The fire crackled softly.
The moment stretched thin, like a thread pulled taut.
Then, the door creaked open.
"My lady," a gentle voice called.
Aeron's mother turned at once, her composure settling into something more natural. The maid stood at the threshold, hesitating for only a moment before stepping in.
She was young, fair-featured, with the warmth of someone who belonged in a home rather than a battlefield. The sight of her was a breath of relief.
"I apologize for the intrusion," the maid continued, shifting slightly under the weight of the stranger's gaze. "I was running late with the accounts in the archives, I had planned to clean your office, but seeing that you are still occupied—"
"It's quite alright," Aeron's mother interrupted, her voice regaining its usual grace. She smiled—softly, as she always did with her. "In fact, you arrived at just the right time."
Aeron caught the faint flicker in his mother's eyes, the barely-there shift in her demeanor.
"Take Aeron with you," she said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. "He should be in bed by now."
"Mother—"
"Go on, my love," she said, her tone patient yet firm. "There's nothing to worry about."
The stranger's smirk hadn't faded.
Aeron looked between them, the stranger's unwavering eyes and his mother's forced calm. He wanted to stay—he wanted to see.
But something in his mother's voice, in the way her fingers pressed against her chair, told him to listen.
The maid approached, her touch light as she took his hand. "Come along, young master," she coaxed, her smile warm, practiced. "You must be tired."
He wasn't. But he let himself be guided toward the door.
Just as they turned, his mother spoke again.
"Wait."
She reached for the maid's hands, enclosing them in her own. A gesture of warmth—of familiarity.
And then, she passed her something.
Aeron barely saw it—a small, unassuming silver hairpin.
The maid's fingers curled around it instinctively. A token.
To anyone else, it meant nothing. But to those who served in this house, it was a signal.
A message.
A warning.
The maid's eyes flickered ever so slightly. Then, just as smoothly, she nodded.
"Shall I bring this to Elias?" she asked, her voice even.
"Yes," his mother said. "Tell him I meant to return it to him earlier."
It was nothing.
It was everything.
Aeron's stomach twisted, the words ringing hollow in his ears.
Something was wrong.
The maid turned back to him, squeezing his hand slightly before pulling him toward the door.
And that was when the stranger spoke.
"You see it too, don't you?"
His mother's shoulders tensed.
The maid stopped.
Aeron turned back just in time to see the stranger's faint smirk deepen.
"You recognize me."
The words were spoken lightly, but they sank into the air like iron.
His mother didn't answer.
Instead, she straightened, her expression darkening for the first time that night.
She was done pretending.
"That ring…" her voice was quiet, but sharp. "The Forsaken… What do you want from us? We have nothing of value."
The man's smirk twitched slightly, amused.
"Is that what you think?"
Aeron barely heard the words, his mind racing, trying to understand.
The Forsaken.
The word meant nothing to him. But to his mother—it meant everything.
The air in the room had changed. He could feel it.
The maid squeezed his hand again, firmer this time. Urging him to move. She wore a smile, but her eyes told another story. Sweat trickled down her forehead, she was terrorized.
The man took a breath.
He opened his mouth.
And then—
"I will not harm him."
The stranger's voice cut through the room again, softer this time.
"However…"
A cold whisper.
"I cannot let him go..."
Aeron barely had time to process the words before the maid jerked violently.
A wet, thick, meaty sound split the air.
Her body seized, her fingers clenching around his in a final, desperate reflex—then falling limp.
Her head snapped back.
Her soft lips, once curved into a smile went slack.
Her eyes—still fixed on Aeron's—rolled upward, the whites gleaming, pupils vanishing behind them. A grotesque tremor ran through her limbs.
And then he saw it.
A thin, gleaming sliver of steel forcing its way between her brows.
Not something.
A blade.
It had punched clean through the back of her skull, the steel now jutting from her forehead, gleaming wet in the firelight.
Blood pulsed from the wound, first in slow rivulets, then faster, spilling over her nose, her parted lips. The first drop hit the floor with a soft pat.
Then another....
Then more....
Her knees buckled.
The blade slid back, tearing free with a slick, wet pop, leaving behind a yawning hole.
More blood followed, spurting in uneven bursts across the stone floor.
The maid collapsed, crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut.
The stranger still stood where he had been, his hand resting idly on one of the hilts at his waist.
He had not moved.
And just as the body settled at Aeron's feet, the stranger sighed.
"...he'd miss the most important part."
Heat roared through the air, swallowing his words whole.
A fireball crashed into the stranger, slamming into his chest like a cannon shot, shattering the wall behind him with a deafening boom.
The sheer force ripped Aeron backward, his vision a blur of light and chaos. His mother's fingers snatched his wrist, yanking him forward before he even hit the floor.
"Move."
She didn't wait for him to react. She dragged him.
The walls shook, the ceiling groaning from the impact as smoke and fire bled into the corridors.
The door burst open.
A scream.
Then another.
Servants shrieked at the sight of the maid's lifeless, bloodied corpse, some stumbling back in horror, others turning to flee.
But one man did not move.
Elias.
His sharp eyes took in everything—the fire, the blood, the body, Aeron's mother's expression—and without hesitation, he understood.
"Prepare a carriage," she commanded, breathless but steady.
Elias gave a single, sharp nod but did not leave immediately. Instead, he stepped back, lingering just at the door, his sharp eyes flicking between the fire, the body, and the smoldering ruin.
A low groan rumbled from the smoke.
Something stirred within the wreckage.
Aeron's mother stilled.
The flames shifted, bending around a silhouette rising from the shattered stone.
The stranger stepped forward, rolling his shoulder, shaking dust from his coat as if brushing off an inconvenience.
He had taken the blast head-on.
A wry breath left his lips.
"By the gods," he muttered, smooth as ever despite the embers still smoldering along his sleeves.
His gaze flicked toward her, amused.
"Clever, quick, and strong."
A muscle in her jaw twitched.
"A shame, truly."
She had expected him to be dead. But now she realized the truth—it would take far more than that.
Her grip on Aeron tightened.
"Elias... he is a foresaken."
The butler's eyes widened. Any servants that remained had now fled the scene at those words.
"Elias."
Elias was already moving.
Aeron's breath hitched as Elias grabbed him—hard—without hesitation.
He barely had time to struggle before he was hoisted up, thrown over Elias' shoulder.
"No!" Aeron thrashed, his small fists pounding against the butler's back. "No, let me go! Mother!"
He twisted, writhed, desperate to turn back.
She turned.
For just a moment.
Through the smoke and the crackling flames, through the chaos devouring their home, she turned her face to him one last time.
She was calm.
Tears welled in Aeron's eyes, his mother's silhouette blurring as Elias carried him away.
But even through the haze, through the fire and the chaos, her lips moved—soft, steady, meant only for him.
"I love you."
A single tear traced down her cheek.
And behind her, the other man—the monster—moved forward, unsheathing one of his blades.
Aeron screamed.
Then the doors slammed shut.