"*No—*Seraph!"
His voice cracked as the storm screamed around them.
Vale's body shook against the chains. He watched her, blood-drenched, standing tall as the wind and knives tore through the halls like wrath.
"No—Seraph!"
But she turned to him. Her smile soft.
A single drop of blood rolled down the corner of her lip.
"I'll let you go…" she whispered.
She stepped closer. Slowly.
"I love you, Vale."
And then—
She dropped to her knees.
Like something sacred had broken.
"SERAPH!" he screamed.
The world seemed to pause for a breath.
And then—The house screamed with him.
A high-pitched, guttural sound—like the wail of something ancient and angry, something losing the thing it never thought could leave.
The glass walls began to shatter.
It started small—a single crack slicing up one wall like lightning. Then another. Then hundreds. The tomb trembled.
The diamonds upstairs exploded into glittering dust. The gold melted from the banisters. The paintings peeled and fell from their frames.
Every room screamed with the sound of breaking.
Vale cried out—not from pain now, but desperation—as the chains around his wrists snapped.
He didn't wait.
He crawled. Dragged his wounded body toward her. Her name fell from his lips again and again.
"Seraph. Seraph—no."
He reached her. Pulled her into his arms.
Her body was warm.
Still alive.
"Stay with me," he whispered, shaking. "Please, Seraph. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not. I swear to you."
The walls kept falling. The ceiling cracked. The chandelier above them swayed like a pendulum ready to snap.
But he held her closer.
As if love could stop the ruin.
As if maybe—it already had.