The manor slept beneath a bruised midnight sky, yet silence did not bring peace. It pressed heavy over the estate like a burial shroud, suffocating and still. Lanterns flickered against the marble hallways, their flames trembling as if frightened by the very air around them. Outside, the wind scraped at the windows like fingers desperate to be let in… or out.
Selene stood in the center of her chamber, motionless. The moonlight fell across her like a cold blessing, outlining her figure in a ghost-pale glow. Her nightgown clung to her as though the fabric itself feared her, and her long hair draped over her face like a mourning veil.
She did not blink.
She did not breathe like a human should.
She knew.
She knew Seraphina had seen the cracks.
The mask had splintered — and the girl who once wore her sister's skin now stood on the precipice of being revealed.
Slowly, unnaturally, her lips curved. A smile — not born of joy or triumph, but hunger. A smile sharpened by centuries of darkness, by promises buried beneath stone and crown.
"Seraphina…" she whispered, voice stretching thin as silk soaked in sorrow. "You've finally remembered to fear."
Her fingers twitched. Nails blackened, lengthening like talons before shrinking back again. It was as if her body warred between form and true nature — a flicker, a pulse, a tearing between worlds.
Her eyes rolled back, whites gleaming like marble. Then — slowly — they lowered again, black as dried blood, bottomless and ancient.
She lifted her hands and began to chant.
The language did not bend like mortal speech. It scraped the air. Each syllable twisted the atmosphere, made the candles gutter and hiss. The walls groaned, wood aching as though resisting the sound.
"ᚠᛟ… s'aerir… ᚾᛖ… vethra-sol…"
The ancient tongue — the tongue spoken before crowns, before laws, before prayers changed — spilled from her lips like poison.
Her voice grew louder, trembling with unholy devotion.
And then she began to repeat his name.
The king's name.
Over and over.
"Eldric. Eldric. Eldric."
The name was not a plea. It was not longing.
It was ownership.
Invocation.
A tether tightening with every utterance.
Outside her chamber door, the corridor lights flickered violently — a strobing panic, as if the manor itself recoiled. A vase shattered in the hallway. Somewhere below, a servant whimpered in their sleep without knowing why.
Selene tilted her head back, throat exposed, as though offering herself to an unseen altar. Shadows crawled along her skin like living script, wrapping, whispering, feeding.
"Eldric…" she breathed a final time — this time the tone changing, stretching, becoming something that did not belong in a mortal throat.
A sound not meant for ears nor world.
A sound that chilled the ancestors.
And somewhere in the manor — faint but unmistakable — a distant wail answered.
Not human.
Not living.
Selene's smile widened, too wide for a human face, teeth gleaming sharp in the moonlight.
"Let her search," she murmured to the dark.
"Let her hope."
Her eyes burned amber-red, feral, starved.
"The ending has already been written."
A soft giggle escaped her — a sound like cracking porcelain and distant screams layered into one. She turned slowly toward the window, staring into the night as though she could see through darkness and bone to where Seraphina slept, terrified and unaware of how close doom breathed.
"After all," she whispered, voice slipping into a childlike lilt,
"sisters promised to never be apart…"
And the candles in the room extinguished all at once, plunging the manor into a suffocating black.
A scream shattered the night.
It cut through the manor like a blade through silk — sharp, trembling, drenched in terror. Footsteps thundered up marble floors, doors flung open, lanterns flared awake one by one as servants stumbled from their quarters, breathless and pale.
"The king—!"
A voice cracked through the hall.
"His Majesty—h-he has stopped breathing!"
The world seemed to stop.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Sound died; even the air paused, hanging heavy with dread. Then the silence burst — gasps, choked cries, hurried feet rushing toward the royal chamber.
Seraphina was already up from her bed, chest tight as if her ribs had turned to iron. She ran, barely feeling the cold floor beneath her feet, skirts trailing behind her like a shadow fleeing dawn.
When she entered the chamber, the sight took her breath.
The king lay still — too still — his chest unmoving, his skin pale like candle wax. His crown sat on the table beside him, forgotten and powerless. Around the bed, servants wept, some on their knees, others clutching sheets as though they could shake life back into him.
The queen was frozen by his side, hand trembling over his heart, unable — or unwilling — to accept the stillness beneath her palm.
"Eldric," she whispered, voice fragile as frost, "please… breathe. Just… once more."
Her fingers tightened, shaking. Tears gathered but did not fall — not yet. The queen looked like a statue carved from grief, cracks forming but refusing to break.
Seraphina approached slowly, feeling the world crumbling beneath her steps.
"Mother…"
The queen finally inhaled, a sound like breaking glass, and looked at her with hollow eyes.
"He promised—" her voice faltered, barely sound at all, "—he promised he would stay until dawn."
Seraphina's heart fractured.
"He tried. I saw… I know he tried."
Grief rose in her throat so sharp it burned. She reached for her father's hand — still warm enough that hope twisted cruelly in her chest — and laid it against her cheek. His ring pressed cold against her skin, a final reminder of the life he ruled, the love he gave.
A sob slipped out — small, helpless, nothing like a princess or a future queen. Just a daughter losing her father.
The queen finally collapsed over his chest, the dam breaking. Her cry tore through the room — raw, aching, a mother mourning not just a king but the man she loved, the life she built, the future slipping away.
Servants bowed their heads. Some wept openly. Others whispered prayers to gods long silenced — a desperate hope in ancient echoes.
Seraphina's knees weakened. She leaned forward, forehead touching her father's hand, voice barely breath:
"I will protect them. I swear it. I will not let our people fall."
Outside, the wind moaned against the windows as if the world itself mourned.
But behind the grief — behind the tears and shaking breaths — a shadow watched.
Selene stood in the corner doorway, face unreadable, too composed for loss. Her gaze lingered not on the dead king… but on Seraphina.
That smile — faint, secret, chilling — ghosted across her lips.
And like a whisper only the walls heard, she murmured:
"Now the crown has no shield."