The air in Valemont Village was thick with the scent of ash and decay. Smoke drifted above the rooftops like ghostly ribbons, and the morning mist clung low to the ground as though it refused to lift. What had once been a lively marketplace was now a wasteland of silence and soot.
Seraphina rode beside Lord Daven and Selene, her eyes wide with disbelief as they descended the muddy road. The villagers they passed did not bow, nor greet them — they simply stood and stared, faces pale, hollow, and streaked with tears.
"What happened here?" Seraphina whispered, though the question was more to herself than anyone else.
Lord Daven's expression was grave. "Reports reached me at dawn," he said quietly. "Three homes burned in the night… and the people inside—" He stopped short, glancing toward the twins as though weighing his words. "They were found lifeless, untouched by the fire."
Selene tilted her head slightly, her voice calm — too calm. "Lifeless, but not burned?"
He nodded. "Their hearts had stopped… yet there were no signs of struggle or pain."
Seraphina's stomach twisted. "You mean they just—died?"
Lord Daven's eyes flicked toward her, but before he could respond, a small boy darted from an alley and dropped to his knees before their horses. "Please, Your Grace," he cried, pointing down the street. "My mother won't wake up!"
Seraphina dismounted immediately, ignoring her guards' protests. She followed the boy through the narrow path between the blackened cottages until they reached a dimly lit home. The door creaked open, revealing the stench of smoke and something else — something metallic.
A woman lay on the floor, her eyes open but empty, her lips faintly blue. There were no burns on her skin, no wounds — only a faint mark on her wrist, a thin crimson line that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
Seraphina knelt beside her and reached out with trembling fingers. The woman's body was cold, yet her skin was soft — as though she had only just fallen asleep.
"What could have done this?" she murmured.
Behind her, Lord Daven's boots scraped softly across the floor. "The villagers say it began with whispers in the night," he said grimly. "A voice calling their names from outside the window. Those who answered it… never woke again."
Seraphina felt the blood drain from her face. "That's superstition," she said, but her voice quivered. "Surely it must be sickness, or—"
"Perhaps," Selene interrupted, her tone strangely detached. She crouched beside the body, her gaze fixed on the woman's face. "But sometimes death doesn't come from disease or blade… it comes when something old reawakens."
Seraphina turned sharply toward her sister. "What are you saying?"
Selene smiled faintly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Only that Valemont has long memories, dear sister. Some things buried don't wish to stay forgotten."
A chill crawled down Seraphina's spine. There was something in Selene's eyes — something she couldn't recognize.
As they left the cottage, the wails of the villagers filled the air again — the sound of grief, but also fear. Fear of something unseen. Fear of what might come next.
Lord Daven turned to Seraphina, lowering his voice. "Whatever this is, it's spreading fast. If it isn't stopped, it could consume all of Valemont."
Seraphina nodded, trying to steady her trembling hands. "Then we must find the source."
Behind them, Selene lingered a moment longer at the threshold of the house. Her gaze drifted to the distant woods — the same woods that hid the ancient chamber.
Her lips parted, and in a whisper too faint for the others to hear, she murmured something in that same ancient tongue from the night before.
The air shifted — a faint wind brushed through the village, carrying the smell of burnt earth and rain. The flame of a nearby lantern flickered out.
Seraphina turned suddenly, frowning. "Selene? Did you say something?"
Selene's expression softened, the faintest of smiles curling her lips. "Only a prayer," she said. "For the souls we've lost."
But as they rode away, Lord Daven glanced over his shoulder — and swore he saw movement within the burned house. A flicker of a shadow bending over the woman's body, whispering her name.
By the time they returned to the manor, the sky had begun to bruise with twilight. The journey back was silent — even Selene, who usually filled the air with teasing remarks, seemed distant, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
The great doors of Valemont Manor opened before them, the golden light from inside spilling onto the courtyard stones. Waiting at the entrance was the Queen, her expression pale and drawn.
"Thank the heavens you've returned," she said, rushing forward. Her eyes darted between the twins and Lord Daven. "We heard rumors in the servants' hall — that people had died. Is it true?"
Seraphina dismounted slowly, her limbs heavy. "It's true, Mother," she said softly. "Something terrible has happened in the village. But no one knows what caused it."
The Queen's hand trembled slightly as she touched her daughter's arm. "Your father has been restless all day. He fears this may be more than illness."
Lord Daven stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Your Majesty, the deaths are unnatural. The victims bear no wounds or burns, yet each one was found lifeless — as if their hearts simply… stopped."
The Queen's lips parted, horror flickering in her eyes. "And the cause?"
He hesitated. "We found faint marks on their wrists — but no poison, no signs of struggle. Some say they heard voices calling their names in the night."
The Queen's expression hardened as she turned toward Selene. "You were with them when they found the bodies?"
"Yes," Selene replied softly, but there was no warmth in her tone. "And I believe the villagers are right to be afraid."
Seraphina frowned, glancing at her sister. "Selene…"
Selene met her gaze with a faint, unsettling smile. "There are forces in Valemont older than the stones we walk upon. Perhaps they've simply grown tired of being forgotten."
The Queen's face drained of color. "Enough of such talk," she said sharply. "You speak like a priest of the old ways, not a princess of this house."
Selene inclined her head. "Forgive me, Mother. I meant no offense."
But Seraphina saw the way her sister's fingers traced absent patterns along the polished wood of the banister — strange symbols she couldn't quite recognize.
The Queen turned to Lord Daven. "You'll stay for the evening, won't you? The roads are not safe after dark."
He bowed his head. "If it pleases Your Majesty."
As the servants hurried to prepare supper, Seraphina found herself walking beside her mother, her heart heavy. "Mother," she said quietly, "do you ever feel as though something has changed in Selene? That she's… not quite herself?"
The Queen sighed, her eyes softening with fatigue. "You two have always been mirrors of each other, Seraphina. Sometimes, when one is troubled, the other feels it more deeply than words can show."
Seraphina nodded, though uneasily. Her mother's words did not comfort her — not this time.
Later that evening, the family gathered at the long dining table. The air was thick with silence. Even the candles seemed to flicker lower than usual, as if the flames themselves were wary.
Selene sat poised and calm, her silver eyes occasionally glinting in the candlelight. Lord Daven tried to steer the conversation toward hope — rebuilding the village, caring for the sick — but each time he spoke, Selene's gaze lingered on him a moment too long, her expression unreadable.
At last, the Queen broke the silence. "Perhaps tomorrow, we shall all go to the chapel and pray. Valemont has always found its strength in faith."
Selene smiled faintly. "Yes," she murmured. "Faith is a powerful thing. Especially when it's tested."
Seraphina's fork slipped from her fingers, clattering softly against her plate. She didn't know why that simple sentence chilled her so deeply — only that the look in her sister's eyes made her heart ache with a strange, unspoken fear.
Outside, thunder rolled faintly in the distance.
And somewhere in the manor's east wing — the same hall where the child's handprints had appeared — a faint lullaby began to play, though no one was there to sing it.