Estella didn’t hesitate. Her boots hit the brittle grass with sharp, hurried crunches as she surged forward, a name tumbling from her lips in a desperate whisper. "Mirelle."
My breath caught as I watched her, her small frame cutting through the eerie stillness of the clearing. She wasn’t thinking—she wasn’t even looking. Her entire focus was on the looming mansion ahead, its black bricks gleaming faintly under the weak light filtering through the twisted canopy above us.
She was almost at the door when Kiaran’s voice rang out, sharp as a blade.
"Hold it."
The words sliced through the silence, and Estella froze mid-step. His arm came up swiftly, blocking her path as if she were an enemy crossing a line. The movement was precise, practiced—so instinctive it was almost mechanical.
“Kiaran, what are you doing?” Estella’s voice wavered, but her eyes burned with determination as she glared up at him. “Move!”
He didn’t.
Kiaran’s expression was carved from stone, his features unreadable as he stared down at her. For a long, suffocating moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, he reached into his coat and pulled something out.
The map.
I recognized it instantly—the worn parchment whose faintly glowing markings had led us here. Its edges curled like it had been burned, the intricate symbols etched into its surface shifting faintly, as though alive.
He thrust it toward her, his movements clipped and deliberate. “Take it,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “You and Mablevi are leaving.”
Estella’s hands trembled as she took the map, but the fire in her eyes didn’t dim. “What are you talking about? I’m not—”
“You’ve done enough,” Kiaran interrupted, his tone like the bite of a winter wind. “All you’ve managed to do is garden, Estella. You’ve pulled a few weeds, but that’s it. There’s rot here—deep, dangerous rot—and you’re not equipped to handle it.”
The words hit like a slap, and I saw Estella’s shoulders stiffen. But Kiaran wasn’t done.
His gaze shifted to me, and my stomach sank under the weight of it. “And Mablevi?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “She’s no good unless she loses control. And when she does, we all know what happens.”
The accusation hung in the air like smoke, choking and heavy.
I opened my mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, but the words wouldn’t come. Because somewhere deep down, I knew he wasn’t.
Estella’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. “I have to save her,” she said, her words trembling with desperation. She stepped closer to Kiaran, her chin tilted up defiantly. “Move. I have to save my sister.”
For a moment, Kiaran didn’t respond. His eyes locked onto hers, cold and unyielding, but I saw something flicker there—something fleeting, like a shadow passing over glass.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Estella’s breath hitched audibly.
I shifted uneasily, my gaze darting between them. Kiaran’s arm didn’t move, and his expression didn’t change, but the tension in the air felt like it could snap at any moment.
And then, as if the scene had frozen in place, I noticed it.
Kiaran’s hand.
His fingers, usually so steady, twitched ever so slightly at his side. His jaw, so perfectly clenched, ticked just once.
He was scared.
Not the kind of fear that made people run or cower. This was deeper, heavier. It was the kind of fear that settled in your bones, that made you brace for something you couldn’t see coming.
I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as I tore my eyes away from him. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t get enough air. My mind raced, unbidden, back to the last time I’d seen him like this.
It was years ago, when I was just a child. The winds had roared that day, wild and uncontrollable, tearing through the village like a storm unleashed. I’d lost control, and when it was over, everything had changed.
Before that day, Kiaran had been kind. Gentle. He’d been the one to fix my broken toys, to wipe my tears when the other children laughed at me. But after the winds... after the destruction... something in him had shifted.
He’d become colder, harder. The warmth in his eyes had been replaced with something else—something sharp and distant.
And now, standing here, watching the strain in his face as he stared down Estella, I finally understood.
It wasn’t cruelty. It wasn’t anger.
It was fear. It was fear, of failure, that the map, Belladorn, that mysterious man, and the mansion would lead to my untimely death.
“Kiaran,” I said softly, my voice barely more than a whisper. “What did the Pixie Queen say?”
His head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing.
“What was this about a man?” I pressed, my voice trembling slightly. “Do you think... do you think whatever’s happening to me, to Belladorn, to the map... do you think it’s in there?” I gestured toward the mansion, my stomach twisting as the words left my mouth.
For a moment, he didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked toward the mansion, as if searching for something in its shadowed windows.
“There’s a man after you,” he said finally, his voice low and measured. “That’s all the Pixie Queen said. She didn’t give a name. I don’t know who he is, or why he’s after you. But when Belladorn tried to name him...”
He trailed off, his eyes darkening.
“She started confessing,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Like she knew she was going to die. She said something about betrayal—about how the one who betrayed her had already sealed her fate. And then...”
My breath hitched as he hesitated, his gaze flicking toward me.
“And then you started reacting. The map started pulsating, and everything went to hell.”
My heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else. His words lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating, wrapping around me like invisible chains.
The map started pulsating, and everything went to hell.
I clenched my fists tightly at my sides, trying to will away the sharp, erratic rhythm of my pulse. My nails bit into my palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks, but I barely noticed. Kiaran’s eyes were on me again, heavy and searching, and for a moment, I thought he could see through the cracks I was desperately trying to hold together.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice cutting through the haze in my mind. His sharp gaze, red eyes boring into my soul, was ready to catch me in a lie.
“No,” I said quickly, the word tumbling out before I could think. I forced myself to shake my head, to meet his gaze and hold it. “It’s nothing.”
I clenched my eyes shut and tried to walk myself through that night I stole the map—the night I saw two humans. There was a rather large man holding the caravan map, intensely speaking to another man. Most likely, those two were merchants or mapmakers. I overheard the fat man talking about his map, gesturing to it like it was his prized possession.
There was no sign of any magical entities that would cause the map to react. I did not see a witch, nor a Demi-God, nor any unknown force. Unless humans can enchant maps—which is impossible—there had to be an outside force at work tormenting us.
That was the only explanation.
My eyes darted back to Kiaran and Estella. Their stiff air and presence were enough to make the forest hold its breath. Estella’s movements were calm, deliberate, but there was something in her posture—a quiet determination that made my chest tighten. She stopped just in front of Kiaran, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.
“You’re injured,” she said, her voice soft but steady.
Kiaran didn’t respond, but I saw the slight twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed like he was trying to suppress something.
Estella’s gaze dropped to his side, where his flesh was torn and blood had seeped through the fabric. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her point.
“You’re barely standing,” she continued, her tone unwavering. “You’re injured, armorless, and you’ve already taken a blast from Belladorn's Phantom Requiem earlier today. If you go in there alone, you’ll die faster than you can draw your blade.”
Kiaran let out a low, bitter, humorless laugh, but the sound was strained. “You think I don’t know that?” he said, his voice sharp. “But I’ll die even faster if I have to babysit the two of you while—”
Estella interrupted him with a single, deliberate movement. She reached out and pressed her fingers to his side, just above the wound.
He winced, his breath catching for the briefest of moments, and Estella’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
“Let me help you,” she said, her voice gentle but carrying an edge of steel. “My Phantom Requiem can heal you. It can create vines, reinforce the ground beneath us. It can boost Mablevi’s winds so she doesn’t have to rely on her emotions to control them. It can make us all stronger.”
Kiaran’s expression darkened, but there was something else there, too—hesitation.
Estella took a step closer, and for a moment, it was as if the entire clearing held its breath. Her voice dropped, soft and sweet, like the lull of a quiet stream. But there was no mistaking the sharp edge beneath her tone.
Her big hazel eyes shimmered in the dim light, as sweet as honey—and yet shadowed, like ghosts were lingering just behind them. Her lips curved into a soft smile, but it wasn’t warmth she exuded. It was the calm before a storm.
“If you want to die, fine,” she said, her words deceptively gentle. “I’ll let you. But you’ll have failed the King of Aranbiya. You’ll have failed Mirelle. You’ll have failed the one person that’s counting on you…”
Her voice dropped lower, her gaze steady and unflinching.
“…Lady Mablevi.”
The words cut through the air like a blade, so soft yet so sharp, and they hit their mark with precision.
I I felt my breath catch, my chest tightening as her words settled into the silence. Kiaran didn’t move at first. His jaw tightened visibly, his hands balling into fists at his sides. For a moment, I thought he might lash out, that he’d say something cold and final to shut her down.
But then, he smirked.
It wasn’t the kind of smirk that softened a face or brought light to a moment. It was sharp, bitter, and full of something I couldn’t quite place.
“You’re not as innocent as you look,” he said, his voice low and almost teasing, though it carried no humor.
The smirk faded, and his expression hardened, his gaze flicking briefly to me before returning to Estella.
“Fine,” he said, the word clipped and heavy. “But don’t make me regret it.”
Estella’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded once, sharply.
The tension in the air didn’t dissipate—it shifted, like the weight of Kiaran’s decision had tipped something unseen. The three of us stood there, silent and unmoving, as if waiting for the world to catch up to what had just taken place.
Finally, Estella broke the silence. Without a word, she stepped forward, her small hand pressing against the iron door. The hinges groaned in protest, the sound echoing through the clearing like a warning, but she didn’t falter. Her shoulders squared, and with a shove, she pushed the door open.
A gust of cold, damp air rushed out, brushing against my face and sending a shiver down my spine. I stepped closer, gripping the edges of my cloak tightly as we crossed the threshold together.
The brittle grass gave way to cracked stone beneath my boots, each step echoing faintly as we moved forward. The mansion loomed above us like a blackened monolith, its sharp edges jagged and uneven, reaching toward the sky like claws. The walls were slick with dampness, beads of moisture clinging to the dark stone and glinting faintly in the pale light that filtered through the warped canopy of trees above.
Every step felt heavier than the last. The closer we got, the colder the air became—not just cold, but thick and oppressive, like an unseen weight was pressing down on my chest. My breaths grew shallow and strained, and I found myself gripping the edges of my cloak even tighter, as if it could shield me from the suffocating atmosphere.
And then, the smell hit me.
At first, it was faint, just a whiff of something foul carried on the wind. I couldn’t place it—it was too distant, too subtle. But as we drew closer to the main door, it grew stronger, sharper, until it was impossible to ignore.
Blood. Rot.
The scent clawed at my senses, acidic and rancid, and I gagged, raising my arm to cover my nose and mouth. My stomach churned violently, and I stumbled slightly, catching myself before I could fall.
Estella’s face twisted in disgust, her lips pressing tightly together as she fought to keep her composure. Even Kiaran, who rarely betrayed anything, had a shadow of unease in his expression. His lips were set in a thin line, his gaze fixed firmly ahead, though his shoulders were rigid, betraying the tension he tried so hard to hide.
The steps ahead of us were long and winding, their surface cracked and uneven. As we ascended, the smell grew worse, thick and cloying, until it felt like it was sinking into my skin.
The walls lining the staircase were stained, the marks so dark and smeared that I couldn’t tell if it was blood or rot. My fingers brushed against the cold stone as I steadied myself, and I pulled back instinctively, a faint, sticky residue clinging to my skin.
“What… is that?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Both there was no answer
Estella’s boots hit the final step first, her pace quickening as her gaze locked onto something ahead. A small piece of paper fluttered faintly against the heavy iron door, pinned in place by a rusted nail.
She didn’t hesitate. Before either Kiaran or I could react, she darted forward, the brittle grass crunching beneath her feet. Her hand shot out, ripping the paper free with a sharp tug that echoed in the still air.
For a moment, she just stood there, frozen. Her fingers trembled slightly as the paper fluttered in her grip, the faint rustle breaking the tense silence.
“Estella?” I called softly, my voice barely more than a whisper. My chest tightened as I watched her, her shoulders stiff and unmoving. Something about the way she stood there sent a chill down my spine.
Kiaran and I exchanged a quick glance before moving toward her. I stepped up beside her first, my breath catching as I caught sight of the note she held. (Letter is in chapter, for readers to analyze)
ns216.73.217.39da2
and then Add to home screen.