The fire devoured room after room like a starving beast—ravenous and relentless. Only the shadowed hallways leading to the grand staircase offered refuge.

Alaric slipped out of his mother’s room with cautious steps, ears straining for any sign of danger. Smoke curled from beneath several doors nearby, a silent warning of the destruction that waited behind them. The corridor stretched ahead, dim and heavy with the acrid scent of burning wood and ancient dust.

As he neared the stairs, shouts echoed faintly from below. With each step downward, the chaos grew louder, sharper.

Then—a voice he knew.

Caellon.

Hope surged like a flame inside him. Alaric hurried down the remaining steps.

At the bottom, chaos swirled.

Servants fled toward the exits, some weeping, others silent in stunned shock. Caellon stood amidst it all, a steady presence amid disorder, barking orders and ushering maids to flee without looking back. Guards formed a protective line, swords drawn to hold back the flames of panic.

Caellon spotted Alaric and relief softened his tired eyes. Though no longer young, the steward ran to him with surprising speed, hair disheveled and uniform smudged with ash from the night’s horror.

“Where have you been?!” Caellon demanded, voice rough. “I went to your room—it was already ablaze and—”

Alaric cut him off, throwing himself into the old man’s arms.

“They… they were looking for me, Caellon,” he whispered, trembling.

He pulled away and recounted the nightmare—Kirt, the intruders, the fire consuming his sanctuary. Caellon listened, expression darkening with every word.

“And my father—where is he? Is he safe?” Alaric asked, eyes searching for a familiar face.

Caellon hesitated. “The Master… he was away from the manor when the attack began.”

Relief flooded Alaric. At least his father was safe. At least he wouldn’t have to watch the home that held their fractured family fall into ruin.

But as Alaric looked past Caellon, fewer faces emerged from the manor’s burning shadow. A guard approached, his expression grim.

“It’s time to go,” the man said.

Outside, the estate grounds were steeped in despair.

Servants huddled on the lawn, pale and stricken. For many, the manor had been their only home. Shouts echoed from the right—others still trapped inside.

Caellon placed a firm hand on Alaric’s shoulder, then called a nearby guard. “Stay with him. I must help those still inside.”

The guard nodded, standing vigil beside Alaric, who sank down, exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs. He watched the flames claim everything he had ever known.

“Sir,” Alaric asked quietly, looking up. “Do you know who those men were? The ones who started the fire?”

The guard’s eyes darkened as he met Alaric’s.

“Yes,” he said slowly, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “They’re mercenaries—The Black Wolf. Paid well to drag a boy from his bed.”

A wicked laugh followed, freezing Alaric’s blood.

It was him.

Kirt.

The man who had burned his room. The man who almost killed him.

Alaric stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and crashing to the ground as Kirt loomed over him with scorn.

“Listen here,” Kirt growled, crouching low and grabbing a fistful of Alaric’s light brown hair. “If you even think about running, I’ll give the order to kill everyone here. You understand?”

Alaric whimpered, tears trailing silently down his cheeks.

Kirt released him with a mocking tousle of hair. “Good boy. Smart boy.”

His eyes flicked around. Caellon was still occupied coordinating the servants.

“We’re going for a walk,” Kirt muttered, motioning toward the dense forest bordering the estate.

Alaric’s heart sank.

That forest.

Caellon had warned him to stay far away. Whispers of strange shadows, ghostly figures, and voices calling people in the night. Some said it was cursed. Others claimed it was haunted.

Now, Kirt dragged him there.

Shoving him forward, Kirt barked, “Move it!”

Each step felt heavier than the last. At the forest’s edge, Caellon’s voice rang out behind them.

“Alaric!”

Alaric spun, hope rising wildly. Caellon had seen him!

Kirt’s hand went to his sword.

And then—

A whisper, soft and ethereal, brushed Alaric’s ear.

“Run...”

Without thinking, he bolted.

He sprinted into the forest, Kirt’s furious shouts fading behind him as the trees swallowed him whole.

The deeper he went, the quieter the world became. The roar of flames faded into silence, replaced by the hollow stillness of the woods. No wind. No insects. No rustling leaves. Even the moonlight seemed strangled beneath the thick canopy.

Shadows flickered—too quick, too graceful to be the wind.

Between two gnarled oaks, a pale shimmer appeared—like moonlight caught in water. It moved with purpose, weaving through the trees, never revealing its face.

“Who’s there?” Alaric’s voice cracked, breaking the silence.

No answer came—only stillness. Yet with each heartbeat, a strange calm washed over him, soothing his aching legs and burning lungs. His eyelids drooped.

Suddenly, a hand seized his arm.

“There you are, you little shit!”

Kirt.

Panic surged again.

“Damn the money! I’ll kill you right here!” Kirt snarled, drawing his sword.

Alaric squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the end.

It never came.

Kirt froze.

The glowing figure reappeared—close enough now to see silver hair glinting beneath a deep hood. Her hand gripped Kirt’s wrist. He screamed in pain, struggling to break free.

A sickening snap echoed through the trees.

Kirt dropped to the ground, howling, clutching his broken arm.

“YOU WITCH! I’LL KILL YOU!” he bellowed.

The figure raised a hand.

With a flick of her wrist, Kirt’s head snapped violently to the side.

His lifeless body crumpled to the earth.

Alaric trembled. “P-Please… don’t hurt me!” he pleaded, shielding himself.

“I will not harm you, Alaric,” the figure said, voice smooth—almost purring. “I only wish to aid you.”

The light around her dimmed, revealing a young woman with piercing eyes and silver hair that drank the faint light.

“How do you—” Alaric began, but she waved him silent.

“Somnus.”

The word was soft, musical—an incantation.

Alaric’s eyelids fluttered closed. His knees buckled.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe,” she whispered, catching him as darkness claimed him.