Stefan barely had time to react as the monstrous creature lunged at him with terrifying speed. He ducked just in time to avoid the jagged claws that slashed through the air where his head had been a second ago. The nymph—no, the abomination—moved with an unnatural, almost glitching fluidity, her twisted form a grotesque mockery of beauty. Her elongated limbs twitched, and the gaping hole in her chest seemed to pulse as if it had a mind of its own.
Stefan rolled to the side, igniter in hand, and slashed at her leg, but the blade barely cut into her dense, sinewy flesh. The monster shrieked, an ear-splitting sound that sent a shiver down his spine. She retaliated, swinging one of her clawed arms toward him, forcing him to block. The impact sent a sharp vibration through his sword, nearly knocking it out of his grasp.
"Tch—" Stefan gritted his teeth. "Great, another one of those freaks with no weak spots."
As he struggled to find an opening, a high-pitched yet unmistakably fierce roar rang through the forest. It was tiny. Comically tiny.
Stefan instinctively turned his head toward the sound, his eyes widening as he saw Vul running toward him, her small black dragon leading the charge.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me—" Stefan cursed under his breath.
Vul's expression was the exact opposite of Stefan’s—she was positively beaming, seemingly delighted to have found him. However, her enthusiasm quickly met a humiliating fate as she tripped over a stray rock, landing face-first into the dirt with a loud thud. To Stefan’s utter bewilderment, the dragon also faceplanted beside her despite having no reason to trip in the first place.
Even the monstrous nymph paused, blinking at the bizarre scene. Stefan could swear he saw something like confusion in those ghastly hollow eyes.
Unfortunately, the moment of distraction didn’t last long. The creature turned back to him, swinging her elongated claws toward his torso. Stefan barely managed to raise his sword in time, the sheer force of the impact making his arms tremble.
Then, just as the monster attempted to press down harder, a blur of black suddenly darted in front of her. The tiny dragon let out another determined roar—still absurdly small—and slashed its claws across the monster’s grotesque face, leaving behind deep, smoking gashes.
Stefan took the chance to glance at Vul. She had already pushed herself up from the ground, blood trickling from her nose, but she seemed completely unfazed. Her red eyes gleamed with eerie focus as she pointed her index finger at the monster, as if silently commanding her dragon to attack again.
Stefan didn’t know whether to be annoyed, impressed, or deeply concerned.
Vul attempted to move her hands again, determined to command the dragon to breathe fire upon the monstrous creature before them. However, instead of releasing a devastating blaze, the dragon veered off in another direction and promptly crashed into a nearby tree with an undignified thud. Frustration boiled within her as she struggled to control it, her small fists clenching at her sides.
Meanwhile, Stefan and the creature remained locked in a vicious struggle, their weapons and claws clashing with brutal force. The air was thick with tension, the sound of steel scraping against the monster’s grotesque, sinewy limbs echoing through the forest. Stefan gritted his teeth, dodging a swipe that would have torn through his side. He retaliated with a precise slash, his igniter carving through the air and striking the creature’s shoulder. It barely flinched, instead lunging at him with a feral snarl, its hollow chest gaping like a black abyss.
As the fight raged on, Vul’s frustration reached its peak. She stomped her foot, her crimson eyes burning with impatience. The dragon, as if responding to her emotions, twitched and grew—if only by an inch. But that wasn't enough. With a shrill, exasperated scream, she yelled,
"Burn her! Burn her already! Burn her into nothing!"
As if awakened by the sheer force of her demand, the dragon let out a screech and took flight, darting around the monster with renewed ferocity. It opened its tiny maw, unleashing a torrent of flames upon the nymph-turned-monstrosity. The woman shrieked as the fire licked at her grotesque flesh, her clawed hands flailing as she tried to swat the dragon out of the air.
Furious, she turned her full attention toward the winged menace, her grotesque features twisting with rage. But this was her fatal mistake. Seizing the opportunity, Stefan lunged forward with swift precision, his igniter aimed directly at the gaping void in her chest.
As he thrust the blade into the hollow cavity, he whispered coldly, "Detonate."
The moment the word left his lips, the sword erupted into searing flames. The fire consumed the monster from within, her body trembling violently as the inferno devoured her from the inside out. Her agonized screams filled the forest, a terrible wail of death and despair, until her form crumbled, turning to ash that scattered into the wind.
Silence fell upon the clearing. The battle was over.
Stefan stood amidst the scorched remains, his sword still hot from the ignition, embers flickering in the air. For a brief moment, he allowed himself a breath of satisfaction—until realization struck him like a hammer to the skull.
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"Are you KIDDING me?!" he barked, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Where's the proof?! What the hell am I supposed to show for this?! A jar of ashes?! Like that's gonna convince anyone!" His voice was sharp with exasperation, his frustration mounting. "Damn it! Got so caught up in burning that thing, I completely forgot about the damn reward!"
As Stefan fumed, Vul slowly approached him.
She hesitated for a second before reaching out, intending to grab his hand—just like in the storybook Isaac had given her. But before she could, the dragon suddenly sniffed the air, its small body stiffening before it flapped its wings and flew toward a large rock.
Stefan immediately followed, leaving Vul standing there with her hand still slightly raised. As he stepped around the rock, his gaze landed on an old wooden chest, partially hidden beneath vines and leaves. Suspicion flared in his mind. Could be a trap. He readjusted his grip on his igniter and flicked it open with practiced ease, jamming the blade into the chest’s latch. With a forceful push, he pried it open.
The stench hit him first. The thick, metallic tang of dried blood mixed with something far worse—rotting flesh. Inside the chest, neatly stacked in grotesque fashion, were human hearts. Some had been gnawed on, their edges frayed and chewed. Others were shriveled and blackened, long since devoid of life. A few, however, were still fresh, the crimson flesh glistening wetly.
A small, sickening squelch echoed as one of them shifted slightly in the pile.
Stefan’s face twisted into a disgusted sneer. "Monsters," he spat, his voice laced with pure venom.
Behind him, Vul flinched. The word rang in her ears, heavy and sharp. But Stefan didn’t notice. His attention was already shifting, his gloved hand reaching down to snatch the nymph’s flute from the dirt. He twirled it between his fingers, then glanced back at the chest before shutting it with the tip of his sword.
"This'll do," he muttered. "At least they can't deny proof now."
Above the land of Yro-Ei, a castle loomed in the sky, suspended by an unseen force.
The structure was built from towering black stone, jagged and sharp like the fangs of a beast, its spires stretching toward the heavens as if clawing at the sky.
Shadows wreathed its edges, an unnatural mist curling around its foundation, defying the very laws of nature. The castle pulsed with a strange energy with its gothic arches and stained-glasses.
Within the throne room, massive black pillars lined the chamber, carved with depictions of ancient conquests and the fall of countless houses. Blood-red chandeliers hung from the ceiling upon the obsidian floors. The walls, adorned with tattered banners of vanquished enemies, told tales of an empire forged through war and darkness.
At the very heart of the room, seated on a throne of blackened iron and onyx, was the Lord of Midnight—King Val Umbra. His long black hair cascading over his broad shoulders. His silver eyes gleamed with an otherworldly glow. Pale skin, almost luminescent.
His fingers, adorned with rings of dark gemstones, lazily traced the rim of a goblet filled with rich, crimson wine.
Three women surrounded him.
The brunette draped herself across the arm of his throne as she ran delicate fingers along his chest.
The red-haired one knelt beside him, her fiery curls cascading down her back as she leaned against his thigh
The blonde stood behind him, her hands massaging his shoulders, a smirk on her lips as she whispered sweet nothings into his ear.
They were his wives, his queens.
The heavy doors of the throne room creaked open, and the sound of delicate footsteps echoed against the dark stone. A woman entered, moving with a grace.
Her long blonde hair cascading down her back. She wore a white dress. It hugged her body, showing off her curves. The neckline was low, and the material flowed around her, hinting at what was underneath.
A blindfold covered her eyes.
She kneeled before the Midnight King, “My king, the letters are true. A Blanc has survived the massacre. He is heading to Yro-Ei… with a dragon witch.”
The brunette clutched Val’s arm tighter, her brows furrowing with worry. “My love, should we not act now? The Blancs are—were—a formidable house. This survivor could be dangerous.”
The redhead nodded, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Val’s leg, her gaze flickering between him and the blindfolded informant. “If they reach Yro-Ei, they could cause trouble for us.”
The blonde behind him simply continued to smile, though there was a sharp glint in her eyes. “We will not let anyone come between us, my king.”
Val remained unmoved, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his wine. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he silenced them all.
Leaning forward, he spoke.
“Tell me,” he murmured, “What is the strongest house in the Promised Lands?”
The blonde wife immediately perked up.
“Adaniles!” she answered eagerly.
Val gave a slow, approving nod before continuing. “And what is the strongest house in Yro-Ei?”
The blonde was about to speak again, but before she could, the redhead swiftly covered her mouth.
“Midnight,” she answered, “And Blancs… once.”
A slow smile curled across Val’s lips.
“And tell me,” he continued, "who ended the House of Blanc?”
The room fell into silence, but before his wives could answer, Val leaned back into his throne, a smirk playing on his lips as he murmured the answer himself.
“I did.”
Val Umbra exhaled softly as he placed his goblet aside, the red wine inside barely disturbed. Slowly, he rose from his throne. The moment he did, the entire castle seemed to respond to his movement. The dark stone walls groaned, the high arching ceiling trembled, and the grand chandelier overhead rattled with each step he took.
“History is written by victors, by those with the will to seize what is theirs. The strong carve their names into eternity, while the weak fade into forgotten whispers. The Blancs… they were strong once. They stood tall, proud, untouchable—until they weren’t.”
His boots struck the obsidian floor with a steady, unhurried rhythm, yet every footfall sent deep reverberations through the castle’s very foundation. The blackened spires outside quivered, the stained-glass windows flickered, the chandelier swayed.
He stepped forward, the very castle shuddering beneath his weight, cracks forming along the cold stone floor.
“The past is nothing but a graveyard of names that no longer matter. And now… one dares to rise from his tomb.”
The air itself grew heavier.
Suffocating.
The blindfolded woman remained perfectly still, her body rigid in her kneeling position. Even without sight, she could feel him descending upon her. Then, silence—until she felt his cold fingers under her chin. With effortless command, he lifted her face to him.
"Midnight will lull them to an eternal slumber," he murmured.
