Morning came slowly to the estate, the pale light of dawn filtering through tall windows and stretching across polished floors that still held the quiet of the night. Servants had begun their routines, their footsteps soft and purposeful in distant corridors, but the house itself remained wrapped in a strange stillness that Neria had begun to recognize as its natural state.
She drifted through one of the upper halls, her movements slower than usual.
Something about that morning felt wrong.
Not in the way danger often announced itself through tension or unease, but in a deeper, quieter way, like a thread within her had begun to unravel.
She lifted her hand absentmindedly, intending only to stretch her fingers, but the moment her gaze settled on them, her body went still.
Her smallest finger was fading.
Not entirely gone, but faint, translucent, like mist dissolving under sunlight.
For several long seconds she stared at it in disbelief.
"What…?"
She turned her hand over slowly, examining it from every angle as though the change might vanish if she looked at it long enough.
But it did not.
The edge of her finger flickered faintly, unstable, as though it could disappear entirely at any moment.
A sudden wave of fear swept through her.
"This is not funny," she whispered under her breath, though there was no one there to hear it.
Her first instinct was to look around for someone, anyone.....to tell, but the thought collapsed almost as soon as it formed.
Who would she tell?
She had no body, no voice the living could hear, no friend who could even acknowledge she existed.
The realization sat heavily in her chest.
"Right," she murmured bitterly. "Because ghosts don't exactly have a support system."
The strange hunger that had been haunting her returned again, sharper this time, mixed with an exhaustion she could not explain. It was not the tiredness of muscles or bones, but something deeper, as if her very existence required energy she no longer possessed.
Trying to shake the unease from her thoughts, she drifted downward toward the dining hall, following the distant clink of utensils.
The long table was already set.
Ravon sat alone at its far end.
He looked exactly as he always did....perfectly composed, dressed in dark formal attire, his posture straight and controlled as though the world itself existed merely to maintain order around him.
A plate sat before him, though the meal appeared barely touched.
Neria floated closer and lowered herself into the chair across from him, resting her chin in her palm as she watched him eat.
"You know," she said conversationally, though he could not hear her, "for someone who joins the king to run half the kingdom, you eat like a bird."
Ravon cut a small piece of bread and ate it slowly.
No servants remained in the room now; they had finished setting the table and quietly withdrawn.
The silence stretched.
Neria leaned forward slightly, studying his face.
"Do you ever relax?" she asked absently. "Or is the cold, mysterious look part of the job description?"
He finished the small portion on his plate and rose from his seat without a word.
"Well," she sighed, pushing herself up from the chair, "there goes breakfast."
As he left the dining room, she followed automatically, drifting behind him through long hallways and down a quieter corridor toward the rear section of the estate.
This part of the house always felt different.
The windows were narrower, the walls thicker, the atmosphere heavier somehow.
Ravon walked without hesitation until he reached a door she had never noticed before.
It was plain, almost deliberately unremarkable.
He opened it.
Beyond the doorway lay a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
Neria blinked in surprise.
"Oh," she murmured. "Now that is suspicious."
Ravon stepped inside.
The door closed behind him with a quiet thud.
For a moment she hovered uncertainly in the hallway, but curiosity quickly won.
"Fine," she muttered. "If you're going down there, I'm going down there."
She slipped through the door and floated down the staircase after him.
The stone steps spiraled deep beneath the manor, the air growing cooler with every turn.
Just as the darkness began to thicken, Ravon lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.
Small lanterns along the walls burst into flame one by one, their light chasing away the shadows.
Neria jumped slightly before remembering.
"Right," she said with a small sigh. "Magic. I keep forgetting you people do that here."
The staircase finally opened into a wide underground chamber.
And the moment Neria saw what lay below, her eyes widened.
Cages.
Iron bars lined the walls of the chamber, each cell reinforced with heavy chains and strange symbols carved into the stone floor.
"What in the world…" she whispered.
Ravon walked calmly through the room as though the sight was perfectly ordinary.
Footsteps approached from the opposite side of the chamber.
Two men appeared, dressed in dark uniforms.
One of them immediately dragged a wooden chair forward and placed it at the center of the room.
The other bowed his head respectfully.
"Lord Ravon," the man said.
Ravon gave a slight nod and sat down.
The man straightened. "The prisoner remains uncooperative."
Neria drifted forward, her gaze following theirs.
At the far end of the chamber, chained tightly to the wall, was a figure she recognized.
Her breath caught.
The black witch.
The very same one Ravon had told the king was dead.
"You liar," she whispered in shock.
The witch's wrists were bound by heavy chains etched with glowing runes, her body weakened but still defiant.
The guard continued speaking.
"She refused to answer our questions. When we attempted further interrogation, she tried to bite through her own tongue."
Ravon tilted his head slightly.
"So you numbed her."
"Yes, my lord. Otherwise she would have killed herself."
Ravon considered this for a moment.
"Undo it."
The guard hesitated.
"My lord?"
"Remove the numbness," Ravon repeated calmly. "And open the cell."
Neria's eyes widened.
"Wait… what?"
The guard nodded quickly and moved to obey.
He stepped into the cell and murmured a spell under his breath. The witch gasped suddenly, her body jolting as sensation returned.
Chains rattled.
The guard stepped back and positioned himself behind Ravon's chair.
"What is your name?" Ravon asked him.
"Daius, my lord."
"Stand behind me, Daius."
Daius obeyed immediately.
Ravon leaned back in the chair, stretching one leg forward lazily as though he had settled in for a casual conversation.
His gaze fixed on the prisoner.
"Now," he said calmly, "let us try this again."
The witch lifted her head slowly.
When she saw Ravon, hatred burned in her eyes.
"You filthy demon," he spat. "You think chains will stop what is coming?"
Ravon remained silent.
The witch laughed weakly.
"You will be sacrificed soon enough. Your power will belong to us."
Neria watched the exchange with growing unease.
Ravon simply stared at the man.
Seconds passed.
Then the witch suddenly choked.
Blood spilled from her mouth.
Her nose began to bleed as well, her body trembling violently as though some invisible pressure had begun crushing her from within.
Neria's eyes widened in horror.
"What is happening?"
The witch collapsed to her knees, coughing violently.
Ravon did not move.
Instead, his voice sounded again....calm and quiet.
"Daius."
"Yes, my lord."
"Remove one of her arms."
For a moment Neria thought she had misheard.
Daius did not hesitate.
He stepped forward, drawing a blade from his side.
"No—wait—" the witch cried hoarsely.
The blade fell.
The scream that followed echoed through the chamber.
Neria turned away instantly, her entire body recoiling in shock.
"Oh my God…"
Blood splattered across the stone floor as the witch's voice broke into desperate cries.
But Ravon merely watched.
When the screaming finally quieted into ragged sobs, Ravon rose from the chair.
"That will be all," he said calmly.
"My lord," Daius asked cautiously, "shall we continue the interrogation later?"
"Yes."
Ravon turned toward the staircase.
"I am finished here for now."
Neria did not wait to hear anything else.
She shot upward through the ceiling, fleeing the underground chamber as quickly as possible.
The fresh air outside the manor struck her like a wave of relief.
She floated near the garden path, her thoughts spinning wildly.
"That man is terrifying," she whispered to herself.
The image of the witch's scream still rang in her mind.
And yet…
A part of her felt strangely guilty.
"That poor witch…"
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels.
She looked up.
Ravon was already approaching the estate gate.
Without thinking, she drifted toward the carriage.
"Where are you going now?" she muttered.
As Ravon stepped inside, she hovered uncertainly before deciding not to sit with him this time.
Instead, she floated forward and settled beside the coachman.
The carriage began to move.
The road stretched ahead, winding through tall trees as the estate slowly disappeared behind them.
Neria leaned against the edge of the carriage, staring at her fading finger again.
It looked worse now.
"What happens if I disappear completely?" she murmured quietly.
The hunger inside her twisted again.
Her body felt lighter.
Weaker.
"Will I go back to City Z?" she wondered softly. "Or will I just… vanish?"
The carriage rolled steadily forward.
Then suddenly....
CRACK.
One of the wheels snapped violently.
The carriage lurched to the side.
The horses shrieked.
The air around them turned strangely cold.
And the forest fell into an unnatural, deathly silence.