The shadow of an old oak stretched like a claw across the ground when Katarina emerged from its depths. Her steps were noiseless, her silhouette cutting through the dying light of the evening. Before her stood the manor—imposing, skeletal, a carcass of stone and wood suffocated under ivy and mold. Its broken windows yawned like empty eyes, revealing only scraps of darkness within. A cold wind whistled through the gaps, carrying with it the stench of rot and stagnant water. The air clung to her skin, heavy, foul, and unwelcoming.
She advanced, every step sinking into a carpet of brittle leaves and splintered branches. The warped boards of the threshold groaned beneath her, the sound sharp in the silence. Inside, the room that opened before her was a ruin. Dust lay thick like a shroud, cobwebs draped from corner to corner, and walls once painted in warm colors were now blackened, their memory smothered under soot. The portraits hung crooked, faces faded and eaten by time, watching her with empty eyes. An old clock, its hands frozen decades ago, marked the room with the weight of forgotten years.
A shiver climbed her spine, but she pressed forward. Each creak of the staircase under her weight released choking clouds of dust that scratched her throat and burned her eyes. Plaster crumbled from the walls, exposing warped wood gnawed by damp and years. Still, she ascended. Disgust and unease gnawed at her stomach, but determination held her steady—if answers lingered in this ruin, she would uncover them.
At the landing, silence thickened. Cobwebs brushed against her skin like skeletal fingers; the ceiling sagged under the weight of neglect. She reached the narrow door and pushed. The hinges screamed, yielding to a suffocating darkness.
The smell hit her first: rope stiff with sweat, damp rot, the raw stench of fear. The room beyond was a pit of shadow. On the ground, a dozen elves lay bound, arms crushed behind their backs, ankles shackled, blindfolds pressed into their tear-streaked skin. Three children huddled together near the wall, trembling, their small shoulders quaking under the weight of silence. Groans, muffled sobs, and the rasp of rope filled the stagnant air, weaving a chorus of desperation.
Katarina stood still. Her gaze swept over them, calm, cold. None of this shocked her—it was exactly as she had ordered. The ruin, the isolation, the darkness that blinded and crushed… each detail was her design. Everything here bore her mark of control.
And yet.
Her eyes narrowed. Something was missing. Not a detail, not a captive—but him. The one who should have been here. The one she had chosen to carry out her command, to witness her work, to prove loyalty.
The absence struck her harder than the sight of the captives. It was an insult carved into silence.
Her fists clenched. She stepped into the center of the room, boots groaning against the rotten floorboards. The prisoners shuddered at her presence, some biting back cries, others trembling until their bonds rattled. But her gaze did not touch them.
It was fixed on the void, on the betrayal of absence.
The air itself seemed to recoil, heavy and thick, as though the manor sensed her restrained fury. Her lips parted, her voice low, carrying in the suffocating dark:
"I would have truly preferred a better place…"
The words hung, soft but venomous, as dust swirled in the slivers of weak light. The silence that followed was more threatening than any scream.
"…How dare he."
Her voice sliced through the stale air, low and sharp, each word cracking like an icy gale. Anger vibrated in her tone—contained, yet dangerous, ready to burst. She drew a long breath to cage the storm rising inside her, but her eyes betrayed her: twin shards of cold rage that seemed to freeze the very air.
The atmosphere thickened. Even the bound elves, blindfolded and trembling, sensed it: this was no longer a mere presence, but a silent storm, a force capable of twisting the room itself into submission.
Then, as if summoned by that tension, a shadow uncoiled behind her. It writhed across the walls, stretching into a vaguely human silhouette—distorted, unstable, yet undeniably alive. Two burning eyes tore through the blackness, glowing like embers, scanning the room with an inhuman stillness. The air itself quivered, as though the manor dared not breathe.
"Tsss… no need to get so worked up."
The voice was deep, lazy, arrogant—dripping into the silence like poison. "Everything's in place, isn't it? You wanted elves, here they are. Whether I enjoy wallowing in this slum or not, I've delivered." Each syllable slithered across the air like steel dragging across skin.
Katarina did not turn. Shoulders straight, her posture carved from iron, she remained still. But her silence was not peace—it was the quiet before the blade. Her eyes flashed like lightning.
"You were supposed to be here. From the start. In your place."
Each word cut with the precision of a dagger, her voice a contained threat.
"Oh…" Shadow chuckled, his form rippling like a black flame. He leaned forward, insolent. "Do you think I've nothing better to do?" His tone was smooth, mocking, honeyed and venomous at once.
Katarina's eyelids lowered for a heartbeat, as if to keep the fury from spilling out. Her hand brushed the hilt of her unseen katana—barely a gesture, but heavy with promise.
"Don't test my patience, Shadow. Evelyra entrusted me with this mission. If you ruin it…" Her voice faltered, not with fear, but with rage straining against its leash.
"Ruin it?" Shadow laughed, the sound dry, sharp, echoing against the ruined walls. "Come now, Katarina… you need me. Without me, you'd never have these pretty little toys lined up before you." His burning eyes gleamed, daring her to deny it.
Katarina's eyes snapped open, narrow and glacial. Her entire being vibrated with poise and danger, weighing every word, every breath.
"Don't tempt me, Shadow. It isn't me who needs you… it's you who can't exist without me."
Her voice was low, frozen steel.
The silence that followed was crushing. Even the captives, blind and lost, felt the storm in the air. Shadow tilted his head, smiling faintly, savoring the tension like a connoisseur sipping wine.
She pivoted at last, slow and deliberate. Her eyes, cold as tempered glass, locked onto his crimson gaze. The clash was silent, but each heartbeat echoed like a drum of war.
"Once again, you confuse 'essential' with 'replaceable.' And believe me… you are far from irreplaceable."
The room seemed to shrink under the weight of their standoff. Shadows coiled and writhed along the walls, mirroring the violence caged between them.
At last, she broke the silence.
"Enough. I'll leave you to… these details." Her voice was firm, final. She turned, her steps ghostlike on the brittle floorboards. At the door, she stopped, her back to him.
"As for me—I have an investigation. The Church is moving in the shadows. I want to know just how far their hands reach."
Shadow's laugh split the silence, metallic and cruel.
"The Church? Hah! Always chasing ghosts. Let them pray. What could their God change?"
Katarina turned her head slightly, her profile cut sharp against the pale light from the broken windows. Her eyes gleamed like twin needles of crystal.
"You always forget one thing, Shadow. Where there are prayers… there are secrets. And secrets are mine to unearth."
She stepped through the threshold. The manor's darkness swallowed her like a veil of fog, until only emptiness remained.
Shadow lingered in silence, his ember eyes fixed on the place where she vanished. Then, slowly, his grin widened, malice curling his lips.
"She hides behind the perfect mask… but I see it. I've read it in her voice, in her breath when she thinks no one is watching. She plays the ice queen, untouchable… but the moment Evelyra enters the game, her mask cracks."
He chuckled darkly, the sound like chains dragging over stone.
"A ridiculous weakness… and yet, such entertainment."
His gaze swept over the trembling elves. The children huddled in the corner whimpered, suffocating in terror. Their shallow breaths quickened under the weight of his cruel amusement.
Shadow shrugged, slow and deliberate, his movements like smoke shifting through the air.
"But for now… let's play with our little prey. Someone has to enjoy themselves when she isn't here."
His whisper slithered through the ruined walls, curling into every shadow, pressing on the captives until even silence became unbearable. The elves froze, trapped in a nightmare where the dark itself had teeth. Shadow's laugh rose again—soft, mocking, cruel—as his red eyes glowed like smoldering embers, savoring the taste of fear.