The night had swallowed the estate. Darkness pressed against the walls of Isolde's room, heavy and suffocating. His chest heaved, sweat matting dark hair to his forehead. Every breath was a struggle; every heartbeat rattled in his skull.
The dream had returned.
Not just a dream, something more. Horrid. Real.
Demons. They were alive, smelling of rot, fire, and something raw in his blood. They crawled across his skin, sinking into him, violating him in ways that tore at both body and mind. Every claw, every bite, every whispered cruelty made him shudder. Pain and pleasure twisted together until he couldn't tell which was which.
He clawed at the sheets, but they were useless. Their eyes glimmered with intelligence, cruel amusement. They knew him. Knew his fears, his desires, his weaknesses. They tore at him, raking fingernails and teeth, dragging him into shadows, into himself.
Something stirred inside him, something untrained. Raw energy. Power that surged like wildfire through his veins, searing, terrifying. His body responded when his mind could not.
A scream tore from his throat but the shadows swallowed it.
He woke drenched in sweat, body trembling, chest burning. Pain laced his skin where the nightmare's claws had left marks. Red scratches and bruises traced across his chest and thighs, ghostly reminders of what had violated him.
His bare feet hit the cold floor. Moonlight spilled through tall windows, long shadows curling across the hall. He needed air. Needed control. Needed… something real.
The painting room.
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Marble cold beneath his palms, he sank into a chair, letting the chill ground him. His hands trembled, still reeling from the nightmare. He poured a glass of scotch, letting it burn down his throat. It was weak comfort, but it helped.
A voice broke the silence.
"Troubled dreams?"
Isolde jerked upright. Lucien stepped from the shadows, calm, measured, carrying the weight of someone who had survived everything. Candlelight glinted off the glass he held.
"How long have you?" Isolde began.
"Long enough," Lucien interrupted, voice low. "I saw the nightmare. The demons. You are not dreaming."
Isolde's pulse quickened. "Not dreaming?"
"No," Lucien said, leaning against the table. "It's a warning. A taste. Your body… your curse… is waking."
"Why me?" Isolde asked, voice raw. "Why this estate? Why my uncle?"
Lucien's green eyes flicked toward a corner of the room. "Because you were chosen. Not by chance. Your uncle didn't pick you lightly. This place did. it has its own will."
"What do you mean?"
"That the estate is alive, in ways most cannot perceive. It responds to blood, to intent, to power. You carry something rare, dangerous… necessary. That is why you are here."
Isolde swallowed, hands tightening around the scotch. "And my cousins? Cadeyrn, Valen, Selene?"
Lucien's lips curved slightly. "They are fine. But you… you were meant for more than comfort. You are meant to face what lurks inside this estate, inside yourself."
"Confront?" Isolde asked, glancing back at the painting. Shadows twisted faintly, curling at the edges of his perception.
"The curse. The power. Your own body. Everything tests you here. Fail… and you do not survive."
Isolde's hands tightened. "And the seer?
"She waits," Lucien said. "When you are ready. Tonight… you learned something. Even asleep, your body responds. The circles, the energy, you command it, but only if you survive fear."
"Survive fear…" Isolde whispered. The images of the demons claws, teeth, fire, the violation burned behind his eyes.
"Yes. Control it… or it will control you."
Isolde lifted his hand. A faint circle shimmered in the air, trembling, pulsing to the rhythm of his racing heartbeat. Shadows writhed inside it.
"Good," Lucien said. "Even now, you learn."
"And after this?" Isolde asked. "After I survive?"
"You will meet the estate, its secrets, its true purpose. You will meet Cadeyrn, Valen, and Selene. And you will discover why you… of all people… were chosen. Everything else what the estate hides, the darkness you will face that is for later. You decide if you want to be the nightmare… or master it"
Isolde ran a hand through his hair. "And if I fail?"
Lucien straightened. "You will not survive. The estate does not forgive. Neither do the things inside you that have yet to awaken."
Isolde exhaled shakily. "I understand."
One last pause. "Ask. Observe. Remember. This place reveals what must never be spoken. Secrets even your uncle feared."
Then he was gone. Silent. Leaving Isolde with trembling hands, the glowing circle, and a mind spinning with questions.
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Nysera lingered in the shadows, silent, unseen. Her emerald eyes followed him, noting the tension still coiled in his shoulders, the way exhaustion and lingering fear weighed him down.
When he finally slumped into the chair, surrendering to sleep, she stepped forward. A soft rustle of fabric, and the warmth of a blanket settled over his shoulders.
Her gaze lingered a flash of something protective then she melted back into the darkness.
And as she vanished, a whisper echoed softly behind him: "Rest now"
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A distant hall echoed with a sound not of human origin,a whisper, a breath, a promise of pain.
Isolde had survived the night… but the darkness was only beginning.