The ancient tunnels beneath Arven Manor moved in absolute silence, illuminated only by the few lanterns that had survived the battle. The sound of destruction remained distant above them, muffled by tons of stone and earth, but still perceptible. From ti to ti, a tremor ran through the narrow walls of the underground corridor, causing dust to fall from the arched ceiling. It was as if the earth itself were slowly absorbing the last spasms of what remained of Arven House.
No one spoke.
Not because there weren’t questions.
There were too many questions.
The problem was that none of them had answers.
The surviving veterans walked in silence, carrying their wounds without complaint. So limped. Others improvised bandages with torn pieces of their own cloaks. The sll of blood, smoke, and damp stone mingled with the cold air of the tunnel, creating a heavy atmosphere that seed to press on their lungs.
Further ahead, Morgana walked beside her father.
Or at least she tried to.
In truth, her steps seed automatic. She kept staring at the Duke as if she still hadn’t co to terms with the fact that he was really there.
Alive.
Free.
Breathing.
After everything.
Duke Arven lay propped up between two veterans, utterly weak. His face was gaunt in an almost frightening way. The weeks—or perhaps months—of ritualistic draining had left deep scars. His skin seed too thin over his bones. His eyes remained sunken. His body barely responded properly to movent.
Even so, he was conscious.
And that made everything more complicated.
Morgana didn’t know what to make of it.
For so long she had prepared herself to find a corpse.
Or a monster.
Or perhaps a mory.
Not a father.
Not soone who could still look at her.
Not soone who could still call her by na.
She walked a few steps forward, then slowed her pace. She looked at him. Then she looked away. As if he didn’t know what distance to keep.
As if he were relearning a relationship that had died years ago.
The Duke noticed.
Of course he noticed.
But he also said nothing.
Perhaps because he was too tired.
Perhaps because he understood perfectly.
Perhaps because he also didn’t know what to do.
Further back, Elizabeth walked beside Damon.
In fact, "walked" was a generous description.
Damon was having difficulty even remaining upright.
Every few minutes his balance faltered. His body seed too heavy for his own muscles. Small ice crystals still occasionally appeared on his skin before disappearing again.
The phenonon should have ended.
But it hadn’t.
And that was beginning to worry Elizabeth.
She discreetly observed his arm as they moved through the corridors.
The veins seed normal.
His body temperature, however, definitely not.
She could feel the cold even without touching him directly.
Sothing was still wrong.
Finally, when the group slowed down for a few monts to reorganize the wounded, Elizabeth moved closer.
"Damon."
He slowly raised his eyes.
"What?"
His voice was tired.
Very tired.
Elizabeth studied his face for a few seconds.
"You’re getting worse."
"I know."
"Your body should be stabilizing."
He let out a small, humorless laugh.
"Clearly didn’t get the mo."
Normally she would ignore that kind of comnt.
But not now.
Now her concern was genuine.
She discreetly observed the other mbers of the group before speaking in a lower voice.
"You lost a lot of blood."
Damon didn’t answer.
"More than you should have survived without food."
Still silence. Then Elizabeth sighed.
"If necessary..."
She hesitated for only a mont.
"...you can use mine."
Damon turned to face her imdiately.
For a few seconds he just stared at her.
Then he shook his head.
"No."
"That wasn’t a request."
"It still isn’t."
Elizabeth frowned.
"Don’t be stupid."
"I’m trying to avoid exactly that."
She crossed her arms.
"We’re vampires."
"I know."
"Blood would solve half your problems in minutes."
"I know."
"Then what’s the problem?"
Damon was silent for several seconds.
Long seconds.
Long enough for Elizabeth to start feeling even more uncomfortable.
Finally he answered.
"Sothing’s wrong."
The answer ca out so low it was almost lost in the distant sound of the collapses.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.
"Explain."
Damon ran a hand over his face.
Or tried to.
The movent seed to require more effort than it should.
"When that thing died..."
He searched for the words.
"...I lost control."
"I realized."
"No. You saw the result."
She didn’t answer.
Because it was true.
No one had seen what really happened inside him in that instant.
Only the consequences.
The cold.
The ice.
The explosion of energy.
Damon remained silent for a few seconds before continuing.
"My icy Qi has always been difficult to control."
Elizabeth nodded.
She already knew that.
"But this was different."
Now she was paying full attention.
Damon observed his own hand.
Small ice crystals appeared between his fingers.
They disappeared.
They returned.
They vanished again.
Like an unstable fla.
"It seed like sothing responded."
Elizabeth didn’t like the way that sounded at all.
"What responded?"
"I don’t know."
The problem was that Damon was being sincere.
He really didn’t know.
And that was worse.
Much worse.
The tunnel continued to advance before them while the others walked a few ters ahead. The lanterns cast long shadows on the ancient walls, creating a strange feeling of isolation even within a group.
Damon continued speaking. "When I destroyed the Duchess..."
His voice trailed off.
"...for a second I felt sothing."
Elizabeth didn’t interrupt.
"Like the Qi had left ."
That sent a shiver down her spine.
She tried not to show it.
"Are you saying you lost control?"
"No."
He took a mont to answer.
"I’m saying it felt like sothing else took over."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
Very uncomfortable.
Elizabeth observed his face carefully.
Looking for signs of delirium.
Confusion.
Extre exhaustion.
But she found only concern.
A concern Damon rarely showed.
That made her even more uneasy.
"Do you think you’re contaminated by the ritual?"
"No."
The answer ca imdiately.
Too confident.
"It doesn’t seem like it." "So what?"
Damon let out a slow breath.
The air left visibly.
Even in that underground environnt.
"I don’t know."
Elizabeth hated that answer.
Because Damon usually knew.
Even when he didn’t have all the information, he usually had hypotheses.
Not now.
Now he seed genuinely lost.
And that was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Further ahead, Morgana had stopped again.
The Duke needed to rest.
The veterans improvised a short break in an abandoned underground chamber, probably used as a storage point during ancient wars.
No one complained.
Everyone was too exhausted.
The space was large enough to accommodate the entire group. Old pillars supported the arched ceiling while puddles of water reflected the flickering light of the lanterns.
Morgana helped her father sit against a stone wall.
Then she remained there.
Without saying anything.
The Duke observed his daughter for a few seconds.
"You’re hurt."
She almost laughed.
Almost.
After all that, that was the first thing he said.
"You’re dying."
"I’ve been worse."
"Lies."
A small, tired smile appeared on his face.
For the first ti.
Small.
Weak.
But real.
And that struck Morgana in an unexpected way.
Because she recognized that smile.
It was her father’s smile.
Not the Duke’s.
Not the leader of House Arven’s.
Not the victim trapped in a monstrous ritual.
Just his.
And, for the first ti since they left the mansion, Morgana felt sothing break inside her.
Not violently.
Not like during the fight.
Sothing more silent.
More human.
She sat beside him.
Slowly.
Like soone who still didn’t know if she had the right to do that.
The Duke said nothing.
He just remained there.
And for a few minutes the two were silent.
While the rest of the group tended to the wounded, reorganized equipnt, and tried to process everything that had happened.
But even in that apparent calm...
The tension remained.
Strange.
Difficult to explain.
As if no one truly believed it was over.
Perhaps because, deep down, everyone felt the sa way.
Arven Manor was dead.
The Duchess was dead.
The ritual had been destroyed.
But sothing still remained wrong.
And, sitting a few ters behind, enveloped by a cold that shouldn’t exist, Damon began to suspect that this thing might be inside him.
Outside, the storm continued to batter the lands of House Arven.
The rain fell in dense curtains over the destroyed aristocratic gardens, transforming the ancient stone paths into rivers of mud and dark water. Lightning flashed across the sky constantly, briefly illuminating the silhouette of the mansion in the distance.
Or what remained of it.
Ester watched in absolute silence.
Beside her, Aria remained equally motionless.
Neither of them took their eyes off the property.
Because they were seeing sothing impossible.
Arven Mansion was literally collapsing in on itself.
First ca the fires.
Then the explosions.
Then, entire sections of the structure began to sink.
As if sothing were consuming the property from within.
The enormous west tower disappeared behind a cloud of dust and fire.
Seconds later, one of the main wings simply gave way.
The sound reached them several seconds later.
Deep.
Heavy.
Like a mountain breaking.
Aria gripped the partially wet map she held in her hands even tighter.
Her fingers were so tense they almost tore the paper.
"This definitely wasn’t part of the plan."
Ester didn’t answer imdiately.
Her eyes remained fixed on the distant mansion.
The reflection of the flas danced in her pupils.
"Damon is inside."
The answer ca simply.
But there was enough tension in it to make Aria uncomfortable.
Because Ester rarely showed concern.
At least not so obviously.
Another flash illuminated the sky.
The central wing of the mansion sank a few more ters.
An explosion of fire tore through part of the roof.
Aria swallowed hard.
"I hate when nobles conduct forbidden experints."
"You hate nobles."
" too."
Another silence.
The rain continued to beat against her clothes.
The wind carried the distant sll of smoke.
And then Aria looked back at the map. The paper was already partially destroyed by the water.
But it was still legible.
Old blueprints of the property.
Files they had managed to recover hours before.
Corridors.
Passageways.
Ergency tunnels.
Aristocratic escape routes.
She ran her finger over one of the drawn lines.
"Ester."
This ti the other woman answered imdiately.
"What is it?"
"If the mansion is really collapsing..."
Aria pointed to a mark near the forest.
"...they won’t get out through the main entrance."
Ester finally looked away from the ruins.
She looked at the map.
She thought for a few seconds.
Then she nodded.
Her eyes narrowed.
"The tunnels."
"Exactly."
Another rumble echoed in the distance.
Another part of the mansion disappeared behind a cloud of debris.
The two exchanged a glance.
Neither of them needed to say anything more.
Minutes later they were moving quickly through the soaked forest.
The rain-heavy branches brushed against their clothes as they traversed the dark vegetation. The storm hampered visibility, but the map remained relatively accurate.
The old ergency tunnel was far from the main property.
Very far.
Built precisely for situations where the family needed to escape without being pursued.
Sothing that, ironically, was finally happening.
The walk lasted almost fifteen minutes.
Enough ti for the mansion to continue crumbling behind them.
With each new flash of light, a different part of the property seed to disappear.
In the end, only a broken silhouette engulfed in flas remained.
When they finally found the tunnel’s exit, they both stopped.
The entrance was hidden among ancient roots and moss-covered stones.
Practically invisible.
Without the map, they would never find it.
Aria approached first.
She crouched down.
She observed the structure.
Then she looked at Ester.
"It’s open."
Ester nodded slowly.
That was a good sign.
Or a terrible one.
Depending on what had happened inside.
For a few seconds, the two remained observing the darkness of the passageway.
Nothing.
No sound.
No movent.
Only the distant rumble of rain.
Aria crossed her arms.
"How long do you think we should wait before assuming the worst?"
"Don’t assu."
"That didn’t answer my question."
"It was the answer."
Aria sighed.
Of course it was.
The minutes passed slowly.
The tension grew.
Each second seed longer than the last.
At a certain point, even Ester began to show signs of unease.
Very subtle.
But Aria noticed.
Small changes in posture.
Frequent glances towards the entrance.
Slightly tense hands.
She had known Ester long enough to recognize it.
Concern.
Genuine.
A few more minutes passed.
Then it happened.
A sound.
Very distant.
Coming from the depths of the tunnel.
Footsteps.
Aria imdiately raised her head.
Ester was already standing.
The two stood motionless.
Listening.
The sounds slowly increased.
More than one person.
Many people.
Heavy movent.
Disorganized.
Injured.
Aria released the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.
"They’re alive."
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