Chapter V: The Shattered Veil
The night inside Gravenholt Manor never ended.
Nathaniel didn't know how much time had passed. Hours, perhaps days. The walls were timeless, the shadows unchanging, the flames along the sconces never flickering. Every sound he made—every breath, every heartbeat—came back to him louder, as if the silence mocked him by amplifying his weakness.
He sat curled against the cold wall, his scar throbbing beneath his shirt. The portraits above still watched with their ageless eyes, painted smiles pressed against his soul.
He had tried to rest. But each time his eyes closed, dreams flooded him—dreams not his own. He saw cities bathed in fire, rivers running black, voices whispering his name. And always, always, Eris's face at the center, her crimson gaze fixed upon him, her hand outstretched.
"Come home," she whispered in the dream. "You cannot run from what you are."
And yet he longed to run.
Nathaniel pressed his forehead against his knees, shivering despite the velvet blanket still draped across the bed. "I can't stay here. I can't..."
The chamber door groaned open.
His head snapped up.
Eris stepped inside. Her silver hair gleamed even in the dim light, and her expression was unreadable—neither triumphant nor cruel, but something in between, a mask carved of sorrow.
"You haven't eaten," she said quietly.
Nathaniel's throat tightened. On the small table by the bed lay a tray—bread, fruit, and a goblet of dark red liquid that he dared not name.
"I'm not hungry." His voice came hoarse, defiant, but fragile.
Eris's gaze lingered on him for a long time. Then she stepped forward, lifting the goblet. The scent wafted to him—iron, copper, warmth. His stomach twisted with both revulsion and an ache he could not deny.
"You will be," she whispered, setting the goblet back down.
"I won't drink that."
"Not yet." She tilted her head, almost sadly. "But hunger always wins, Nathaniel. You'll see."
He rose shakily to his feet, fists clenched. "You think I'll just give in? You think I'll become like you?"
Her eyes softened. "I don't think. I know."
Something inside him broke at her certainty. He lashed out, voice shaking. "You ruined everything! I broke us apart, and now you're trying to drag me into this nightmare with you. I hate you so MUCH!"
The words struck her like a blow. For the first time, her poise cracked. Pain flashed across her face, sharp and fleeting.
But then she steadied, masking it with calm. "Hate is still a bond, Nathaniel. Stronger than love, sometimes. Either way... you're mine."
She turned to leave, her gown sweeping against the floor like the sound of wings.
Desperation burned his chest. "I'll get out of here," he spat. "I'll come back stronger—and when I do, I'll destroy this place!"
Eris paused at the doorway. Her head turned slightly, enough for him to see the faintest curve of her lips.
"I'll be waiting."
And then she was gone.
The door shut with a heavy thud, sealing the silence once again.
Nathaniel staggered back against the wall, his breath ragged. Anger and despair collided inside him, but beneath them, a spark ignited—resolve.
"I have to leave. I can't die here. Not like this."
His scar pulsed, burning hot, as if answering his call. He gritted his teeth, clutching his chest. The pain grew sharper, radiating through his body like molten fire.
He dropped to his knees, gasping. The chamber blurred around him. The portraits seemed to move, their painted eyes glowing faintly. Whispers rose in his ears—ancient, mocking, tempting.
"Stay."
"Drink."
"Accept."
"No!" Nathaniel screamed, pressing his palms against the floor. The stone beneath his hands seared with unnatural heat. His vision swam red.
The runes carved into the ceiling began to glow faintly.
He didn't know why, didn't know how, but the fire in his veins was no longer just pain—it was power. A force that didn't belong to him, yet surged through him as if it had waited all along.
"I won't be your prisoner!" His voice echoed, rising against the silence. "I'll come back stronger... and I'll end this!"
The scar flared. Light burst outward, crimson and blinding, filling the chamber.
The walls trembled. The runes flared brighter, as though awakened from centuries of slumber. A great pressure filled the air, the portraits rattling in their frames.
And then—
The world shattered.
Nathaniel felt himself pulled upward, as though ripped from his own body. The chamber dissolved, stone and velvet and shadows tearing like paper. Darkness rushed past him, then light, then silence, then—
He collapsed.
Hard wood struck his hands. The air smelled not of blood and dust but of soap and rain. His eyes shot open.
He was in his room.
The posters on the wall. The desk cluttered with books and notes. The bed unmade, sheets tangled from a night of restless sleep. The faint hum of the city outside the window.
Home.
Nathaniel gasped, tears flooding his eyes. His body trembled uncontrollably. He crawled to the window, throwing it open. Cold London air rushed in, damp and real, filled with the distant sound of traffic.
He was free.
He didn't know how. He didn't care.
He pressed his forehead against the windowpane, sobbing quietly. "I'm back... I'm home..."
Footsteps thundered up the stairs.
The door burst open. His father stood there, wild-eyed, lantern still in hand as though he'd never put it down. Behind him, his mother appeared, her face pale with terror.
"Nathaniel!" Daniel cried, rushing forward. He seized his son in a crushing embrace. "God above—we thought we lost you!"
His mother's hands trembled as she touched his face, as though fearing he might vanish again. "Where were you? Nathaniel, what happened?"
He clung to them both, shaking his head. "I... I don't know. They—Eris, the clan—they had me, but... I don't know how I got back."
His father's grip tightened. "It doesn't matter. You're safe now."
But Nathaniel knew better.
The scar still burned faintly, a constant reminder. And in his heart, he heard Eris's whisper, soft as velvet: I'll be waiting.
The next morning felt surreal.
Nathaniel sat at his desk, staring blankly at the stack of engineering textbooks. The equations blurred before his eyes, meaningless compared to the horrors of the night before. Yet here he was—just a student again.
He dragged a hand down his face. His father had insisted on staying nearby, his mother hovering anxiously, but they could not follow him into the halls of the university.
The world outside didn't know. Didn't see. Students laughed, gossiped, scrolled through their phones, as though nothing unnatural had ever walked the streets of London.
Nathaniel walked among them, silent.
Every shadow seemed deeper. Every whisper sounded like her voice. His scar ached faintly with each passing hour, a reminder that he had escaped—but not defeated.
At one point, he caught his reflection in a window.
For a heartbeat, the reflection didn't move with him. It smiled.
He stumbled back, heart pounding. Students brushed past, unconcerned, oblivious.
He clenched his fists, steadying his breath.
"I'll come back stronger," he whispered under his breath. "I'll be ready."
And somewhere, beyond the veil, in the silence of Gravenholt Manor, crimson eyes surely gleamed.