The moment Lyra finished reading the cryptic letter, a tremble rippled through her body like a shiver from a phantom wind. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, and her breath quickened with fear. The cold, haunting words from the dream—"he bleeds in silence so others may sleep in peace"—echoed again and again in her mind.
She threw herself onto the bed and buried beneath the thick velvet blankets, clutching them tightly as if they could protect her from the unseen terrors that stalked her sleep. Her eyes, wide open, refused to blink. Sleep was a far-off concept now. Every creak of the mansion, every whisper of wind outside, made her jump beneath the covers. Her thoughts spiraled. What was Adrian doing in that dream? Who had he killed? Why was there so much blood? And that dragon—was it even a dream?
The night dragged on in agonizing silence. Shadows shifted across the ornate ceiling. Time stretched endlessly until, finally, the gray fingers of dawn crept through the heavy drapes.
The moment the first light of morning touched her windowpane, Lyra dashed into the bathroom. Her reflection looked like a ghost—swollen eyes, pale skin, dried tear tracks down her cheeks. She splashed her face with cold water and bathed quickly, as if washing away the remnants of the nightmare. Dressing hurriedly in a modest, soft cream dress, she stepped into her slippers and rushed down the hallway.
She had to speak with Seren.
As she descended the grand staircase, the mansion's eerie ambiance felt even heavier in the early light. The living room, which one might expect to feel warm and welcoming at dawn, radiated an icy presence. The chandeliers, shaped like twisted vines of obsidian, hung from a black vaulted ceiling that seemed too high to be real. The walls were draped with ancient velvet tapestries depicting scenes of battles, mythical beasts, and crow-winged figures. The floor was a seamless sheet of dark marble, so polished it reflected the faint light like a mirror into a different world. A strange, woody incense burned low in a corner, its scent heady and bitter—more like ashes than perfume.
In that chilling atmosphere, Lyra froze when she saw Valefor, Seren, and Kaelith standing in the center of the room. Their voices, though low, carried a quiet intensity. Seren's arms were crossed tightly, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen. Kaelith leaned on the wall with one gloved hand, and Valefor's piercing gaze cut through the room like a blade.
The moment they noticed her presence, the conversation halted. An eerie silence fell.
Lyra hesitated, suddenly feeling unwelcome. But she needed Seren. She offered him a hopeful look, a small wave, trying to call him over without using words. Her eyes pleaded—please, I need to talk to you.
But Seren's gaze shifted away. Deliberately. Coldly.
As if she were a stranger.
Her heart sank.
Kaelith tilted his head slightly, watching her with unreadable eyes. Valefor stepped forward, his boots tapping sharply against the marble.
"What are you doing here?" His voice thundered across the room, sharp and commanding.
"I... I just—"
"You are not to leave your room without permission!" he snapped. "From now on, you will remain in your quarters until I say otherwise. Have I made myself clear?"
Lyra flinched. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her throat felt dry and constricted. Valefor's fury wasn't the worst part—it was the way the others just stared at her, silently judging, silently agreeing.
Seren... Seren didn't even look back at her.
With a burning face and heart clenching, she gave a stiff nod and turned back up the stairs. Her footsteps were hollow echoes in the vast silence.
Tears threatened to spill again. She clenched her fists, trying to hold them back. What did I do wrong? Why are they angry with me? Is it because of the dream? Do they know? Her chest tightened with anxiety.
As she climbed, the staff stood lined along the hallway like grim statues. Their eyes followed her—cold, unblinking, judgmental. Their expressions were terrifying. Not angry, exactly... but disappointed. As if she'd committed a great sin.
No one spoke.
Two servants followed her to her door. Without a word, they turned the old iron key and locked her in.
She didn't even resist. Just stumbled to her bed and collapsed.
She lay there, the covers draped over her but offering no warmth. Her face buried in the pillow, tears fell silently. Her eyes ached, her face throbbed—swollen and pale from too much crying.
How did this happen? she thought, staring blankly at the ceiling. Why do I feel like a prisoner? Why did Seren look at me like that? The silence of the room was unbearable. Her mind raced with guilt, confusion, and fear.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
She clutched the edge of her pillow and whispered into the silence, "Adrian... where are you?"
No answer came.
Only silence.
And shadows.