The rain had started before dawn.
It streaked down the tall windows of Vale House in crooked lines, blurring the view of the gardens beyond into a smear of green and gray. The air inside smelled faintly of wet stone and candle wax, as if the house had drawn the storm in and was holding its breath.
Elma walked the eastern corridor with her hood pulled low, boots muffled against carpets so thick they seemed to swallow sound. Every step echoed faintly, like the walls themselves were listening.
The shard burned faintly beneath her sleeve, its hum syncing with her pulse. Not loud enough for anyone else to notice, but enough to make her skin prickle.
Calista waited where the corridor bent into shadow, half-hidden by a marble column. She wasn't dressed like Vale's queen tonight—no silk, no jewelry, just dark trousers, boots soft enough to silence her steps, and a knife strapped tight against her thigh. Her hair was pinned back, but a single lock fell loose against her cheek.
"You're late," she whispered, voice sharp but soft.
Elma smirked. "Had to make sure I wasn't being followed."
Calista's gaze flicked down the hall, then back to her. "Kade's been circling. He's watching both of us."
"Good," Elma murmured, leaning closer. "Let him watch."
Calista didn't smile, but her eyes softened for a heartbeat. Then she motioned for Elma to follow, slipping through a narrow doorway hidden behind a tapestry. The corridor beyond was unlit, narrow, the air colder.
The servants didn't come here.
They stopped in a cramped alcove beneath a spiral staircase. The shard pulsed harder now, heat bleeding through Elma's sleeve.
"This is where it pointed?" Calista asked quietly.
Elma nodded, crouching to press her palm against the floor. The hum vibrated up her arm, sharp and insistent. "Somewhere below. Shadow Hall."
Calista's jaw tightened. "That place isn't a rumor, then."
"You've been queen this long and you didn't know?" Elma teased, voice low.
Calista shot her a look. "Vale House has layers older than the family name. Even Nitron avoids some of them."
That drew a grin from Elma. "Sounds like a good place for secrets."
The sound of boots echoed faintly above them. Calista tensed, instinctively pressing closer into the alcove. Elma's arm brushed her shoulder; their breaths synced in the dark.
The boots passed. Silence reclaimed the stairwell.
Calista didn't step back immediately. Her hand twitched at her side, fingers brushing Elma's wrist just once—a fleeting spark of contact that made the leash flare hot under Elma's collar.
Elma grit her teeth against the sting. Calista's expression flickered with frustration, but she didn't pull away quickly enough to hide the longing in her eyes.
"Let's move," Calista said, voice softer now.
They descended the spiral stairs. The deeper they went, the colder it grew. The storm outside became a distant hum, replaced by the creak of old stone and the whisper of their own footsteps.
At the bottom was an iron gate, rusted but sealed with thick sigils etched deep into its frame. The markings glimmered faintly when Elma stepped closer, the shard in her sleeve answering with a brighter pulse.
The light from the shard cast eerie shadows along the curved hallway, illuminating fragments of murals painted centuries ago—saints with hollow eyes, wolves with too many teeth, a serpent swallowing its own tail.
Calista's breath hitched softly. "This… isn't Vale work."
"No," Elma said, tracing a sigil with her fingertips. The metal was cold enough to sting. "This is older."
The shard hummed louder, like it was pleased.
Above them, a bell chimed softly—just one note, low and deep. It wasn't the manor's bell.
Both women froze.
The sound seemed to sink into the stones, vibrating faintly under their feet.
Elma's fingers hovered over the sigils. She could feel a pull now, something urging her to place the shard against the iron.
Calista drew her dagger. The polished blade caught the shard's glow, throwing a streak of light across her face. "Whatever's behind that door… I don't think we're ready."
Elma glanced at her, a sharp grin curving her lips. "Neither does it. That's why it's calling."
The shard's glow intensified, casting the hallway in shifting gold and blue patterns. The sigils on the iron gate began to respond, lines brightening one by one like a lock waking up.
Calista stepped closer, dagger in one hand, the other gripping Elma's arm. Her breath was steady, but her pulse betrayed her—Elma could feel it through the touch.
"You trust it?" Calista asked softly.
Elma smirked. "No. But I trust us."
The gate shuddered.
The hall behind them seemed to inhale, a gust of cold air sweeping down the stairs. The torches lining the spiral snuffed out, one by one, until only the shard's light remained.
"Looks like we're invited," Elma murmured.
The last sigil clicked into place with a soft metallic chime.
Calista's grip tightened.
Elma reached for the gate handle, her other hand cradling the shard.
"Every leash has a maker," the whisper came again, clear and low, vibrating in her bones.
The gate creaked open.
Darkness breathed out to meet them, smelling of damp stone and something older—incense and blood, faded but not gone.
Elma looked at Calista. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them wore their masks. Fear lived there, yes, but also fire.
Together, they stepped through.
[Quest Progression: The Key Lies in Shadow]
Objective: Explore the Shadow Hall
Risk Level: Severe