The gallery was silent.
Not the ordinary kind of silence, but the heavy, watchful kind that pressed against the walls and settled deep in Isolde's lungs.
He moved slowly through the long hall of his uncle's estate, the sound of his boots echoing against polished marble. Tall windows stretched toward the high ceiling, allowing thin strips of afternoon light to fall across the walls.
Rows of ancient paintings stared back at him.
Kings with hollow eyes.
Warriors frozen in the middle of battle.
Women with expressions so lifelike it almost felt as if they were breathing behind the glass.
It was unsettling.
Too real.
Isolde stopped before one particular painting.
A man stood in its center, cloaked in darkness. Shadows twisted around his hands like living things, coiling and stretching as if they obeyed his will.
Isolde frowned slightly.
Something about the figure felt… familiar.
His fingers twitched.
Without thinking, he lifted his hand.
The air shifted.
A faint thread of dark energy slid across his palm like smoke.
His brow furrowed as he slowly moved his finger through the air.
A circle.
The moment he completed the motion, faint lines of energy formed before him a delicate ring of magic shimmering like glass under moonlight.
Isolde leaned back in the chair behind him, studying it with quiet curiosity.
He didn't chant.
Just focus.
The circle rotated slowly, responding to the smallest movement of his hand.
For a moment the air around it darkened, as if the magic itself was deciding whether to obey him.
"Interesting."
A woman's voice cut through the silence.
The magic circle shattered instantly.
Isolde turned.
She stood near the doorway as though she had stepped out of the shadows themselves.
Tall.
Elegant.
Dangerous.
Her hair was a deep crimson red, falling in soft waves down her back like liquid fire. Against the pale light of the gallery windows it seemed almost unreal.
But it was her eyes that held attention.
Green.
Sharp, piercing emeralds that studied everything with unsettling confidence.
Her beauty was the kind that made men pause mid-sentence. High cheekbones, smooth skin, lips curved in a slow knowing smile.
She was devastatingly beautiful.
And she knew it.
Most men would have stumbled over their words.
Isolde did neither.
His gaze passed over her once before drifting back to the fading traces of magic in the air.
Nysera noticed.
Her smile deepened slightly.
"You draw circles without training," she said as she stepped further into the gallery. "That's rare."
Isolde leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.
"Is it?"
Nysera tilted her head, studying him more carefully now.
This one looked… bored.
Interesting.
"You really have no idea who you are, do you?" she asked.
That irritated him instantly.
Isolde stood.
"And you are?" he asked coldly.
"Nysera."
"No title?" he asked dryly.
"No dramatic introduction?"
Her smile widened.
"You wouldn't listen if I gave one."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Good guess."
For a moment they simply stared at each other.
Nysera's gaze was calculating.
Isolde's was indifferent.
Finally she spoke again.
"You need to see the seer."
The words were simple.
Direct.
Isolde scoffed.
"No."
She blinked slowly.
"You didn't even ask why."
"I don't need riddles from witches," he said, already turning away.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're cursed."
That made him stop.
Only for a second.
But Nysera noticed.
Still, he didn't turn around.
"Everyone's cursed with something," he said.
"You are different."
Now he looked at her again.
Nysera's voice lowered.
"There are things inside you that will destroy everything around you if you don't understand them."
He walked past her. "I'll take my chances."
Nysera tilted her head, eyes glinting. A faint, knowing smile curved her lips.
"Careful, Isolde," she murmured, stepping closer. Her hips swayed subtly as she passed, the movement deliberate, hypnotic. "I am your… dark romance. The one who guides you. The sooner you face the villain, the better. Time isn't your ally."
Isolde didn't flinch. He didn't even glance at her.
He lifted his hand again. The second circle appeared, glowing brighter this time, pulsating with energy.
When he tried to draw another, the magic twisted violently, darkening like smoke, collapsing inward with a force that made the room shiver.
He froze. A shiver ran down his spine.
Across the gallery, one of the paintings rattled faintly against the wall. Shadows within it stretched unnaturally, curling like living things.
Something ancient. Something waiting.
Nysera's words echoed in his mind:
I am your dark romance. The one who guides you.
The sooner you face the villain, the better. Time isn't your ally.
This time, he didn't dismiss them.
His gaze drifted toward the gallery doors.
__
Behind the doorway, Mara had been listening, every footstep in the gallery ringing too loud in her ears.
The moment Nysera stepped out, Mara hurried forward.
"Well?" she whispered, barely moving her lips.
Nysera exhaled softly, her gaze lingering on the gallery doors for a moment.
"He's stubborn," she said, her voice low, almost dangerous.
Mara's shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in her chest finally easing.
"At least he finally saw you," she said, a hint of relief in her tone.
Nysera's sharp green eyes flicked toward her.
"Yes."
For a heartbeat, her expression darkened, almost imperceptibly.
"And he's far more dangerous than they think."
Mara shivered, feeling the weight of the words settle over her like a cold shadow. The lingering traces of magic in the gallery seemed to echo Nysera's warning
__
The silence of the gallery did not last long.
Footsteps echoed loudly from the far end of the hall, followed by the unmistakable sound of laughter.
"Isolde!"
The voice carried easily through the corridor.
A moment later a tall figure appeared in the doorway, grinning as if the entire world existed purely for his amusement.
Liam.
Time had changed many things in the estate, but not him.
His dark hair was still slightly messy, his posture relaxed with the effortless confidence of someone who had never taken life too seriously. His smile was bright, charming, and dangerously familiar.
The kind that had gotten him into trouble with more women than anyone could count.
He stopped a few steps away, spreading his arms dramatically.
"Well," he said. "Look who finally decided to return to civilization."
For the first time since entering the gallery, something in Isolde's expression softened.
"Liam."
The name left his lips like an old memory.
Liam walked forward without hesitation and looked him over carefully.
"Still brooding," he said with a satisfied nod.
"Good. I was worried the palace might have turned you into one of those boring nobles."
Isolde leaned back slightly.
"And you're still talking too much."
"Of course," Liam replied easily. "Someone has to carry the conversation."
His gaze drifted briefly around the gallery before returning to Isolde.
Then his grin widened.
"But that's not why I came."
Isolde raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
Liam lowered his voice slightly, as if sharing a secret.
"I've been hearing rumors."
"Rumors travel quickly in this place."
"These ones are interesting."
Liam leaned closer.
"They say a demi-god has appeared inside the estate."
The words hung in the air.
Isolde didn't react.
But somewhere deep inside him, something stirred again.
A faint, restless pulse beneath his skin.
Liam studied his face for a moment before chuckling.
"Well," he said lightly, straightening again.
"Naturally, I intend to find out who it is."
Across the gallery, the shadows inside the painting moved again.
This time, they were watching him.