Morning light struggled through heavy drapes, failing to warm the oppressive chill in the air. The house felt hungry—not comforting, but predatory. The knowledge we'd gained weighed on us like lead. The Crimson Trail wasn't just a curse. It was a disease, eating the estate from within.
I was pressed against Mira's chest, her arms rigid around me. She smelled like lavender, fighting the coppery tang that saturated everything. Her heart pounded faster than usual—even for her worried state. I felt it through her ribs, a drumbeat of fear.
Lucien paced nearby, jaw tight, eyes sharp. His movements looked controlled, but his fingers flexed restlessly at his sides. He wasn't showing uncertainty, but I caught it in those small gestures.
Charlotte leaned against the doorframe, sword strapped across her back. She looked ready—shoulders squared, eyes fixed on something beyond us. But tension showed in how her fingers brushed her blade's hilt. Like she was waiting for someone to make the first move.
Lucien stopped abruptly, facing us. His voice cut through the silence. "We start with the eastern wing. Yesterday's energy spikes weren't random." His gaze flicked to Mira, then Charlotte. "If we're finding the fractures, that's where we begin."
Mira's grip tightened, fingers pressing into my side. "And when we find what's causing them?" Her tone was sharper than I'd ever heard.
"We assess. We can't run blind anymore."
Mira's jaw clenched. I felt her heartbeat quicken. "You mean we're putting him right in the middle of it."
Lucien didn't blink. "He's the anchor. The shard's energy is tied to him. Ignoring that won't make it disappear."
The only sound was fabric rustling as Mira shifted me. I felt her frustration and fear rippling through our bond. She stayed silent, but that silence weighed more than any argument.
Charlotte stepped forward, voice calm but firm. "We don't stay longer than needed. If things go bad, we leave. Agreed?"
Mira's eyes lingered on me, expression softening briefly before she nodded.
Lucien inclined his head, though his lips pressed thin. He clearly didn't share her caution.
---
The eastern wing was wrong. No other word fit. The moment we crossed the threshold, everything changed. The air turned cold—not shivering cold, but sharp, biting at our senses like needles. That metallic scent grew stronger, clinging to the back of my throat.
The walls were darker, as if light from the rest of the house couldn't follow us. Shadows pooled in corners, moving almost imperceptibly. The floor creaked under Mira's boots, but the sound echoed strangely, like it wasn't coming from the floorboards at all.
Mira hesitated, breath hitching as she adjusted her hold. "This place..." she whispered.
Charlotte didn't wait. She moved forward, steps deliberate and careful. Her sword was unsheathed now, polished steel catching impossible glimmers of light. Lucien followed close behind, movements precise, mechanical, like he'd walked this path a thousand times in his mind.
The deeper we went, the worse it got. Walls weren't just crooked—they twisted, bending at impossible angles that made my head spin. Doors led nowhere. Corridors looped back on themselves, defying logic. The air grew heavier with each step, pressing down like an invisible weight.
Charlotte stopped abruptly, hand tightening on her sword. "You hear that?"
At first, nothing. Just the house's distant groaning. Then it came—whispers. Soft, fragmented, impossible to understand. Not words exactly, but sounds carrying weight, pressure that made breathing harder.
"It's the shard," Lucien said quietly, tone grim.
Mira's hold shifted, eyes darting toward shadows rippling along walls. "Stay close," she murmured—more plea than order.
---
We didn't find the sealed chamber. It found us. The corridor narrowed suddenly, walls pressing in until there was barely room for Lucien and Charlotte side by side. The door loomed ahead—massive, imposing, surface covered in jagged sigils pulsing with dull red light.
"This is it," Lucien said, voice barely audible.
Charlotte stepped closer, fingers hovering above the sigils. "It's warded. But poorly. Fractures everywhere."
"What's behind it?" Mira's voice was sharper.
Lucien didn't look away from the door. "Artifacts. Fragments from the Redthorn era. If the shard's feeding anywhere, it's here."
Mira's grip tightened. "And you think bringing him in there is smart?"
Lucien placed a hand against the door, fingers brushing glowing sigils. "We don't have a choice. The shard's already tied to him. Keeping him away doesn't protect him—it blinds us to what's happening."
Mira's breath caught, body tensing like she'd argue. But she didn't move.
Charlotte glanced back, expression hardening. "If it lashes out, we pull him back. No arguments."
Lucien nodded once, sharply. Then he pushed the door open.
The room was smaller than expected, air inside so cold it burned. Shelves lined walls, filled with jagged artifact fragments humming with latent energy. But the shard in the room's center drew our attention.
It rested on a pedestal—dark, glass-like, edges shimmering faintly. Looking at it made my chest ache, a deep pull I didn't understand. It felt wrong. Like it didn't belong anywhere.
Mira froze, arms locking around me. "No. This thing isn't touching him."
Lucien stepped closer, gaze fixed on the shard. "It's already connected, Mira. This might be the only way to—"
He didn't finish. The shard pulsed suddenly, light flickering as whispers swelled into a roar.
The shadows moved.
They twisted and curled, spilling from corners like flood water. They stretched and coiled, edges jagged and shifting, until they began taking form. Arms—too long, segmented—clawed into existence. A head emerged, faceless yet expressive in its malice, framed by darkness so deep it devoured the shard's faint glow.
Air became stifling, pressing against my chest. Mira pulled me tighter, breathing quick and shallow. "Lucien..." she hissed, fear barely concealed.
Charlotte didn't wait. She drew her sword with a sharp hiss, blade glinting in the shard's light. "Less talking," she snapped, voice cold and steady. "More fighting."
The figure lunged, limbs extending unnaturally fast. One arm shot toward us, claws aimed at Mira and me. Mira spun on her heel, clutching me tight as she dove sideways. The shadowy appendage smashed into the wall behind us, leaving deep gouges in crumbling stone.
Charlotte was on it instantly. Her sword gleamed as it cut through the shadow's arm, the strike clean and precise. The severed limb dissolved into dark wisps, but the figure didn't care. It twisted toward her, torso elongating unnaturally as another limb lashed out.
Lucien moved like a shadow himself, blade meeting the attack mid-swing. The clash sent an energy pulse through the room, making air hum with tension. "Charlotte, keep it off balance!" he shouted, voice sharp and commanding.
"I'm trying!" she shot back, movements fluid as she dodged another strike. Her sword flashed again, carving into the figure's side, but it didn't slow down. If anything, it grew more frenzied, form rippling and reforming with every blow.
Mira crouched behind a broken shelf, arms trembling as she held me close. I felt her heart hammering, breaths coming in quick, uneven bursts.
The figure turned toward Lucien, movements becoming sharper, more calculated. It lashed out with both arms, strikes almost impossible to follow. But Lucien was faster. He ducked under one swing, blade slicing upward in a precise arc that cut through the figure's chest. The shadow let out a guttural hiss, form flickering like it was struggling to hold together.
Charlotte took the opening, darting in with a fierce cry. Her sword plunged into the figure's core, the impact sending a shockwave through the room. The shadow writhed, limbs flailing wildly as it tried to pull away. "My Lord, now!" she yelled, straining to keep her blade buried in the creature.
Lucien didn't hesitate. He moved with deadly precision, blade cutting through the figure's arm before driving into its torso alongside Charlotte's. The room trembled, the shard's light pulsing violently as the figure let out a distorted, inhuman scream.
The shadows recoiled, twisting and shrinking as the figure's form unraveled. Its voice, low and resonant, echoed through the room. "The key bleeds," it rasped, tone filled with something like triumph. "The vessel bends."
Then it was gone. Shadows dissipated into nothing, leaving only oppressive silence and the shard's faint, steady pulsing.
Charlotte pulled her sword free, chest heaving as she stepped back. "That thing's getting stronger. We can't keep doing this."
Lucien wiped his blade on his coat's edge, expression grim. "We don't have a choice."
But something had changed. The air felt different now—thinner, like the room itself was holding its breath. The shard's pulse had changed too, faster now, more insistent.
"We need to go," Mira said, voice tight. "Now."
Charlotte nodded, already moving toward the door. "She's right. This place is about to—"
The room shuddered. Not like an earthquake—like something massive turning over in its sleep. Dust rained from the ceiling as the walls groaned, and the shelves started to lean inward.
"Move!" Lucien barked.
We ran. Or rather, Charlotte and Lucien ran while Mira clutched me tight, her movements quick but careful. Behind us, I heard the crash of falling shelves, the crack of stone splitting. The shard's pulse grew frantic, like a heart in panic.
The corridor twisted around us, but differently now. The impossible angles were shifting, walls bending and straightening as if the house was trying to trap us or guide us—I couldn't tell which.
"Left!" Charlotte called out, skidding around a corner that hadn't been there when we entered.
"That's not the way we came," Mira panted.
"Doesn't matter," Lucien said grimly. "The house is changing. We follow the path it gives us."
The whispers started again, but louder now. Not just sound but feeling, crawling along my skin like insects. Mira shuddered and picked up her pace, her grip on me almost too tight.
We burst through a doorway I didn't recognize into a room that definitely wasn't part of the eastern wing. It was smaller, darker, with furniture covered in dusty sheets. But it was stable. The walls weren't moving.
"What the hell was that?" Mira gasped, finally stopping to catch her breath.
Charlotte was checking her sword, running her thumb along the blade's edge. "The shard's influence is spreading. That figure—it wasn't just defending the chamber. It was feeding."
"Feeding on what?"
"Us," Lucien said bluntly. "Our fear, our conflict. Every time we fight, every time we argue, it gets stronger."
Mira's face went pale. "You mean—"
"I mean we're making it worse just by being here." Lucien's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "But we don't have another option."
"There's always another option," Mira snapped back.
"Like what? Running? You think it'll just let us leave?"
"Maybe if we—"
"Enough." Charlotte's voice cut through their building argument. "You're doing it again. Can't you feel it?"
They stopped, but the damage was done. The air in the room had grown heavier, and I swear I could hear something like satisfied laughter echoing from the walls.
Mira looked down at me, her expression softening with guilt. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I won't let it use me like that."
But even as she said it, I could feel the tension still coiled tight in her muscles. The fear and anger hadn't gone anywhere—they were just pushed down, waiting.
And somewhere in the walls around us, something was waiting too.