The sigils flickered in the dim light, their glow pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. The soft red light seemed alive, breathing through the walls. My heartbeat had shifted, compelled to mirror their rhythm. The line between me and this place blurred with every passing second.
The air in the archives was thick, clinging to my skin like a damp cloth. It wasn't just heavy—it was suffocating, like centuries of weight pressing down on us. The silence wasn't really silent either. It thrummed faintly with something ancient. The walls seemed to lean closer with every breath, eager to hear what was happening.
Lucien's voice cut through the stillness, steady but cold. His tone was detached, clinical, even as his movements showed reverence. His fingers traced the glowing lines with practiced familiarity. As his fingertips hovered over each design, they left faint shadows, making the symbols shiver. He murmured something to Mira, but the words felt distant, muffled by the storm in my head.
I couldn't stop thinking about the mark in the nursery. It had pulsed and twisted in ways nothing earthly should, writhing like a living thing. The Crimson Figure had vanished, but the void it left behind had taken root in me. Its presence clung like a shadow that moved even when I was still. The system's update had confirmed it: this wasn't the end. This was just the beginning.
Mira's grip on me tightened suddenly, jolting me back. Her arms were solid, warm, a fortress I could retreat to. But beneath her strength, I felt it—the slight tremor in her muscles, the unspoken fear in every move. She was trying to shield me, but fear can't be hidden when it runs through every fiber of your being.
"Lucien," Mira's voice cut sharply through the stillness like a blade. Her tone had authority and urgency, a desperate demand for answers. "If this is a summoning, then we need to know what it's summoning. And why it's tied to him."
Lucien didn't turn. His gaze stayed fixed on the sigils, intense blue eyes scanning the lines like he was peeling back buried secrets. His brow furrowed slightly, the faintest twitch betraying his thoughts. "I'm working on it," he replied curtly, voice low but firm, words clipped. His tone wasn't meant to comfort—it was meant to reassure himself as much as us. "But this... this predates everything we know. The Alarics didn't build this estate; they inherited it. And whatever this is, it's older than even the Redthorns."
Mira's jaw tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. Her golden hair, slightly disheveled, caught the faint red glow of the sigils. She leaned forward, eyes blazing with fear and determination. "That's not good enough. We need answers, Lucien. Not theories."
Lucien straightened slowly, movements deliberate. His face was hard, carved into an unreadable mask, but there was something beneath it—a flicker of regret that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Answers take time. And time isn't something we have a lot of."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Mira's gaze dropped to me, her golden hair falling forward like a curtain, creating a fragile cocoon around us. Her eyes softened, the fierce resolve tempered by doubt and helplessness. She swallowed hard, throat bobbing as she fought to suppress whatever fear clawed at her.
"I don't care how old this is," she said finally, voice steady despite the tremor threatening to break through. "He's my son, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect him."
Lucien didn't respond. He turned back to the sigils, posture rigid. His fingers resumed their work, tracing the lines like the symbols would bend to his will. As he touched them, they flared, shifting and rearranging into a new pattern. The shapes seemed to come alive, writhing like serpents in the dim light, their glow brighter before dimming again.
The patterns tugged at my mind, a faint pull that sent shivers down my spine. They weren't just glowing symbols—they were whispering to me, though the language was one I couldn't grasp. The system's interface flickered to life, slicing through my thoughts:
[Analyzing anomaly... Progress: 23%]
I stared at the message, breath catching. It wasn't enough. The system was always like this—cryptic, elusive. It provided just enough information to unsettle me, but never enough for clarity. My fingers twitched, yearning to grab something to ground myself.
"Lucien."
Charlotte's entrance was swift and purposeful, footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor. Her silver device glowed faintly in her hands, casting elongated shadows that danced along the walls. She moved with practiced precision, though her tight lips and furrowed brow betrayed her composure.
"What did you find?" Lucien's tone was sharp, body tensing as he turned to face her.
Charlotte hesitated—just for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty she quickly masked. She held out the device, its glow intensifying. "Residual energy. Similar to the nursery, but stronger. It's concentrated."
Lucien's expression darkened, eyes narrowing. "Where?"
"The eastern wing. Specifically, the foundations."
The room seemed to inhale, air growing colder with her words. Mira's grip on me tightened instinctively, knuckles white. She turned sharply to Charlotte, voice quivering. "The foundations?"
Lucien nodded slowly, gaze flicking back to the sigils. "It makes sense. The estate was built on fractured ground—a place where the boundaries between realms are thin. The foundations would be the epicenter of that fracture."
Mira's eyes hardened, frustration boiling over. "And what does that mean for him?" Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear she tried to suppress.
Lucien hesitated. His hand moved slowly, tracing another line as the sigils brightened momentarily. "It means the estate isn't just a house. It's a vessel. And he..." His gaze flicked to me, lingering, expression grim. "He's the key."
The weight of his words hit like a physical blow. The silence that followed was deafening. My heart pounded against my ribs, a frantic rhythm. Mira's pulse mirrored my own.
"That's enough," she said suddenly, voice trembling with anger and desperation. "We're leaving. Tonight."
Lucien turned to her, sharp features unreadable. "You can't run from this. Wherever you go, it will follow. The only way to stop this is to face it."
Mira's grip tightened further, resolve hardening. "Then we'll find another way. But I won't let him become a pawn in whatever this is."
The tension between them crackled like static. Before either could speak again, the sigils flared violently, their glow searing and blinding.
The air turned icy. The low hum of energy surged into a deafening roar. The sigils twisted one last time before extinguishing, plunging the room into suffocating darkness.
And then, from the shadows, it emerged.
---
The room felt like it was shrinking, closing in with oppressive darkness that seemed alive. It wasn't just the absence of light—it was a presence, suffocating and all-consuming. Every corner became indistinguishable from the void. My vision, straining to adjust, only revealed blackness so dense it felt like my eyes were closed. I clung to Mira, fingers curling against her chest, and I felt the rapid rise and fall of her breaths. She was afraid—terrified, though trying to mask it.
Her breathing was shallow, sharp inhales followed by unsteady exhales. A soft shudder escaped her lips as she adjusted her stance, boots making the faintest scrape against the floor. Her arms wrapped tighter around me, one hand pressing firmly against my back, the other brushing my neck, protective but trembling. I felt the tension in her fingers, every muscle wound tight like a coiled spring.
Lucien, standing just ahead, was utterly still. His back was to us, broad shoulders squared and rigid. His breathing was unnervingly steady—slow and measured, like he was conserving energy for what was coming. His head tilted slightly, the faintest motion, like an animal scenting the air. His jaw clenched, muscles visibly tightening, and his hands hovered at his sides. One hand was half-raised, fingers twitching between reaching for a weapon and maintaining composure.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of floorboards beneath Charlotte as she shifted nervously. Her skirts rustled as she adjusted her footing, stepping closer to the wall, pressing against it like she was trying to disappear. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitating before managing a strained whisper. "Milord... what is that?"
Her voice carried a tremor that vibrated through the room. Mira flinched, grip on me tightening. Lucien didn't turn. He raised one hand instead, palm outward, deliberate and slow. A silent command for quiet. His other hand hovered above the hem of his coat, fingers brushing the fabric, testing the weight of the blade concealed beneath.
"Stay back," Lucien said, voice low and controlled. Not a plea—an order. His words carried authority and urgency, like he could feel seconds slipping away.
The air shifted, growing colder, sharper. The shadows began to move—not with any pattern but with liquid flow, rippling like a black tide. They gathered in the room's center, coalescing into a formless, writhing mass. A sound accompanied it, faint at first—a low hum, like air under immense pressure. It grew louder, more discordant, resonating through the room, grating against my ears.
Lucien tensed. His shoulders squared further, head lowering slightly as his eyes locked on the shifting darkness. His lips pressed into a thin line, nostrils flaring as he took a deep, deliberate breath.
The creature began to take shape. Its limbs emerged first—long, spindly arms that unfolded with unnatural grace, each motion slow and deliberate, savoring the act of manifesting. Its torso twisted grotesquely, jagged and uneven, outline flickering like it struggled to maintain form.
Mira's breath hitched audibly, pulse quickening beneath my cheek. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, locked on the creature, lips parted between a scream and silence. She shifted her weight subtly, angling her body to shield me completely. I felt the slight tremor in her legs as she adjusted her stance, boots scraping softly.
Charlotte gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound that drew the creature's attention. Its head—or what should have been its head—turned toward her, the motion jerky and unnatural, like a marionette on tangled strings. Its face was nothingness—a void so absolute it seemed to devour the air around it. The longer I stared, the more wrong it felt, like my mind was recoiling from something it couldn't comprehend.
Lucien moved. His hand darted into his coat, motion smooth and practiced, and he drew his blade, Whistle, with a single, fluid motion. The blade was long and slender, surface etched with intricate carvings that shimmered faintly in the dim light. He held it loosely at first, grip relaxed as he adjusted his stance. His weight shifted onto the balls of his feet, knees bending slightly, ready to spring.
"Don't interfere," he said, voice sharp and precise, leaving no room for argument.
The creature lunged. Its tendrils shot forward, whipping through the air with a sound like tearing fabric. Lucien sidestepped the first strike, movements fluid and economical. The tendril struck the ground where he'd stood, splintering the wood with a deafening crack.
Mira gasped, arms tightening around me as shards of wood flew through the air. "Lucien—"
"I said stay back!" he barked, voice cutting through the chaos. His eyes never left the creature, focus unyielding.
The creature struck again, tendrils lashing out in rapid succession. Lucien ducked under one, coat flaring with the motion, and spun on his heel to avoid another. His blade flashed in the dim light as he parried the third strike, edge slicing cleanly through the shadowy limb.
A hissing sound filled the room as the severed tendril recoiled, form dissolving into black mist. The creature reared back, movements growing more erratic. Its limbs twisted and stretched unnaturally, writhing like living serpents.
Lucien pressed his advantage, stepping forward with calculated precision. He slashed at the creature's torso, blade carving through shadows with a faint, metallic hiss. The creature recoiled again, form flickering like a dying flame.
But it didn't retreat.
The next strike came faster, tendrils moving with impossible speed. Lucien managed to dodge the first few, body twisting and pivoting with inhuman agility. But one tendril caught him across the shoulder, the force sending him stumbling back.
He grunted, sound low and pained, free hand instinctively moving to clutch his ribs. His breaths came quicker now, each inhale sharp and shallow as he steadied himself. Sweat glistened on his brow, jaw tightening as he adjusted his grip on the dagger.
"Lucien!" Mira's voice broke, panic coloring her tone. She took an involuntary step forward, but her grip on me didn't loosen.
"I'm fine," he muttered, tone clipped and strained. He didn't look at her, focus remaining entirely on the creature.
The shadows shifted again, the creature's form flickering as it prepared for another assault. Lucien exhaled slowly, lips pressing into a thin line as he steadied his stance. His blade gleamed faintly in the darkness, carvings along its edge glowing brighter.
The creature lunged again, tendrils whipping toward him with unrelenting ferocity. Lucien dodged the first strike, ducking low and rolling to the side. The second tendril came faster, catching him across the side and eliciting another grunt of pain. He stumbled but didn't fall, movements controlled despite the force.
Mira's breathing grew more frantic, each inhale trembling as she watched the fight unfold. Her arms tensed around me, nails digging slightly into my back as she held me closer. "He's going to lose," she whispered, voice barely audible.
Charlotte moved suddenly, steps quick and unsteady as she approached the shelves lining the wall. Her hands trembled as she searched through the items, movements frantic but determined. "Milady, we have to find something—anything—to help him!"
Lucien struck again, blade slashing upward in a sharp arc. The edge caught one of the creature's limbs, severing it cleanly. The creature recoiled, form rippling as though in pain, but pressed forward once more.
Each clash of blade against shadow reverberated through the room, sound sharp and jarring. Lucien's breathing grew heavier, movements slower but no less precise. His stance shifted with each step, feet sliding across the fractured floorboards as he adjusted to the creature's relentless assault.
Finally, the creature surged forward, its entire form collapsing into a mass of shadows that engulfed Lucien completely.
"Lucien!" Mira's scream tore through the darkness, raw and desperate.
Through the suffocating shadows, the only sound we heard was Lucien's faint whisper: "Go."