They soon reached the docks. The smell of salt and sea reigned in the air, sharp and heavy, clinging to the night breeze. It was well into the night, yet the docks were still bustling with activity. Ships being loaded, sails being checked, travelers passing through- the night market was alive and hustling as if the city never knew rest.
Aiden and Gabriella arrived in a carriage. The vehicle was understated, almost plain, nothing that screamed royalty. They had only a handful of knights accompanying them—more of a precautionary measure than a real show of force.
They stood at the gate, hoods drawn low. Aiden's hand gripped the sword hidden beneath his cloak, the weight of the relic steady against his side. Their small escort lingered at a distance, scattered casually, but every knight was watching sharply, waiting for a single gesture from the prince to intervene.
As the two approached the wide gates, Aiden couldn't shake the unease that had been gnawing at him since they left the palace. The city was never truly silent, never truly asleep—but tonight, it felt... ominous. Too still beneath all the noise. The back of his neck prickled when a sudden gust of wind swept through. Something was off. His mind whispered it wasn't possible—the shadows were after Carlson, not them. And yet, his gut stayed tight, unwilling to let it go.
They passed through the gates into the guild's reception hall. Despite the late hour, the place bustled with chatter and movement. Adventurers laughed over drinks, merchants haggled over contracts, scribes hurried past with parchment in hand. None of it mattered. Aiden strode straight to the reception desk, Gabriella matching his pace.
"How can I help you?" asked the woman behind the desk. She was petite, with dark red hair tied in a loose ponytail, wearing the standard guild uniform embroidered with the Myraethra crest. Her voice was chirpy, her smile well-practiced and welcoming. Clearly, she didn't see anything unusual in the cloaked strangers approaching her.
"We're here to see Carlson Veyth," Aiden said bluntly. His words were clipped, almost curt. "Right now."
The woman's smile faltered, her eyes widening a fraction. The request—no, the command—clearly startled her. "The guildmaster...?"
Aiden gave a single sharp nod. "Yes. Right now. It's a matter of utmost urgency."
She blinked, her composure faltering. "I... I apologize," she said, wary yet still trying to remain polite, diplomatic. "But the guildmaster's business for the night is concluded. You'll have to return tomorrow—"
"I don't think you understand," Gabriella cut in smoothly, her voice soft but carrying authority. "We need to see the guildmaster. Now."
"I understand," the woman stammered, visibly flustered, "but... you can't simply walk in. I need identification and a reason for the visit before I can even consider arranging an appointment—"
Aiden's patience snapped. He and Gabriella had agreed not to make a scene, which was why they had their hoods drawn in the first place. But it was obvious the receptionist would not let them through otherwise.
In one fluid motion, he pulled his hood back, revealing his face to the hall.
"Prince Aiden Lancaster," he said, his voice low and sharp as a blade. "Here on urgent imperial business. Is that identification and purpose enough for you?"
The woman's eyes went wide. Around them, conversations faltered as heads turned, curious onlookers catching snippets of the exchange. Whispers rippled.
The receptionist paled, scrambling up from her seat before dropping into a bow. "Y-your Highness—"
"Where is he?" Aiden cut her off. His gaze was hard, unrelenting. "Carlson."
The woman swallowed. The prince's tone left no room for hesitation. "The guildmaster... he was here, Your Highness. But he left less than an hour ago. Said he was retiring to his personal residence for the night."
"Where?" Aiden demanded.
"The Veyth mansion on the hill," she answered quickly, then hesitated, adding weakly, "But... he doesn't like to be disturbed after he has retired—"
Aiden didn't bother to acknowledge her. He was already turning on his heel, cloak sweeping behind him as he strode out. Gabriella followed without a word, her presence steady beside him.
"He'll have to make an exception, then," Aiden muttered darkly.
They reached the mansion in no time. The Veyth mansion was a beautiful structure, a clash of different foreign architectures blended into one almost artistic building—a natural choice, considering the old guildmaster's obsession with all things exotic and rare.
Lanterns glowed softly along the path, lighting the gravel with a warm golden haze. Aiden entered the premises first, Gabriella just a step behind. They were soon greeted by a butler. Clearly, word had already reached the mansion—the guild must have sent a message ahead that the prince was coming.
The butler's face was pale, his hands trembling and wringing together as he regarded the prince. His gaze lingered on the sword drawn in Aiden's hand. The young royal didn't look like he was here for friendly conversation.
"P-Prince Aiden—!" the butler stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of panic. "We were not expecting—wh-what do we owe this visit to—?"
Aiden's voice cut sharp as steel. "Where is Carlson?"
The older man gulped hard, his throat bobbing. The sharp tone, the drawn weapon—none of it was helping his nerves.
Gabriella let out a small sigh, rolling her eyes before stepping forward. "Lower your sword, Aiden. You're scaring the poor man." Her tone was dry and unimpressed. She shifted her attention to the butler. Her voice turned smooth and firm, carrying the kind of weight that demanded to be trusted. It wasn't soft, but it carried reassurance—reassurance born from authority. "We're not here to harm him. You have my word. But we must see him. Now."
The butler hesitated, still torn between fear and duty. But Gabriella's presence had its own gravity and her word were the kind people believed in without question. Finally, he nodded shakily and turned. "He is in the gardens. Let me... let me lead you there."
They were led through winding paths until the gardens stretched out before them. Beautiful, yes—but haunting. White flowers, foreign and strange, bloomed ghostlike in the moonlight. Silver-leafed trees stood tall, their branches unmoving in the still night air. The silence was wrong. Too heavy, too quiet. The garden carried an ominous weight, as though the very air had thickened into something physical.
Carlson stood near a marble fountain. He was dressed in flowing night-robes, clearly out for a short stroll after dinner and before retiring. He turned as they approached, a polite expression on his face that shifted quickly when he noticed Aiden's unsheathed sword.
"Prince Aiden. Lady Gabriella," he greeted, bowing slightly. "To what do I owe this..." his eyes flickered nervously to the weapon, alarm clear in them, "—armed visit?"
"We need to tell you something," Aiden said urgently, stepping forward. He lowered the sword, trying to ease Carlson's alarm.
But the moment the blade dipped, as though the shadows themselves had been waiting for that precise instant, the temperature plummeted. The air turned icy, and darkness thickened between the trees.
The shadows stirred.
Pools of black ink bled across the ground, stretching, twisting, warping into forms. They wavered as though seen through turbulent water, their shapes vaguely humanoid. Then they opened their eyes—blood red, glowing with raw malevolence.
Three of them.
They materialized from the darkness behind Carlson. But their attention was not on him. Not on Gabriella either.
All three locked onto Aiden.
The first lunged.
Aiden moved on instinct, the moon-forged sword humming in his grip with an intensity all its own. He plunged the blade into the shadow's chest, ripping it free with a slash across the neck. The thing screamed—an inhuman, ghoul-like shriek, a sound that carried raw dread before dissolving into black air, its remains puddling into a semi-solid pool of tar-like blood on the ground.
Before the body had even finished collapsing, the second shadow was on him. Everything was happening in the blink of an eye—so fast it would've already overwhelmed anyone less than a seasoned warrior. Even with the relic in hand, an untrained swordsman would've been devoured by now.
Aiden pivoted, barely catching the swipe of claws aimed at his throat. Sparks hissed as the blade parried. He countered fast, driving the sword deep through its torso and cutting it down.
But the third—
The third was faster.
It slipped past his guard and lashed out. Aiden turned just in time, but the claw still raked across his shoulder. The wound didn't feel like a normal cut. It was cold—unnaturally cold. Ice drove deep under his skin, numbing not just the flesh but the very movement of his arm. His shoulder stiffened, sluggish.
He gritted his teeth, forcing through the pain. The blade glowed in his grip, a whisper of ancient strength fueling him and he cut the last shadow down in a clean arc.
And then—silence.
The fight ended with the same suddenness it had begun. Three shadows reduced to sticky, black puddles that stained the garden floor.
Carlson stood frozen, his face pale, stunned by the spectacle he had just witnessed. His lips parted, struggling to form words. "What... what just happened?"
Aiden didn't waste time. He pressed his hand against his shoulder, checking the wound, then turned sharply. His voice was clipped, urgent.
"Follow us to the temple. We don't have the luxury of having this conversation here."
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AN: I'm going to uni tomorrow!!! (Feeling kinda sad I gotta leave home tho. I can still return on Sundays tho since it's like an hour and half away)