The night had swallowed the forest whole by the time I left the cottage, the moon hanging low in the sky, a pale and watchful eye. Its silvery light spilled through the dense canopy of trees, casting long, ghostly shadows on the narrow path ahead of me. The wind was still, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. It was the kind of night that made the world feel as though it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

I moved quietly, my boots making only the softest of sounds against the uneven forest floor. Each step carried me deeper into the darkness, the weight of my decision settling heavier with every breath. The obsidian mirror, tucked securely in its leather pouch, pressed against my hip, a constant reminder of the dangerous magic it held.

Ahead, the trees grew closer together, their branches intertwining like fingers clasping in prayer, forming a twisted, skeletal barrier that seemed to block out the world beyond. The deeper I ventured into the woods, the colder the air became, biting at my skin and sinking into my bones. There was no warmth here, no life—only the stillness of a place forgotten by time.

But I wasn't alone.

I could feel it—the eyes watching me from the shadows, the quiet rustle of leaves that wasn't stirred by the wind. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat louder than the last, as though my body was trying to warn me, trying to pull me back from the path I was walking.

But there was no turning back.

I reached for the hilt of my dagger, my fingers brushing the worn leather grip as I glanced around the clearing, my eyes searching for the source of the sound. The shadows shifted, moving just beyond my line of sight, as if the forest itself were alive, watching, waiting.

Then I heard it—soft, but unmistakable. A twig snapped in the distance.

I froze, my heart leaping into my throat as my hand tightened around the dagger. I spun toward the sound, the obsidian mirror thumping against my side with the sudden movement. My pulse quickened, adrenaline surging through my veins as I scanned the darkness.

"Lyra!"

The voice was sharp, a hissed whisper that cut through the stillness of the forest like a blade. I relaxed, if only slightly, as Kyara stepped out from behind a thick oak tree, her golden braid swaying as she moved toward me. Her breath came in short bursts, her blue eyes wide with fear and anger.

"Kyara," I whispered harshly, glancing around the clearing to make sure we were truly alone. "You shouldn't be here."
She ignored my warning, her gaze fixed on me as she hurried forward, her hands gripping the edges of her cloak tightly. "Neither should you."

I could hear the accusation in her voice, the thin thread of panic that wove through her words. She stopped just in front of me, her face pale beneath the moonlight, her brow furrowed with worry. "You can't be serious, Lyra. You're really going to do this?"

I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, feeling the weight of the mirror pressing against me like a secret too heavy to bear. "I don't have a choice," I said, my voice low, though the conviction in my words was already fraying. "This is the only way."

Kyara's face tightened, her eyes narrowing as she searched mine for some answer that might make sense. "The only way to what? Get yourself killed? This isn't some trade deal gone wrong, Lyra. You're walking into Rhyon's castle. A vampire lord's domain. You'll be lucky if you make it past the gates."
I averted my gaze, my pulse quickening at the thought of Rhyon—the prince whose name sent whispers through the streets of Thalarion, the one whose power stretched like an iron fist over our lives. His castle was a fortress, a place where no human had ever entered willingly and lived to tell the tale.

But I wasn't going there for myself. This wasn't about bravery, or recklessness, or even a hunger for power. This was about survival. My father's survival.

"I have no other choice," I repeated, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "My father is dying. I need the gold from this job to get him the medicine he needs. If I don't do this, he won't make it."

Kyara's anger wavered, giving way to sorrow as her features softened. "I know he's sick, Lyra. I know. But there has to be another way. You don't have to face Rhyon alone. You don't have to... you can't... he's a vampire, for the gods' sake."
Her voice trembled, and I could see the fear behind her eyes—the fear she had for me, the fear of losing me to something neither of us could control. She reached out, her hand gripping my arm tightly, as if she could anchor me to safety through sheer force of will.

"You don't understand," I said, pulling my arm free gently but firmly. "I don't have time to find another way. If I don't act now, it'll be too late. I can't sit by and watch him die. Not when I know there's something I can do."
Kyara's grip tightened again, this time on my wrist, her fingers digging into my skin as if she could hold me back with her bare hands. "Then let me come with you. Don't do this alone. Please."

Her voice cracked, and the weight of her plea made my heart clench painfully. I looked at her, at the desperation etched in every line of her face, and for a moment, I wavered. I wanted to let her in, wanted to tell her that everything would be alright, that she could come with me, and together we could face whatever awaited us in Rhyon's castle.
But I couldn't.

If something happened to me, she needed to be safe. She needed to be there for my father, for the village. I couldn't drag her into this nightmare with me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice thick with regret. "I can't let you do this. It's too dangerous."

Kyara shook her head, her eyes filling with tears as her grip tightened even more, as though she were afraid I would disappear the moment she let go. "I can't lose you, Lyra. You're all I have. You're my family..."

Her words tore at my heart, deeper than any blade could. I met her gaze, the moonlight casting her features in a soft glow, highlighting the vulnerability she so rarely showed. But I had made my decision, and nothing would change it.
Slowly, I reached for her hand, gently prying her fingers from my wrist. "I'm sorry, Kyara. I really am."

Before she could react, before she could argue or plead with me further, I raised my hand and whispered a single word under my breath—soft, like a breeze through the trees.
"Senvyre."

The spell slipped from my lips like silk, wrapping around Kyara in an invisible embrace. Her eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting to protest, but only for a moment. Then, her eyelids fluttered closed, and her body went limp, the tension draining from her limbs as she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

I caught her before she could collapse, lowering her gently to the ground. The forest seemed to hold its breath as I knelt beside her, guilt clawing at my chest. She looked so peaceful, her face relaxed, her breathing slow and even. I brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, my fingers trembling.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, my voice breaking as I pressed a soft kiss to her brow. "I'll come back. I promise."
But even as I said the words, they felt hollow, empty. I didn't know if I would make it back. I didn't know if I would survive this.

But I had to try.

I stood, pulling my cloak tighter around me as I glanced one last time at Kyara's sleeping form. She would wake in the morning, safe, confused, but alive. That was all I could give her.

Turning away, I slipped back into the shadows of the forest, the path before me winding deeper into the unknown. The trees whispered in the stillness, their twisted branches swaying gently in the windless night.

And somewhere, beyond the dark, Rhyon's castle waited—along with whatever fate awaited me inside its walls.
The forest thinned as I neared the edge, the dark silhouette of Rhyon's castle dominating the horizon. Its towering spires pierced the night sky like the jagged teeth of some long-forgotten beast, black and foreboding against the backdrop of moonlit clouds. The pale glow of the moon spilled over the stone walls, casting long, sinister shadows that stretched across the landscape like claws reaching out from the abyss.
I hesitated at the edge of the woods, staring up at the castle, its sheer magnitude overwhelming. The air here felt different—dense, almost suffocating, as if it carried the weight of countless untold secrets. Everything in me screamed to turn back, to flee, but my legs defied the fear tightening in my chest, carrying me forward one step at a time.

The obsidian mirror at my side pulsed with a subtle warmth, a quiet reminder of the magic I carried. It hummed faintly beneath my fingertips, as if reacting to the castle's ancient energy, urging me to move closer. The castle seemed to call to it, drawing out the power within. My fingers grazed the cool surface of the mirror, its presence grounding me as I pressed forward toward the castle gates.

Lining the path were statues, stone figures of creatures twisted into grotesque snarls, their hollow eyes watching. The stone was worn by centuries of wind and time, yet the malice etched into their faces remained, untouched by age. A shiver crawled up my spine, and I forced my gaze away from their leering expressions as I stepped onto the cobbled road leading to the entrance.

The castle loomed in eerie silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the groan of settling stone. It felt as though the very structure was holding its breath, waiting, watching. Even the shadows seemed to shift unnaturally, slipping just out of focus whenever I tried to watch them too closely.

As I reached the towering iron gates, their intricate design twisted and curled like vines frozen in time, I felt my pulse quicken. They were immense, crowned with spikes that reached toward the sky like cruel thorns, and beneath my hand, the cold metal pulsed with a strange energy—ancient, alive.

I swallowed hard and took a steadying breath, my fingers brushing the iron. A soft creak echoed in the stillness, and slowly, the gates groaned open as though they had been expecting me.

Beyond, the courtyard stretched vast and silent. The stones beneath my feet were slick with dew, worn smooth by countless years. The air was sharp, carrying a metallic tang—like blood, or something darker. My stomach twisted, but I kept my eyes fixed on the castle's looming entrance, ignoring the unease roiling inside me.

The doors ahead were massive, carved from dark wood and reinforced with iron, the surface etched with runes and symbols that seemed to shimmer faintly in the pale light. They were symbols I had seen before—in my mother's journals and on the edges of the mirror I carried. The same ancient script, filled with a power I didn't yet understand.
My fingers brushed the pouch at my side as a chill raced down my spine. The magic in the air was palpable, thick and heavy, wrapping itself around me like an invisible force. The stones beneath my feet seemed to pulse with it, the walls of the castle thrumming with a life of their own, as though the very structure was waiting to wake.

Despite the dread curling in my gut, I stepped forward.
The doors groaned, their weight sending an echo through the still courtyard. Beyond them, the castle's vast interior stretched into shadow, distant torchlight flickering in uneven patterns along the stone walls. The air inside was colder, biting against my skin, the chill more piercing than the night outside. It pressed in on me, suffocating, making my breaths come shallow and uneven. Every step I took seemed too loud, every breath a sharp intrusion on the oppressive silence.
I moved cautiously, each footfall deliberate as I crossed the threshold into the main hall. The polished stone beneath me gleamed faintly, slick with moisture, while the walls soared high above, disappearing into darkness. The faint, amber glow from the torches did little to soften the space; instead, it threw long shadows, stretching like black fingers across the floor.

The castle felt like a tomb.

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, my hand instinctively curling around the hilt of the dagger at my side. The emptiness pressed in from all sides, but I could feel it—something unseen, lurking in the shadows, watching with unseen eyes. The weight of that gaze clung to me, cold and heavy.

The corridor before me stretched long and dim, the weak torchlight casting shifting shadows that flickered restlessly against the walls. It was too quiet. Every sound seemed amplified, as though the castle itself was listening to my every movement. I pressed on, my steps careful, feeling the tension in my chest grow tighter with every step. The cold seemed to seep into my very bones, and it felt as though the air around me had thickened, growing heavier the further I ventured.

Then, a sound. A low groan of stone behind me. My heart leaped, hammering in my chest as I froze in place, breath lodged in my throat. Slowly, I turned, eyes scanning the corridor behind me. Nothing but empty shadows stretching into the darkness. I swallowed the rising panic, forcing myself to move, each step a battle against the suffocating weight of the silence.

The corridor twisted ahead, narrowing as the torches grew dimmer, their light barely reaching the edges of the walls now. Shadows seemed to crawl up from the floor, as though the very darkness was alive, swallowing the space around me. My grip tightened on the dagger, knuckles pale against the hilt, but I didn't stop.

At last, the hall opened into a wide archway, revealing the towering doors of Rhyon's chambers. They stood ominous and foreboding, their dark wood carved with intricate symbols that pulsed faintly with an ethereal glow. The magic here was stronger, vibrating through the floor beneath me, an ancient power humming through the air. The torches flickered, casting long, shifting shadows that made the symbols appear to writhe, almost alive.

I hesitated, my breath catching in my throat as the weight of the unknown settled heavily on my shoulders. I had come this far, but I had no idea what awaited me beyond those doors. Rhyon's name was one of power, and here, within his domain, that power felt overwhelming, pressing in on me from all sides.

There was no turning back.

Steeling myself, I reached out. My fingers grazed the rough, ancient carvings on the door, and a sharp pulse of magic shot through me, crawling up my arm like a spark of electricity. My heart raced, but I couldn't stop now. I took a breath, steadying myself, and with a final push, I swung the door open.

The door groaned in protest as I nudged it open, the sound slicing through the thick, oppressive silence that clung to the castle like an unwelcome guest. I held my breath, slipping inside with a slow, measured step, the weight of unseen eyes and ancient magic pressing in on me from every corner. The moment my foot crossed the threshold, the air shifted—heavy, humming with something malevolent and watchful. A force that had been lying in wait.

Rhyon's chambers were nothing like I'd expected. They were far worse.

Shadows sprawled across the stone floor like a living thing, coiling and twisting as if eager to devour the light that dared encroach. The bed, standing ominously at the center of the room, was surrounded by carved posts etched with runes, their ancient forms glimmering faintly in the dim light. Runes that mirrored those on my mirror, humming with the same dark magic that saturated the room. I reached out instinctively, fingers brushing the cold, unwelcoming wood. The chill that seeped into my skin was unnatural, almost sentient, and a shudder rippled through me.

I didn't belong here. The very air knew it. And so did I.

Despite its vastness, the room felt claustrophobic, the velvet drapes framing the bed casting dark shadows that swallowed every corner. Narrow windows let in slivers of moonlight, streaks of silver that dared to cross the threshold but went no further. And there, in the half-light, on the bed, lay Rhyon.
The sight of him knocked the breath from my lungs.

His bare chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic motion, the moonlight tracing the hard lines of muscle with delicate fingers. His hair, dark and unruly, spilled across the pillow, a striking contrast against his pale skin. Even in sleep, his face was too perfect—sharp, sculpted, a face that seemed born from the hands of a sculptor rather than the curse of the living dead. His lips, full and parted just slightly, held an invitation that felt out of place amid the lethal stillness of the room.

But it was his stillness that made my heart race. Too still. Too calculated.

I forced myself forward, fingers clutching the pouch at my side, the mirror within a heavy reminder of why I had come. The runes on it hummed softly, echoing the magic in the air, drawing me closer to the edge of what I had to do. This was it—the moment. All I had to do was take the mirror, cast the spell, and leave before anyone knew I was here.

Simple.

I exhaled, pulling the mirror from the pouch. Its surface was cold—colder than the air around me, colder than the fear creeping into my bones. But before I could lift it, the bed was empty. A gust of wind, icy and sharp, rushed past me, and in an instant, I felt him behind me.

His breath touched the nape of my neck before I could move. It was slow, deliberate, as though he savored the nearness of me—like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

"You thought you could slip in unnoticed?" His voice, low and soft, sent a shiver through me. His words were a dangerous whisper, like silk sliding across my skin. "How reckless of you..."

The panic clawed at my throat, but I swallowed it, forcing myself to stay still. He was toying with me. Testing my resolve. I hated the way my body responded—my pulse quickening, breath hitching, every nerve on high alert. His presence was suffocating, wrapping around me like a cloak made of darkness, yet laced with a pull I couldn't ignore.

"I'm not afraid of you," I whispered, though my voice betrayed the tremor I fought to keep at bay.

A chuckle rolled from his throat, rich and dangerous, a sound that curled into the space between us like smoke. "Is that so?" His breath ghosted along my skin, his lips brushing my ear, his voice wrapping me in a sensation I couldn't push away. "Brave or foolish? I wonder which..."

His fingers grazed the side of my neck, a barely-there touch that sparked a fire in my veins. Heat radiated from him, too close, too overwhelming, and yet my feet were rooted to the ground. I couldn't move. His scent, dark and intoxicating, wrapped around me, flooding my senses until thinking became impossible.

"What did you come for?" His voice slid over me like a dark promise, wrapping itself around my thoughts, tangling them further.

My fingers tightened around the mirror, my mind struggling to remember why I was here. "I came to take what you keep hidden," I forced out, the words sharper than the fear threatening to unravel me.

His fingers pressed lightly against my pulse, the grip enough to make my heart slam harder against my ribs. "Is that so?" His voice cooled, the playful edge retreating into something darker. My breath faltered, his tone now holding an unspoken threat. "And who sent you?"

I swallowed, willing myself to hold steady. "Is this how you treat all your guests?" My voice came out sharp, though fear nipped at the edges. "Lurking in the dark, waiting for them to falter?"

He paused, his hand stilling, his body so close that every instinct told me to run. But I couldn't. Not now. Not with him so near, so still, as though the entire room held its breath, waiting for his next move. He was dangerous, every inch of him, and I was the fool who had walked willingly into the lion's den.

His hand moved again, this time lingering along my throat, his touch lighter but far more deliberate. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my skin, sending a surge of heat through me that I hated myself for feeling.

"Who sent you?" His voice, a low growl now, carried the threat of something far worse than death. His fangs grazed my skin, teasing, just enough to make me all too aware of the danger I was in.

My hand, acting on instinct, flew to the dagger at my waist. In a heartbeat, I had it pressed to his throat, the cold metal catching the faint glimmer of moonlight. But he didn't flinch. His lips curved into a smile, slow and menacing, and he leaned into the blade, his body pressing against mine, his heat almost unbearable.

"Go ahead," he whispered, his voice laced with wicked delight. "Do it... Lyra."

My breath faltered at the sound of my name on his lips. It was a promise and a threat all in one, a challenge I wasn't sure I could meet. My grip on the dagger tightened, but I couldn't move. The tension between us was electric, crackling in the air, thick enough to choke on. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the way his eyes burned into me, daring me to act. For a heartbeat, I thought he might close the space between us.
But then, just as quickly, he pulled back, leaving me teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something I wasn't ready for. I exhaled, heart pounding, every nerve on high alert. Gods, what was I thinking?

"You're not leaving until I have answers." His voice was cold now, devoid of the teasing edge. "So tell me again—who sent you?"

"I don't know," I blurted, the truth spilling from my lips before I could stop it. Admitting that I didn't know was the worst possible thing I could do. "I don't know who hired me. It was through a messenger. The details didn't matter."

His eyes darkened, sharp and assessing as they searched my face, as though peeling back my skin to expose whatever secrets lay beneath. I could feel his gaze probing for any sign of deception, but there was none. I wasn't lying. I only wished I were.

"You expect me to believe that?" His voice was low, lethal, tightening the air around me. "That you risked your life to enter my chambers without even knowing who sent you? To steal something you don't even understand?" His eyes narrowed, the threat clear in his voice. "What could they have offered you to make you so reckless, human?"

I swallowed hard, my pulse a deafening roar in my ears. I couldn't answer. Not the truth. The truth would give him too much—more power than I could afford to lose. He couldn't know. Not about my father. Not about the desperation that drove me here.

Without warning, Rhyon's jaw clenched, and in one fluid motion, he spun me around, pressing me back against the cold, unyielding stone of the wall. His arm rested above my head, his body crowding mine, his breath brushing dangerously close to my lips.

"You think I'll let you leave without answers?" His voice was a growl, rough and full of unspoken promises, his body a barrier I couldn't break through.

I stared up at him, heart slamming against my ribs, my thoughts a chaotic mess. His proximity, the heat of him, the way his gaze held mine—it was too much. My breath hitched, and I hated how easily he unraveled me. I hated the fire igniting low in my belly, the treacherous pull I felt toward him. Every part of me wanted to resist, but his presence was too overwhelming, his magic too potent.

"I'll leave with what I came for," I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of defiance. My eyes locked with his, and for a moment, everything else vanished—the room, the danger, the fear. There was only him, and the glint of gold in his green eyes, so close I could see every detail.

His lips curled into a dangerous smile, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise. "And if I decide to keep you here instead?"
His hand moved, trailing along the side of my neck, his touch lingering far longer than it should have. I was acutely aware of every inch of him, of the heat that radiated from his skin, the way his breath stirred the air between us, thick with tension.

"You should have known better than to come here, Lyra," he whispered, his voice a soft threat. "But now that you are here..." His lips brushed my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. "I'll offer you a deal."

A deal. With a vampire. My stomach twisted, every instinct screaming at me to run, but I couldn't move. His words, his presence, bound me to the spot, trapping me in the moment.

"What kind of deal?" I managed to whisper, barely able to find my voice.

Rhyon's smile deepened, slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring the power he held over me. "Help me," he said, his voice a velvet promise, "and I'll help you." He let the words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. "Together, we'll take down the Vampire Council. And in return..." His eyes flicked to my lips before meeting mine again, tension sparking between us. "You'll get what you need. Gold. Potions for your father. Everything."

The world seemed to tilt as I stared up at him, my heart a wild drumbeat in my chest. This was bigger than anything I could have anticipated. Far more dangerous. But as I met his gaze, I knew there was no turning back. And while I knew just the strict minimum about him, he talked like he knew me. He did know me.

"A deal..." I whispered, my voice barely a breath. "What's the price?" His eyes gleamed, his smile darkening. "Everything we both know today."