The manor was too quiet.
Not the absence-of-sound quiet. This was the kind that pressed on your lungs, made every creak of the floorboards feel deliberate. Elma felt it the moment she and Calista stepped out of the tower—like the building itself was holding its breath.
Her veins were still faintly glowing beneath her skin. She tugged her collar higher, hiding it, though she doubted anyone in this place didn't already know what she'd done.
Calista's hand brushed hers briefly. A warning. "We're being watched."
Elma didn't look around. She didn't need to. The hair on the back of her neck was already standing.
The corridor ahead was lined with portraits—past rulers of Vale House, their painted faces solemn and accusing. But tonight, they seemed… sharper. Watching. The shard pulsed faintly under her ribs. They are echoes.
Elma ignored the voice.
They moved fast but careful, Calista leading them through servants' passages and side staircases, avoiding the main halls. No alarms, no shouts, no charging guards—just the oppressive silence of a predator stalking its prey.
Finally, they ducked into Calista's private chambers, locking the door behind them.
Calista pressed her back to the door, exhaling slowly. "We shouldn't stay here."
"We won't," Elma said. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, every muscle trembling now that adrenaline had faded. The shard's power still buzzed in her bones like static.
Calista crossed the room, crouching in front of her. She cupped Elma's face gently, searching her eyes. "You're burning up."
"I'm fine," Elma murmured.
"You're glowing," Calista countered. "That's not fine."
Elma huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. "We broke his leash."
Calista's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "We did."
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension softening into something rare—quiet, fragile relief. Then Calista pulled back, mask sliding back into place. "We don't have long before he moves."
She was right.
An hour later, the bells tolled again.
Not an alarm this time. A summons.
Every servant and guard would have felt that sound ripple through their bones. Nitron wasn't hunting anymore. He was calling them to him.
Calista glanced out the window, jaw tight. "He's going to turn the whole house against us."
"He already has," Elma said, standing. Her hands flexed unconsciously, the shard answering with a soft hum.
Calista's gaze flicked to her glowing veins. "Can you control it?"
"Not yet," Elma admitted.
Calista moved closer, resting a hand over Elma's wrist. "Then I'll control everything else."
The door shook suddenly—three sharp knocks.
Elma and Calista froze.
A servant's voice came muffled through the wood: "Lady Calista. Lord Nitron requests your presence."
Calista's eyes met Elma's. No fear in them. Just sharp, calculated resolve.
"Tell him we'll come," she said.
The servant hesitated, then replied, "At once, my lady." Footsteps retreated down the hall.
Calista exhaled and turned to Elma. "We can't run yet. Not until we know his next move."
Elma flexed her fingers, feeling the shard's hum grow sharper. "And if his next move is killing us?"
"Then he underestimates us," Calista said softly.
They left the room together, walking side by side through halls lined with flickering lanterns. Servants bowed too quickly. Guards stood too stiffly. The manor wasn't calm—it was coiled.
When they reached the main staircase, Elma's steps faltered.
Nitron was waiting at the bottom.
He wasn't flanked by guards this time. He didn't need them. He stood in a pool of candlelight, a glass of wine in his hand, as calm and dangerous as a drawn blade.
"Elma," he said smoothly, silver eyes gleaming. "Come closer."
The shard pulsed violently, like a warning heartbeat.
Calista's hand brushed against hers, grounding her.
They descended the stairs together.
Nitron's smile was sharp but not unkind. "You've grown," he said softly. "It suits you."
Elma said nothing.
He stepped forward, circling them like a wolf. "The leash is gone. The shard sings for you. And yet…" His gaze flicked briefly to Calista. "You're still tethered."
Elma's jaw tightened.
Nitron chuckled, sipping his wine. "Don't look so grim, my vessel. Do you think I'm angry?"
"Yes," Elma said bluntly.
That earned her a genuine laugh. "Fair." He set the glass down. "But anger is for lesser men. I am… intrigued."
The shard thrummed louder, reacting to his presence. Elma fought to keep her posture steady.
Nitron leaned close, his voice dropping. "You're not ready to kill me. Yet."
He stepped back smoothly, gesturing toward the grand hall. "Come. We have much to discuss."
[Quest Updated: Thronebreaker]
Status: Escalating
New Objective: Survive the Council's Trial