---
The evening air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. Ruth and Evans sat in the quiet expanse of the palace gardens, the flickering lanterns casting elongated shadows across the stone path. The wind carried a faint chill, rustling the leaves above them, but it did little to ease Ruth's unease.
Evans, however, looked the complete opposite—his eyes closed, his posture relaxed as he basked in the tranquility of the night.
Ruth's fingers traced invisible patterns on the wooden armrest of her chair. "There's something about that girl," she murmured, breaking the silence.
Evans' eyes snapped open, his posture shifting as he straightened. "What girl?"
"The one Neil brought in. The one they plan to give to Marshall… for the ritual," Ruth said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if uttering it aloud might summon something unspeakable.
Evans exhaled through his nose, tilting his head in thought. "Go on."
Ruth's gaze was distant, as if searching for something beyond the trees. "I don't know… but something about her feels different. Don't you think?"
Evans leaned back again, closing his eyes like he had already dismissed the conversation.
"I've met her, yes. And I agree—there's something… off. Which is why I don't think she'll survive. Just another failed experiment for Neil."
Ruth bristled at his words, her hands clenching into fists on her lap. "No," she said firmly. "I don't believe that. I think she'll survive."
Evans cracked one eye open, arching a brow at her conviction. "And why do you think that?"
Ruth's expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. She wasn't sure herself. But there was something in Natalia's eyes, something old, something unshaken despite her circumstances. It was familiar—but why?
She exhaled deeply, shaking her head. "I don't know," she admitted. "I just… feel it."
Evans studied her for a moment before letting out a hum of acknowledgment. But instead of pressing further, he closed his eyes again, retreating into silence.
Ruth, however, couldn't shake the unsettling feeling curling in her stomach.
---
The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves clung to the air as Neil pushed open the heavy door. It creaked loudly, revealing a dimly lit room swallowed by shadows. The flickering candlelight barely reached the corners, where the darkness twisted and pulsed like something alive.
A low hum of whispers slithered through the room, distant yet suffocating, the kind of sound that made the hair on the back of the neck stand on end.
Natalia's grip on Neil's hand tightened instinctively as she stepped inside. But before she could take another step, his fingers slipped from hers.
She turned sharply. "uh?"
He had already taken a step back. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered behind his eyes—something fleeting, almost hesitant.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Neil didn't answer. Instead, he took another step back, his movements controlled, deliberate. Then, without warning—
SLAM.
The door shut between them with a deafening finality.
Natalia's breath hitched. Her eyes darted around, then back to the door. No. No, no, no....!!!
She lunged forward, her fingers wrapping around the handle. Locked.
A sharp sting bloomed in her chest as panic clawed its way up her throat. She pounded against the thick wood with both fists.
"Hey!" she screamed, her voice raw, desperate. She hit the door again, harder this time. "Open the door!"
No answer.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was watching.
Natalia's breaths came fast and uneven, her pulse hammering in her ears. The air around her began to shift—growing heavier, denser.
Natalia took a shaky step back.
---
The room darkened, the shifting shadows stretching unnaturally, twisting like serpents seeking their prey. A sharp, acrid scent stung Natalia's nostrils—burning, decaying, suffocating.
Smoke slithered from the walls, thick and alive, curling around her ankles like cold, skeletal fingers. It coiled up her legs, winding tighter with every breath she took. Panic surged through her as she staggered back, her heart hammering violently against her ribs.
And then—
A force seized her by the throat.
Natalia's feet left the ground as she was wrenched upward, her hands clawing the air, an invisible grip crushing her windpipe. Her body convulsed violently, thrashing in midair as if possessed by some unseen nightmare.
A brutal force slammed her against the wall, the impact shuddering through her bones. A sharp cry tore from her lips as pain lanced through her skull. Blood dribbled from her mouth, warm and metallic, staining her chin. She wiped it away with trembling fingers, her breath ragged and shallow.
The darkness thickened, swallowing the room whole. There was no escape, no light, only the weight of something ancient pressing against her chest, suffocating, paralyzing.
She forced herself to move, crawling forward on trembling limbs, her hands blindly grasping at nothing. But the attacks came mercilessly. A crushing blow knocked her sideways, sending her head cracking against the cold stone floor. Stars exploded behind her eyelids. As a sob broke from her throat.
Then—her legs were yanked out from beneath her.
A scream barely had time to form before she was hurled against the wall again, her body colliding with bone-breaking force. Pain shot through her limbs, white-hot and unbearable.
Before she could react, she was lifted again—closer this time. Suspended in midair, she was dragged toward a strange, glowing orb, its eerie light illuminating the swirling smoke.
And then, from the darkness, a face began to take shape.
Monstrous. Distorted. More beast than man.
Natalia's breath hitched, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears. Fear crawled beneath her skin like ice, making her body tremble uncontrollably. She shut her eyes tightly, praying—begging—that this was just a nightmare.
A low, guttural voice slithered into her mind, wrapping around her like a noose.
"Look at me."
Natalia eye lids shook violently, but she refused. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, willing herself to resist the voice that slithered through the darkness like a serpent.
"Look at me."
The command came again—low, guttural, laced with an unbearable weight of authority. It clawed at her mind, prying into the deepest corners of her consciousness.
And then—her eyes opened.
A mistake.
The moment her gaze locked onto the beast's crimson, unholy eyes, she felt it.
A pull.
Like something inside her was unraveling, being stripped away thread by thread. A slow, agonizing drain that seeped from her bones, her breath, her very soul.
Her lips parted in a silent scream as her body arched violently, convulsing in mid-air. Something—something ancient, something dark—was invading her, creeping into her through every pore, every vein.
It slithered beneath her skin, an icy poison that burned as it spread.
It was inside her now.
Natalia's limbs jerked wildly, as if she were a puppet controlled by unseen strings. The black tendrils of smoke wrapped around her, coiling tighter, suffocating, until—
Everything stopped.
The darkness recoiled, retreating into the swirling orb like a living thing slinking back into its den. And then—
She fell.
Her body slammed against the cold, unyielding stone with a sickening thud.
Natalia lay motionless, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.
Her veins pulsed with black energy, sparking and crackling like a storm contained within fragile skin. It twisted through her like a thousand writhing serpents, corrupting, changing.
Her fingers clawed against the ground as her body contorted unnaturally. Bones shifted. Skin cracked, splintering apart as something beneath it fought to emerge.
Her breath hitched. A ragged gasp. Then—nothing.
Natalia's eyes rolled back. Her body went limp.
The darkness swallowed her whole.
---
Outside, Neil stood before the heavy wooden door, his expression unreadable. He smoothed out the folds of his coat, adjusting it with a calmness that belied the storm raging beneath his skin.
He didn't need to look inside. He already knew.
Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
---
Neil retreated to his chamber, seeking the solace of his hammock. The soft creaking of the ropes filled the quiet room as he settled in, shutting his eyes.
For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to drift—his mind wandering through the night's events. His fingers twitched against the fabric of the hammock, the only outward sign of his thoughts.
The peace didn't last.
A knock at the door, gentle yet insistent, broke through the silence.
"May I come in, Neil?"
Ruth.
Neil exhaled through his nose, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're asking?" His voice held the barest trace of amusement.
"Since when have you ever needed permission, Auntie Ruth?"
A soft chuckle, warm and familiar. The door creaked open.
Ruth stepped inside, her silver-white hair cascading down her back, catching the dim light with a soft shimmer. Time had touched her, lined her face with years of wisdom, but there was something ageless about her—an unwavering presence that neither time nor hardship could erode.
She moved across the room with effortless grace, settling herself beside Neil on the hammock. Without a word, she took his hand in hers, fingers curling around his in a touch that was both firm and gentle.
"I remember when you boys were little" she mused, a wistful lilt to her voice. "You never let me rest. Always running, always fighting." A pause. A smile. "Oh, the glory days."
Neil smirked, tilting his head back against the hammock. "Now, everyone's all grown up," Ruth continued, sighing dramatically, though her eyes gleamed with mischief. "And no one needs poor old Auntie Ruth anymore."
Neil's eyes snapped open, his smirk fading as he turned to her with a knowing look. "Don't start, Auntie." His voice was quiet, warning. "Not now. Not tonight."
But Ruth's fingers tightened around his. Her expression softened, but her words carried the weight of something deeper. Something heavier.
"Why do you still do it, Neil?" Her voice was almost a whisper. "Why must you keep going down this path?"
---
Neil pressed his fingers to his temples, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, as if trying to knead away the ache that never truly left him.
"I have to," he murmured, voice tight. "If I don't… who will?"
Ruth's gaze softened, clouded with a sorrow too deep for words. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Killing innocent people, Neil—"
His head snapped up. His expression hardened, his eyes burning with something raw, untamed. Fury. Pain. Obsession.
"I'll take down the whole damn world if it means seeing my brother alive again."
His voice trembled—just slightly—but it wasn't weakness. It was the weight of two centuries of grief.
"Do you know what it's like, Ruth?" His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"To be trapped in that orb? To be nothing but a voice in the dark, a restless, untamed soul? Two centuries." His voice broke on the words. "Two centuries since I've seen my brother's face."
He turned away, pacing now, restless.
"I don't even know what he looks like anymore, what he's become. And why? Because he was cursed and imprisoned like a beast, his soul torn from his body."
His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking.
"And now, I have to find her—the one who can break that curse. His mate."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
"I have to find her, Ruth." His voice dipped lower, quieter. "Even if it means I slaughter every last woman in his name."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Ruth sighed, rising slowly, her movements deliberate, as if each step carried the weight of the years she had lived.
"I understand," she murmured.
But understanding did not mean agreement.
Neil's sharp gaze flicked to her, watching as she sank onto the hammock, rocking gently.
"What do you think of the girl?" Ruth asked suddenly, her voice laced with curiosity.
Neil blinked. The girl?
His response was slow, uncertain.
"I… don't know. She's pretty?"
Ruth's laughter was soft, melodic.
"Oh, Neil, you're so predictable."
Neil scowled. "What else do people notice about women, Auntie? I mean—" He paused, searching for the right words.
Ruth, ever patient, finished for him.
"When someone asks what you think about a person, you don't just talk about their looks," she said, her voice gentle but knowing. "You speak of the impression they've left on you. How they carry themselves. The kind of energy they bring into a room."
She smiled, tilting her head.
"So, Neil… what do you think of her?"
Neil scoffed, shaking his head, that wry smirk returning to his lips.
"Could you leave me be?" he muttered.
Ruth didn't move. Instead, she regarded him carefully, her eyes darkening with something unreadable.
"No, not yet."
Her voice was softer now, weightier.
"I want to savor these moments, Neil. If—God forbid—nothing works for Marshall… you do remember what that means, don't you?"
Neil stilled.
"You take the throne."
The words settled like a stone in his chest.
Ruth watched him closely, reading the way his body tensed.
Neil never spoke of the throne, but Ruth knew it lingered in the back of his mind. A fate he never asked for, never desired.
Because Neil was not a ruler.
Marshall was meant to be king.
Marshall was the diplomat, the one who could wield power with wisdom.
But Neil?
Neil was chaos.
And wherever he went chaos followed.
---
The silence that followed was comfortable. For once, Ruth didn't push, and Neil didn't bite back.
Then, finally, Ruth broke it.
"What now?" she asked, her voice steady, her gaze locked on Neil's.
His response was cryptic, almost indifferent.
"We wait," he said, rubbing his chin, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.
Ruth watched him carefully, studying the man he had become.
She had raised him—raised both him and Marshall—after their parents' deaths. She had been their guardian, their second mother, their only tether to love and warmth. But Neil had always been the storm, unpredictable, restless. Marshall was supposed to be the king. Marshall was supposed to be the one who mattered.
Ruth sighed and suggested a walk. Neil, after a long moment of hesitation, reluctantly agreed...
To be continued...