Calvus's brown eyes, usually calm and unreadable, flickered with surprise.
Aurelia's words were impossible—they were a challenge to Tenebrarum's order, a rebellion he hadn't expected.
"You… you dare?" His voice was low, measured, but there was no hiding the sudden tension beneath it.
Aurelia's gaze didn't waver. Her violet eyes burned like fire, refusing to bow.
"What about this...I will never," she spat, her tone icy, sharp.
Calvus exhaled slowly, the surprise fading into something harder, something calculating.
This was the move, what Aurelia always dreamt she would be—the warrior, the daughter, the girl who had stared at armies and survived.
" Then you'll learn it the hard way," he said finally, voice smooth, almost a whisper, "if you continue this path… the consequences will not be kind."
Aurelia only clenched her fists tighter.
She didn't care about consequences , she just wanted freedom.
Calvus's eyes lingered on her longer than necessary, the faintest flicker of recognition brushing across his expression, almost imperceptible. Her face—the sharpness of her jaw, the violet flare of her eyes, the curve of her brows—echoed someone from a memory buried too deep, someone he had once cared for.
But the image remained fragmented, like smoke slipping through his fingers. He couldn't name her, couldn't place her, and yet the pang of familiarity stabbed at him, unbidden.
He took a slow, measured step back, the air between them tense with unspoken questions. Staying here any longer felt wrong—too many emotions tangled in one space, too many memories brushing the edges of his mind.
Without another word, Calvus turned, the faint rustle of his coat the only sound marking his departure. The door closed behind him with a muted click, leaving Aurelia alone once more, her pulse thrumming in the silence.
She exhaled shakily, trying to ground herself. Even when left alone, the shadow of his presence lingered—heavier than the chains, darker than the room, and more unsettling than any of Tenebrarum's threats.
There was a strange sense of connection, something unspoken and raw, but the pieces refused to fall into place. Her mind strained to understand it, yet the puzzle remained stubbornly incomplete, leaving her heart unsettled and her thoughts restless.
Who is he?
Why do I think he's Gaius?
The thought spiralled through her mind, twisting tighter with every heartbeat. She could feel a tug of familiarity in his posture, the tilt of his head, the way his eyes lingered on her—but it made no sense.
Gaius was dead…isn't he?
That's what her dad told her, but he wasn't.
But no, Gaius wasn't dead , he was still alive.
After killing Matrona—Aurelia's mother—he was gifted to Tenebrarum Mortifer, and his name was stripped from him, replaced with Calvus.
At first, he had sworn to continue his revenge for his parents' deaths, to make those responsible pay in full. But the world he entered under Tenebrarum's shadow was far larger, far darker than any grudge he could hold. He saw power, strategy, survival—things far greater than chasing fleeting echoes of the past.
Slowly, the boy who had loved, hated, and mourned became something else entirely: loyal only to Tenebrarum, disciplined, cold, and unyielding.
But there remained one person capable of shattering him completely—Aurelia. The girl he had loved more deeply than he had ever thought possible, the one he had once imagined as the price of his sacrifice, the one he had sworn to protect in his heart even as he bent his life to Tenebrarum's will.
For her, he could have abandoned every oath, broken every promise, defied every command he made to Tenebrarum.
He could have been something other than Calvus, perhaps something human again.
And now, fate had twisted them both beneath Tenebrarum's roof—Aurelia, weakened, chained in ignorance of what he had become; Gaius, hardened, loyal to the man who had claimed him; neither knowing the other's true identity, yet bound by a past neither dared speak aloud.
-----------------------------------------
The door clicked again.
Aurelia's stomach tightened.
Another visitor?
She was still shaking from Calvus's unexpected appearance, her thoughts scattered and raw.
Five women stepped inside — all dressed in black, moving with the same precise rhythm, as if someone had rehearsed them for this exact moment.
Their heads were bowed, their expressions unreadable. They didn't look at one another, and they didn't look away from her.
Aurelia froze.
Before she could speak, they were already in front of her.
One reached for the shoulder of her blue dress. Another lifted them up. Their hands moved quickly, practised, unhesitating.
"STOP!" Aurelia twisted away, panic tightening her breath.
But their arms were steady, coldly focused.
They didn't flinch. They didn't want to slow down.
"NO!" she cried, her voice breaking as they tugged the fabric free. She tried to shield herself, but they were faster, stronger than their delicate appearance suggested.
A harsh sting shot up her leg when one of them pulled at the bandages.
Ouchhhhh!!!
Aurelia gasped, her whole body jolting with pain.
Her fingers curled, gripping the edge of the bed as if it could anchor her.
The women didn't say a word to her.
They simply continued — silent, efficient, unstoppable — stripping away the remnants of her past as if it were nothing more than a ruined garment.
They changed the bandages… cleaned her with the towel and the bowl… and wore her a black dress that looked like she was mourning something.
But they weren't done.
One of the women stepped behind Aurelia and tightened the corset around her hips.
Another smoothed the skirt, letting it fall in heavy folds that swallowed her legs. The last two adjusted the thin black straps resting on her shoulders, aligning them with practiced precision.
Aurelia felt their fingers move across her skin—cold, fast, efficient.
Every touch made her feel less like a person and more like something being prepared for something special.
The dress was too tight on her body.
Aurelia swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she looked down at herself. The black cloth colourt just sit on her—it devoured her color, her warmth, her breath. The weight of it pressed on her chest like a stone.
The women stepped back in perfect unison.
Not even a word.
Not a glance at her.
Their faces remained blank, almost empty, as if feeling anything was forbidden.
Aurelia shifted her weight, the fabric whispering against the floorboards. The dress felt wrong—like a shroud, like a warning, like she was being marked for something she didn't yet understand.
Her voice cracked as she finally whispered,
"What… what is this for?"
None of them answered.
They simply bowed their heads—low, obedient, identical—and began moving toward the door again, silent as shadows.
Aurelia's breath hitched.
Whatever this dress meant…
whatever she was being turned into…
She was about to find out soon.
-------------------------------------
To be continued...