"Take it."
Mortifer hurled the vanadium chain across the table.
The metal clattered at Tenebrarum's feet—black, cold, and alive with power.
Vanadium could cripple any demon…
But for Tenebrarum, it was something worse.
It was the chain that held his mind steady, the only thing that could drag him back from the edge of becoming what the world feared most.
Mortifer's voice dropped to a hard, merciless command.
"Control yourself," he said, already turning away.
His crimson cloak swept over the marble like a final verdict.
"Before you forget— you are my son."
And then he left Tenebrarum standing alone in the vast chamber, still half-changed, still trembling with rage, the chain glinting at his feet like a reminder of the monster he could become.
-----------------------------------
Aurelia was on a horse—charging, like something inside her already knew the battle had begun long before she arrived.
Knights in heavy armour stormed toward her, swords raised, shields dripping with mud and old blood. Their faces were hidden, but she felt their hatred—like they recognized her, like they had been waiting for her.
She struck one down, then another.
Yet each time her blade touched them, the world flickered, as if the dream itself wasn't sure who she was supposed to be.
Then someone slammed into her shoulder.
She fell—
But instead of hitting the ground, the earth cracked open beneath her like a rotten shell. The world swallowed her whole, dragging her down faster and faster until colors smeared and vanished.
Then—
Opening her eyes she was on sand.
Hot, golden, endless sand beneath her palms.
She pushed herself up, heart pounding, and found herself standing in the middle of a massive gladiator arena.
It rose around her like the spine of a sleeping beast, stone cracked and scorched, filled with thousands of faceless spectators screaming for blood.
She staggered back.
And that's when she realized—
She was no longer in armour.
She was wearing a dress, the kind queens wore in old paintings. Gold silk clung to her like it had been poured onto her skin. Jewels wrapped around her arms. Her hair was pulled up with delicate pins shaped like tiny crescent moons.
Across the arena stood Velmara.
Not the legendary witch people whispered about in fear.
This Velmara looked terrifyingly alive.
Her warrior clothes were dark and fitted, leather strapped across her chest, blades hanging from her hips. Her long hair was braided tight, swinging with each breath like a rope meant for strangling. And her eyes—
Her eyes glowed with ancient fire, a power so raw it almost burned Aurelia from across the arena.
Aurelia tried to call her name—
but her voice vanished, swallowed by the noise around her.
She turned toward the audience, desperate for help.
And everything inside her froze.
Because sitting in the front row, hands cupped around her mouth, screaming louder than the entire arena combined—
Was herself.
Dirty face. Torn dress.
Feet bare on the fall. Her eyes were huge with terror.
The child version of her looked straight at Aurelia with a hatred she didn't understand and screamed:
"Kill Flavia!
Kill that demon's slave!"
The words cracked like a whip.
Aurelia's breath broke for a moment.
Questions flew into her mind,
Why would she say that?
Why would the younger her want her dead?
Why would she call her Flavia?
Before Aurelia could move, before she could even think—
Velmara lunged against her.
Aurelia's eyes flew open—wide, unfocused, wild.
She hadn't even realised when she fell asleep.
She jerked upright so fast the room tilted.
Her breath tore from her chest in sharp, uneven bursts, as if she had been underwater for hours.
Her fingers clawed at the sheets, then at the wall beside her—searching for something solid, something that wasn't shifting beneath her like the dream had.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as if trying to escape.
For a moment, she couldn't tell if she was still on that battlefield…
or still hearing the echo of her own child-voice, shrill and terrified, calling for them to kill her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to trap the dream behind her lids.
But it clung to her—soft sand, choking smoke, a crowd screaming her name as if she were a curse.
She wasn't sure what frightened her more:
Velmara's blade rushing toward her…
or that tiny version of herself in the stands, pointing at her with pure hatred.
Her heart was beating too fast, thudding against her ribs like it wanted to escape her body. Sweat clung to her skin.
She sat up straight, lungs still fighting for air, when a faint sound drifted through the corridor.
Voices.
Whispering.
Close.
Aurelia froze, her heart slamming against her ribs as if trying to claw its way out.
"Who is that…?" she breathed, voice barely a thread.
For a moment she didn't move—too afraid the dream had followed her, too afraid Velmara's shadow would materialize at her door. The silence dragged, thick and heavy, until the whispers rose again, clearer this time.
Not ghosts.
Not witches.
People.
Aurelia let out a trembling breath and slipped off the cot, her bare feet touching the cold floor. The room felt suddenly too small, too thin to protect her from anything. She opened the door just enough to slide out, her fingers shaking on the wooden frame.
She stepped into the hallway, quiet as she could, careful not to let the floorboards creak. The voices floated down the corridor—low, giggling, sharp.
She followed them, her pulse still loud in her ears.
Then she reached the corner and peeked around.
Servants,of course.
Doing what they did best.
GOSSIPING.
Four of them huddled together like excited birds, hands waving, eyes bright with the kind of thrill only trouble could bring. Their whispers were rapid, breathless, almost tripping over each other.
Aurelia pressed herself into the shadows, spine flat against the cold wall, every nerve coiled like a drawn sword. She listened, though she knew she should retreat.
"I heard Velmara has returned," one servant whispered, then laughed, sharp and brittle like cracked marble.
Aurelia's pulse surged. Her chest tightened.
"I thought she was dead," another said, voice low but trembling.
"No," the third whispered, dripping with dangerous fascination. "But Lord Tenebrarum will deal with her… he can crush anyone. So handsome, though—I wonder how he looks without that mask."
Her stomach turned.
Handsomeness?
Aurelia almost pucked.
"Did you hear the noises this morning?" one servant whispered, eyes wide with excitement. "He was… with that human girl."
Another shivered. "I swear, the sound made my blood run cold. I couldn't stop thinking about it all day… I nearly fainted standing guard."
Aurelia's stomach twisted. She pressed herself further into the shadows, cheeks burning. Her hands clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.
Gossip like this—so careless, so loud—made her feel exposed, powerless, like the world had stripped her bare before her own eyes.
But what truly made her blood run cold…
Velmara was still breathing, so books lied that she was dead.
Aurelia always wanted to be like her, but this dream was too creepy to ignore.
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To be continued...