For a long while, there was only silence—save for that slow, rhythmic thud echoing from within. Then, a faint crack splintered the surface. A hairline fracture snaked along the obsidian shell, glowing faintly with the same crimson hue as the pendant. The air around the cocoon grew colder, denser, as if reality held its breath. The mist recoiled, drawn inward as though summoned. And from deep inside, something stirred—not with the weakness of rebirth, but with the quiet certainty of awakening power.
The shell pulsed once, then again, stronger. Each beat resonated with the pendant, which spun slowly in the air, its glow intensifying with every rotation. The fractures multiplied, spiderwebbing across the obsidian surface, veins of light cutting through the darkness. The heartbeat grew louder, steadier, no longer the sound of fear or helplessness, but of something ancient and resolute, as if a forgotten force was remembering its purpose.
Then, silence.
A breathless, aching pause.
With a deafening crack, the shell shattered.
Shards of shadow burst outward like fragments of a broken night sky, dissolving into nothingness before they hit the ground. In their place Lay a figure—not the boy who had once been curled in slumber, but something else entirely. Ein, a form cloaked in tendrils of lingering darkness that clung to his skin like living ink. His eyes snapped open—not gold, as they had once been, but burning with a blood thirstiness, a tainted luminescence that saw through everything.
warmpoer radiated from him in waves, ancient and raw, the kind that whispered to the bones of the world. The pendant glowing with force, lowered itself to his chest, nestling against his sternum like it belonged there. As it touched his skin, it melted into him, absorbed without resistance—no longer an artifact, but a part of him.
Ein took a breath. It was slow, steady, as he slept,
The phenomenon faded, but the air remained thick, charged. Ein didn't move—not yet. His body lay still, but his mind was pulled backward, drawn into a memory that surged unbidden from the depths of his soul.
A garden. Nurtural and kept, now forgotten, and unloved. The scent of damp earth and crushed lavender. He was smaller than—much smaller. Bare feet on cold stone. A woman knelt among the wildflowers, humming a tune that no one else ever seemed to know. Her back was to him, but he remembered the curve of her shoulders, the way her white hair fell like a curtain down her spine, and the warmth of her voice.
"Auran," she had said, not "Ein." The name felt like honey and ache all at once. "You must never let them see you cry. You must never let them see you hurt or down, not in this place. Not ever"
He'd asked her why. He remembered the way her hands trembled as she reached for his, dirt-streaked and calloused, but gentle. "Because tears are truth," she whispered, pressing the pendant into his palm, the very same one that now lived beneath his skin. "And truth is dangerous here."
Her voice faded, as memory did, but the feeling remained—a hollow warmth, a ghost of a mother's love pressed between the ribs like a forgotten bruise.
Ein's breath hitched. Not from pain, but clarity.
They had taken her from him. They had lied.
And now, something inside him had awakened not just power, but purpose.
[6 Hours Later...]
A loud, deliberate knock shook the wooden door.
Ein jolted upright in bed, heart hammering. The light pouring through the curtains hit him like an accusation.
He'd overslept.
Panic surged. He leapt from the bed, fumbling to straighten his shirt as he rushed barefoot across the floor. No, no, no— He was supposed to have the morning tea prepared, the foyer swept, the fires lit— He pulled the door open.
And froze.
Standing there, perfectly composed, was Baroness Ellanior Rose Hughes. Her gloved hands folded neatly in front of her, her eyes ice-cold.
The Baroness stood at the threshold like a vision shaped from the earth and light, poised, rooted, radiant, and alluring. Her presence was quiet but commanding. Her medium frame was wrapped in a flowing gown of mossy emerald silk, the fabric clinging to her form like damp leaves to skin. A corset embroidered with threads the color of rich soil hugged her waist, drawing the eye to the slow, steady rhythm rise and fall of her breasts. Her long auburn hair was gathered into a coiled twist, pinned with a slender silver comb that felt carved from bone or driftwood—simple, sacred, and worn with purpose."
Her skin held the warmth of rose-tinted clay, smooth as polished stone, and her face—striking in its stillness—bore a calm expression edged with intensity, as her emerald eyes locked onto him with quiet, unyielding force.
She stood like a force of nature—rooted, eternal, and impossible to ignore. And he wanted her.
"My lady—!" Ein's voice cracked as he immediately bowed. But she didn't speak. She didn't need to. Her gaze held him fast, her presence doing the speaking. He felt laid bare—like raw earth turned beneath a plow, exposed to sun and air for the first time."I…I deeply apologize". He tried to get out before the baroness interrupted.
"I don't need your excuses," she said bluntly, gracefully taking a single step forward, the soft rustle of silk against stone sounding louder than it should have in the quiet. The air between them grew dense, heavy with something unspoken.
The panic was bubbling just beneath his skin as the baron told him what would happen if he messed up. "I should've been awake. The rooster didn't crow," he nervously blurted out.
She paused, as if the silence felt like judgment.
"A cock is not what wakes a proper butler," she said. "Discipline does."
Ein bowed his head, shame rising like heat in his face. "Yes, my lady. I've failed in my duties."
"Indeed," she said coolly, glancing over the state of the shack. " The unlit hearth, the unkept steps, the absence of tea or fresh linens," she listed the things that were not done this morning. "The errors speak for themselves".
Ein dropped to one knee, his voice tight with pleading. "Please… give me a chance, my lady. I'll set it all right—I swear it. I'll do anything."
There was no pride left in him, only the brittle edge of panic. She regarded him in silence, and the longer she stared, the smaller he felt, like soil ground beneath her heel.
"Anything," the Baroness echoed at last, the word curling from her lips slowly, thoughtfully. As if weighing it.
His breath caught. "Yes, my lady. Anything you ask."
"Anything," she said again, savoring it like a ripe grape on her tongue.
"Then listen well. You will do exactly as you're told. If I find so much as a towel out of place, the Baron will hear of this. And you know he won't be gentle."
Ein's fists clenched on his thighs. He trembled, still kneeling.
"Yes, my lady."
She turned to go, her final words trailing back like the last chill of winter.
"You have one hour to prepare my bath. Be grateful I still find you useful… but you'd best not disappoint me again."
The door closed behind her with the finality of a gavel.
And Ein remained there—on his knees, breath shallow, heart pounding, praying to gods he didn't believe in that he still had time.
[1 hour later… East Corridor, Baroness bathroom]
The air was warm, thick with fragrant steam. The usual scent of lavender and cedar oil lingered, but hints of coconut wafted around the bathroom; something else rode beneath it. Something richer. Wilder. It tugged at her senses like a half-remembered dream, sweet and dark and almost edible.
Her eyes narrowed as she stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind her with a soft click.
Ein stood at attention near the far wall, still damp from his frantic preparations. His black shirt clung to him, translucent in places with sweat and steam. A single bead of water trailed down the line of his jaw.
He did not look up.
The baroness stepped closer, eyes narrowing as she took in the man before her. For a moment, disbelief flickered across her face.
His frame, once narrow and unsure, now filled the space with quiet strength. Tall, built—not bulky, but every muscle honed and defined like a blade tempered in fire.
It was impossible—how had this boy, so slight and fragile just days ago, become this?
His skin, rich and warm like darkened clay, gleamed faintly beneath the steam. But it was his eyes that stopped her—golden orbs flecked with red, sharp and wild, shining with a fierce intensity that wasn't there before.
Something had changed, and he knew she knew it.
"Prepare the bath salts," she said, voice low and smooth.
"Yes, my lady," he replied.
He moved quickly but carefully, and she watched the line of his back, the stretch of his shoulders beneath the thin fabric. There was something raw about him now, like a creature trying desperately to remain caged in human skin.
As he poured the salts into the steaming tub, the scent thickened again.
It made her lips part, just slightly. Her breath slowed. Her fingertips tingled.
No. This wasn't the usual bath oil. It wasn't the fire, nor the room.
She cast her gaze around, as if seeking to find the source, but nothing was out of place.
Still, it clung to her skin, curled under her dress, and warmed her from the inside out.
Ein stepped back, shoulders rising and falling with effort.
"The bath is ready, my lady."
She didn't move at first. Instead, she simply stood there, eyes fixed on him. Watching the rise of his strong chest. The flutter of his throat when he swallowed.
"You're flushed," she said, her voice quiet now. "Is it the heat?"
"Yes," he lied.
A drop of sweat slipped down his temple. He didn't dare wipe it away.
"Turn around," she said. But inwardly, he was grinning at the boy. His jaw clenched, but he obeyed, every muscle in his back held tight like bowstrings.
The scent pulsed again—deeper this time, like earth warmed by the sun. Something sensual, ancient. She felt it gather in the pit of her stomach and thrum lower, like a heartbeat between her legs.
What is this…?
She reached for the strap of her dress, deliberately slow. The fabric loosened around her shoulders, then slid down her arms. Getting stuck around her waist, but she swiftly loosened the corset, letting the dress cascade to the floor. She stood before him, bare for all to see.
Ein didn't move. He could only imagine what Ellanior looked like, the red rose baroness.
He didn't breathe.
She stepped into the milky water behind him with a sigh, not of relaxation, but of something else. The heat lapped at her thighs, her waist. The scent rose with the steam, coating her like silk.
"Sit," she said after a moment.
He hesitated. "My lady?" turning around to see her gesture over to her.
"Here." Her voice was thicker now. She gestured to the stool beside the tub. "Scrub."
Ein walked over to the stool, removing the contents and setting them aside, before he sat right next to the large tub, taking the sponge in his shaking hands. He could see her large mound lying in the milky water. One of her thick legs fully extended under the water as the other propped up.
He dipped the wash cloth into the water, next to her, then drew it across her bare shoulder that lay across the back of the tub.
Her skin flinched—not from cold—and he froze, halfway through the motion. The scent swelled between them like a living thing. Neither spoke.
He moved again, slowly now, dragging the sponge down her arm, over her wrist, dipping into the water.
Her breath hitched.
He looked up, just once, and their eyes met.
The silence cracked.
She could hear her pulse in her ears. Her thighs pressed together under the water.
"Is the water too warm, my lady?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
Turning toward him, her eyes lingered on his lips. The way his breath trembled. The way his hands did not.
"No," she whispered. "Just… unexpected." Ein nodded faintly and dipped the sponge again. But something had shifted now—undeniably. Irrevocably. The bath had only just begun.