Solene didn't wake.
She didn't move.
Her body lay still on the thin mattress in the abandoned servant's room, cloaked in silence. Her skin was cold but not dead. Her pulse, faint. Her eyes didn't flutter. She was simply… gone.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Spiritually.
Whatever fire remained in her had flickered out, leaving behind frost and breath and nothing.
Seraphyne sat beside her for hours, unmoving.
She watched her chest rise and fall, as if counting seconds in case they suddenly stopped.
Lira sat on a stool in the corner, afraid to speak, afraid to move.
"Still breathing," Seraphyne said at last, not looking up. "For now."
Lira shifted nervously. "What if she doesn't come back?"
"She will."
Lira looked away. "How do you know?"
Seraphyne finally met her eyes. There was no kindness in her gaze.
"Because I'm going to give her a reason."
She stood.
"Stay here."
"I—if they catch me—"
"You won't move," Seraphyne said flatly, "because I cursed you."
Lira blinked. "What?"
Seraphyne stepped closer. Her shadow magic rose like smoke around her feet, coiling across the floor toward Lira.
"If you leave her side," Seraphyne said in a whisper sharp as glass, "you will feel your bones boil from the inside. Your skin will blister, and you will turn to ash before you can scream."
Lira's mouth opened—then shut.
Seraphyne smiled without warmth. "It's not real," she added lightly, "unless you test it."
Then she turned and vanished into the hall.
---
The Cael Estate was quiet at night—but not empty.
Seraphyne moved like smoke, wrapped in her magic. Her boots made no sound. Her cloak blended with shadow. She was careful with her breathing, careful with every step.
She'd asked Lira one question before she left:
"Where are the catacombs?"
The answer had been simple.
"Beneath the chapel. Through the crypt door, behind the altar."
Seraphyne reached the chapel's side entrance just after midnight. The guards were few but alert. She didn't fight them.
She didn't need to.
She became shadow.
She slithered behind marble columns, slipped through archways, held her breath as armored boots passed inches from her crouched form. Her crimson eyes flicked with movement, always scanning, always calculating.
Inside the chapel, everything was too perfect.
White stone floors. Gold fixtures. Firelight from stained glass windows. A place built to look holy while corruption festered underneath.
She found the altar—an enormous structure of obsidian and red-streaked quartz.
She reached under it.
Stone gave way with a soft click.
A narrow door opened in the floor. The air that escaped smelled of damp rot and blood long dried.
Found you.
Seraphyne slipped into the darkness.
---
The catacombs were tight and ancient.
The walls were lined with rusted cages, old bones, and chains too small for comfort. Torches flickered every dozen steps, but the silence was oppressive. Thick. Alive.
She moved deeper.
Twice she heard guards in the distance—two, maybe three—patrolling in a pattern.
She let them pass.
Once, she paused as a door creaked open nearby. A guard stepped out, muttering. She pressed herself to the ceiling, suspended by shadow tendrils, barely daring to breathe.
He walked right under her.
She exhaled silently. Slipped forward.
Then she found it.
A sealed cell. Reinforced iron. And behind it—
A figure chained to the wall, head bowed, breathing shallow.
Nerys.
Seraphyne's heart jumped—strange, unexpected. She moved closer.
Her face was bruised. Her lip split. But she was alive.
Seraphyne's fingers twitched.
Now comes the hard part.
She turned back toward the hall.
Time to get the key.
Time to get Nerys out.
And maybe—just maybe—give Solene a reason to breathe again.
---