sharp. The air burned.
And there—standing below the beast—was Adrian again.
But this time... he wasn't kneeling.
He was slaughtering.
One by one, faceless people fell to his blade. Some cried out, others begged. But he showed no mercy. No hesitation.
He looked like a fallen god—majestic and horrifying.
"Adrian! Stop!" she cried out, tears falling freely. "What are you doing?!"
He turned. Slowly.
His sword dripped blood onto the ground. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something... but instead, he just stared at her.
Then, quietly—his voice echoed, as if from two worlds at once.
"Why are you here, Lyra?"
His tone was empty. Echoing.
As if it wasn't him speaking.
"I... I don't know," she said, trembling. "I saw you—I had to—Adrian, what is this?!"
He took a step forward.
The earth trembled.
"Leave. You're not supposed to see this."
His eyes darkened, swirling like vortexes of shadows and pain.
"Run, Lyra."
But he didn't shout. He didn't growl.
He said it gently.
Gently—but with terror bleeding from every syllable.
He took another step. The aura around him shifted. Like smoke curling into a storm, darkness poured from his body.
She couldn't breathe.
She turned—there was a door now—but it was distant, shifting with every blink. She ran.
Ran as if her soul depended on it.
As she touched the handle—
---
**She woke up.**
Gasping.
Sweat soaked her nightgown. Her hands trembled violently as if they still held onto the edges of that nightmarish world.
Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling—but it didn't feel like the mansion.
Not right away.
It took several seconds before reality crept back in.
Her body was still. But her mind raced.
She touched her cheek. Wet.
She'd been crying in her sleep.
She sat up slowly, covering her mouth as her breath hitched.
"What was that...?" she whispered to herself.
She rose from bed and stumbled toward the mirror. Her reflection startled her. Pale. Eyes swollen. The image of someone who had just lived through something terrifying.
She splashed cold water on her face but it didn't help.
That dragon... it had felt too real.
And Adrian... his voice still echoed in her skull.
She looked down at her trembling hands, still shaking with the ghost of fear.
There was something in Adrian.
Something ancient. Dangerous. Broken.
But beneath all of it—she saw something else too.
Loneliness.
And pain.
A deep, unending pain that no one seemed to notice... or understand.
She stared out the window, where the moon floated like a silent witness.
"Adrian..." she whispered again. "Who are you, really?"
A knock on the door made her jump.
She turned fast, clutching her chest.
"Y-Yes?"
No reply.
Only a letter, slid under the door.
She approached slowly, heart pounding.
The paper was cream-colored, sealed with black wax marked with the same dragon sigil she had seen on Adrian's back.
Her breath caught.
She broke the seal, hands trembling.
One sentence.
**"He bleeds in silence so others may sleep in peace."**
She sank to the floor, clutching the letter.
She didn't know what it meant.
But it terrified her more than anything else.
And for the first time since entering the mansion, Lyra began to question not just the man she had made a contract with—but the forces tied to his blood.
---