Eliza lingered in the doorway before stepping forward.

“Hello, Lady Aura,” she greeted, keeping her voice even. “How are you this… evening?”

Lady Aura chuckled at her formality. “The same as I am every evening, my lady. And you?” Her sharp, knowing eyes flickered to Eliza as if sensing the unrest behind her words. “Would you like a snack?”

Eliza shook her head. “No, I can wait until dinner. But I was hoping you could… fill me in on something.”

Aura turned her full attention to her now, tilting her head slightly in curiosity. “Oh? And what might that be?”

Eliza hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “I often hear a lot of music in the castle,” she said, carefully keeping her tone casual. “At times, I mean.”

Aura gave a soft, almost wistful nod. “The young master loves to play. Always has. It is one of his greatest outlets.”

Eliza already knew that much. But she had heard the pain in his voice when he sang. Music was an outlet, yes—but it was also a confession.

And so she asked, “What exactly did Lilith mean to him?”

The warmth in Lady Aura’s expression faded slightly. She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked at Eliza, really looking at her, as if measuring something in her gaze.

“You know,” she finally said, crossing her arms over her chest, “I have known the young master since before he became a Lich. And in all that time, I have only ever seen him look at one other woman the way he once looked at Lilith.”

Eliza felt her breath hitch.

She didn’t ask who the other woman was. She didn’t have to.

Something sharp, something ugly twisted inside her. Jealousy.

Why?

She pushed it down, schooling her features into neutrality as Aura continued.

“Lilith and the young master… We all thought they were meant to be,” Aura admitted. “So much so that I was already preparing for a wedding.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “All of it—every last bit of it—was a deception. A carefully orchestrated attempt to leave this kingdom weakened, to strip the young master of his power. We believe she was working alongside another kingdom… to obtain the crown.”

Eliza latched onto that. ”The crown?"

Aura nodded, though there was hesitation in her voice. “I do not know much. I am no necromancer. But I do know that the crown allows a necromancer—or a Lich—to undergo trials. To ascend."

“Ascend to what?"

“I do not know,” Aura admitted. “But the closer you get to ascension, the stronger you become. The former king was powerful, but he never ascended. I suspect there is more to it, but it is a mystery known only to those who walk the path of the undead.” She paused, then added carefully, “I do know this… The crown is not to be taken lightly. Once worn, it can only be removed once without severe consequences. Death, if the wearer is fortunate.”

Eliza felt a chill crawl up her spine.

“I am just glad the young master was able to keep it on while he was trapped in your realm,” Aura said with a relieved sigh.

Eliza stiffened.

That… wasn’t true.

He hadn’t kept the crown on.

He had been forced to remove it.

And it had nearly killed him.

Her stomach churned, anger rising alongside the shame that had been buried deep since she first arrived. She had been part of it. Part of his imprisonment. Part of the experiments. Part of the agony they put him through.

What gave her the right?

What gave the organization the right?

She needed to leave.

Mumbling an excuse, she turned and walked quickly out of the kitchen, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

As she walked the empty corridors, her mind was spinning.

A Lich was supposed to be a being of undeath, decayed, and hollow, a creature that had forfeited its humanity in exchange for power.

But Tenebrae wasn’t.

He still felt things.

He wasn’t a mindless husk, nor was he the monstrous horror she had been conditioned to expect.

And if the crown was supposed to make him stronger, yet he hadn’t ascended…

What if being forced into her world—a world with no magic—had returned him to his humanity?

What if the cost of his power was directly tied to this place?

What if his magic worked differently here, affecting his body in ways even he didn’t fully understand?

What if…

What if he wasn’t a monster at all?

The thought shook her.

It terrified her.

Eliza couldn’t shake the thoughts from her mind.

If he wasn’t the monster… then what did that make them?

What did that make her?

The things they did to him. The things she had played a part in.

The experiments. The pain. The countless hours of treating him like something to be studied rather than someone.

The thought made her stomach twist with disgust—not at him, but at herself.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it before the rhythmic clanking of metal filled the corridor, followed by the unmistakable voice of Zanac.

“Ohhh laaaady Eliiiiza!”

She turned, finding the overweight, metallic butler approaching, dressed impeccably in his signature dark vest and long coat, his gleaming metal frame polished to perfection.

She had always found his voice strange—deep, yet almost whistling through his frame, as if the very air had to work around the iron confines of his body.

"It’s just Eliza, Zanac,” she corrected, shaking her head. “No need for ‘Lady.’”

Zanac gasped dramatically, clutching his chest with one tin hand. ”Nonsense! Absolute nonsense! You are Lady Eliza, and I shall always treat you as such!”

She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Alright, alright. What’s this about?”

Zanac smoothed his vest with exaggerated precision. “Now, we must get you dressed."

Eliza blinked. “Dressed for what?”

Ignoring her, he retrieved a small piece of parchment from his coat pocket, tossed it into the air, and set it aflame with nothing but a flick of his fingers.

The embers curled in the air before vanishing completely.

Eliza raised a brow. “What was that?”

“Ah!” Zanac beamed. “A message spell. A most convenient form of communication! One may sign a pact to send messages to each other across short distances—though do be careful, as these pacts are dreadfully difficult to break. And message spammers can be most bothersome.”

Eliza nearly choked on a laugh. ”What did you just call them?"

“Message spammers,” Zanac repeated with a straight face.

She covered her mouth, actually laughing now. ”Even this place has spam callers?”

Zanac simply nodded sagely.

Mirabella arrived soon after, though Eliza knew exactly where she had been and had no interest in making things more awkward.

It wasn’t long before she and Opal had been properly dressed and enchanted.

She had never worn anything quite like it.

A gown of midnight black, woven with delicate silver embroidery that shimmered under the candlelight. The fabric was impossibly soft, weightless against her skin, yet it moved like flowing water, hugging her frame in all the right ways.

Dark silver earrings dangled from her ears, carved into intricate spirals that seemed to catch the dim glow of the castle’s torches, reflecting light like tiny stars.

Her hair had been gathered into loose, elegant waves, half pinned back with onyx hairpins shaped like blooming roses.

And her eyes.

They looked different now.

Somehow deeper, darker—or perhaps it was just the way she was beginning to see herself.

When she stepped forward, Opal gasped.

The young Undine girl’s oceanic eyes widened in delight, and she clapped her hands together, her tail flicking slightly beneath the hem of her own dark gown.

“Pretty!” Opal whispered in awe.

Eliza felt heat creep into her face, unused to such attention. She kneeled slightly, brushing Opal’s cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. You look beautiful too.”

The child’s face lit up, glowing under the Forever Moons.

And with that, they were ready.

Zanac led them into the court of the castle, where a grand black carriage awaited.

The horses that pulled it were massive, strong, their coats as white as bone, but their eyes pulsed with an eerie green glow.

Eliza’s breath hitched.

This wasn’t just an ordinary carriage ride.

Something felt dark but comforting about the energy crackling in the air, something unnatural yet regal.

And then he arrived.

Tenebrae emerged from the castle, draped in his usual black and silver robes, his expression unreadable.

“Do not open the door until the trip is over,” he instructed, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the courtyard. “And do not—under any circumstances—open the windows.”

Eliza frowned. “Why?”

“The miasma.”

The air around the carriage pulsed, glowing faintly as Tenebrae traced symbols in the air with his clawed fingers. Enchantments. Protection wards.

She felt them settle over her like a second skin, wrapping around the carriage itself in a barrier of power.

Then, without another word, Ten opened the carriage door, motioning for them to enter.

Eliza took one last look at the horses—at the way their glowing green eyes followed her—and stepped inside.

The door shut behind them, sealing them in near silence.

Outside, the air shifted.

A rift opened before them—a swirling, black abyss stretching into nothingness.

Eliza shivered.

Zanac, standing outside, blew a whistle.

A sound echoed in response—a low, guttural groan.

Then… a hand reached out.

Not human.

Not alive.

A long, decayed hand, dripping with something dark, emerged from the rift.

Eliza’s pulse skyrocketed.

She barely caught a glimpse of what Zanac handed it—a small boat anchor and… something red. Something wet.

A heart.

Before she could react, she was yanked inside.

The carriage lurched forward.

The doors locked.

And as the rift swallowed them whole, the castle of Goodnight faded behind them.