The Northern hall was bathed in a soft light, filtered through stained glass that cast crimson and golden tones over the velvet tapestries.
The rich scent of aged wine, spices, and candle wax filled the air, mingling with the subtle perfume of exotic flowers arranged in golden vases.
The distant sound of lutes and violins drifted through the space, weaving a delicate melody that conversed with the restrained murmur of the guests — every laugh, every step echoing with precision, as if the floor itself recorded every gesture.
Among the guests, two figures stood out — Ereon and Éon, princes of the North, dressed in black ceremonial cloaks embroidered in silver, with purple accents that caught the light.
Ereon, elegant and commanding, exuded confidence; his violet gaze swept the hall with his usual touch of provocation, accompanied by a faint, calculated smile.
Beside him, Éon held a straight, serene posture, his liquid black eyes observing every detail with almost supernatural calm — the silent essence of his authority.
It was then that a young man approached, moving with an almost rehearsed grace, yet without losing the natural ease of his youth.
Short, disheveled, silvery-blond hair framed his delicate face, and his gray-blue eyes carried an intensity that made every detail around him seem secondary.
He stopped behind the brothers, placing his hands lightly on their shoulders — a bold, yet not disrespectful gesture, marked by the confidence of one born into nobility.
"Princes of the North, it's an honor," he said, his voice clear and musical, carrying the formal weight of his lineage. "I am Lucien D'Lorien, son of Marquis Alaric D'Lorien."
The touch on Ereon's and Éon's shoulders was subtle, yet full of intent.
Ereon lifted one corner of his mouth in a provocative smile, while Éon merely inclined his head slightly, assessing the young man with his characteristic, unshakable calm.
"Lucien D'Lorien," Ereon repeated, his voice low and melodic, laced with irony and elegance. "Son of Marquis Alaric… I imagine you've heard of us long before crossing this hall."
Éon remained still, his black eyes fixed on Lucien, as if he could probe every thought, every intention.
"My father has always been cautious with alliances… and with youthful enthusiasm," Lucien said, maintaining perfect posture and restrained gestures, while Ereon crossed his arms, violet eyes gleaming with sparks of amusement. "But I see some ignore family counsel with ease… or perhaps with courage."
Ereon's smile was provocative, subtly seductive — inviting Lucien to take his stance, testing his confidence.
Éon only tilted his chin, silent, letting the provocation unfold without interruption.
At that moment, Marquis Alaric D'Lorien approached. Long, slightly wavy blond hair reflected gold under the light; his intense, cold blue eyes measured the princes with rigor.
"Lucien… what audacity is this? It would be wise to explain the reason for your approach," said the marquis, his voice firm, heavy with authority and etiquette.
Lucien remained upright, movements controlled, and answered with noble courtesy:
"Father, I was merely greeting the new heirs of the North, as dictated by our code of conduct," he said, each word chosen to convey respect, composure, and deference.
The marquis gave a slight nod of acknowledgment before withdrawing, Lucien following him with measured, elegant steps.
Ereon raised an eyebrow, his provocative smile widening, while Éon maintained absolute serenity, watching the two retreat.
The celebration continued — laughter and music filling the hall for a few brief seconds.
Then, at the same instant, a sharp pain struck both brothers. Heads pounding, senses distorted, Ereon and Éon realized they were no longer at the banquet.
When they opened their eyes, they found themselves in an unfamiliar place: the ground covered in dust and stone, enclosed by a mysterious circle, and before them rose ruins.
Ereon lifted his gaze, jaw tightening as tension built.
"She didn't even wait for the banquet to end…" he murmured, his violet eyes gleaming with heightened alert.
Éon stood motionless, assessing the space with silent precision, ready for any movement, while the air around them vibrated with a dark, heavy energy.
They looked down and saw a circle carved into the broken marble beneath their feet. They were in the temple courtyard — now silent ruins — surrounded by shadows that danced between shattered columns.
Éon adjusted his stance, brow furrowed.
"But… how did we end up here?" His controlled voice reflected discomfort, yet never lost its calm.
Ereon smiled faintly, his violet eyes glowing.
"Appearances deceive… seems the young marquis didn't approach us by chance," he said, stepping closer and lightly pulling at his brother's robe, revealing a mark on his shoulder. A crimson rose gleamed there, pulsing with energy.
"In that moment… he marked us," Éon said, voice firm, eyes fixed on the mark.
Ereon met his gaze, expression grave.
"First lesson, Éon: every battle is fought — everywhere — always in your mind."
Barely had the words left his lips when something stirred within Éon's mind: an ancient memory, a feminine voice — soft, serene — echoing like a distant whisper from another time:
"Everyone is your enemy… everyone, your ally. Every series of possible events happens simultaneously.
Live this way, and nothing will surprise you. Whatever happens… will be something you have already foreseen."
Éon kept his gaze steady, heart pounding, absorbing every word as if time itself had slowed.
Ereon, watching the shadows, remained silent, letting the lesson sink into his brother's mind.
Finally, Ereon raised his eyes, the intensity in his gaze piercing through Éon.
"This isn't whim or chance," he said, his voice low, heavy with authority. "Every instant outside our bodies brings us closer to death. This isn't discomfort… it's real danger."
Éon frowned, absorbing every word, his serenity contrasting with the subtle tightness in his chest brought by the weight of the situation.
"And… how do we get out of here?" he asked, his tone controlled, though a faint edge of concern slipped through.
Ereon arched an eyebrow, a nearly imperceptible smile forming.
"You'll see… just remember — always be ready."
He gestured lightly, but no further words were needed.
Éon understood immediately: they were not defenseless, and the plan Ereon had devised was already in motion within the shadows, waiting for the right moment.
The creatures, once shapeless, now twisted into bestial forms. They were tall, with black, gleaming hides — muscles rippling beneath skin that looked as taut as stretched leather.
Their elongated heads resembled wolves, yet their jaws brimmed with razor teeth, eyes glowing red-hot, claws long and curved.
A putrid stench emanated from them, the air thick as if each breath was soaked in malice.
"You should've brought your katana," Ereon muttered, his violet eyes tracking every movement, muscles tensed — ready to strike.
Éon smiled silently, every fiber of his body primed, anticipating the first lunge.
The nearest lycanthrope leapt with predatory speed, body arched, claws slicing the air.
Ereon bent his knees, tilted his torso left, and twisted his hips — dodging at the last instant.
His right fist cut a precise arc, striking the creature's side with a sharp crack.
But from the shattered body burst two smaller, equally feral beasts, lunging like shadows.
Éon pivoted on his left foot, shifting his hips, torso firm.
His right elbow swung upward, crushing one's neck, while his left knee slammed down onto the other's clavicle, driving it into the ground.
Every motion flowed with precision — centered on balance and maximum impact.
Even as he destroyed, Éon was already preparing for the next strike.
The creatures kept multiplying.
Ereon stepped back with a lateral move, twisting his hips and raising his right leg in a side kick that hurled one beast into a broken column.
The impact shattered stone and bone alike — but from it spawned three offspring, sprinting along the flank.
Ereon rolled forward, palm pressing to the ground to break momentum, then swung his right arm — elbow crushed one, fist shattered another, eliminating them before they could react.
"They don't stop…" Ereon muttered, adjusting his stance, feet firm, hips rotating slightly as he dodged a high bite.
His violet eyes gleamed with focus, fingers weaving subtle gestures that condensed the surrounding Void.
Éon advanced with feline steps, breathing steady, torso upright.
An upward punch to one's torso. A precise knee to another's collarbone. A spinning elbow to a third's jaw.
Every strike hit vital points with lethal efficiency — each movement calculated to break bones and joints, avoiding encirclement and simultaneous attacks.
"We need to reach the central circle," Ereon warned, propelling himself forward, feet landing in short, controlled steps — hips and shoulders twisting with each blow, launching kicks and punches that carved a path through the horde.
Éon nodded, rolling sideways, arms crossing to block and disarm, feet aligning with perfect precision.
Every creature that emerged was anticipated: open strike, torso rotation, punch, knee, elbow — never losing rhythm, never losing balance.
The ground was stained with black blood and torn flesh.
The air vibrated with the smell of iron and rot — yet the brothers pressed on, a lethal choreography — strike after strike, dodge after dodge — turning every multiplication into an opportunity for destruction.
Ereon wove the Void around his fists in dark tendrils; Éon moved in utter silence, every impact echoing through the space like a death note.
They advanced together — disciplined, relentless — like masters who foresaw the darkness before it could close in.
The object Ereon had entrusted to Karna — bound to his own soul — began to vibrate strangely, responding to the sudden shift.
A crack resonated through his essence — it fractured, as if warning that something abnormal had occurred during the banquet. He moved in response, almost instinctively.
He raised his eyes, expression grave, feeling Ereon's energy ripple outside his body. A barely visible smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
"Ereon… you truly are terrifying."
Without wasting a second, he began to move — each step measured, advancing through the territory with the precision of someone who knew exactly what he was looking for.