Flamebound: Rise of the Cursed Prince

The western wing of the Pierce estate was a realm of silence deeper than the rest of the mansion—not that any part of the vast estate ever hummed with life. No laughter, no whispers—only the soft sigh of wind slipping through cracks, and the distant, steady ticking of some unseen clock that Aaron could not place.

Kain led him down a narrow, spiraling staircase. Their footsteps were muffled by a thick navy-blue carpet that seemed to swallow sound, stretching ahead like a river of midnight. Along the walls hung ancient tapestries, faded and threadbare, depicting scenes of brutal battlefields, ghostly creatures, and crowned figures whose embroidered eyes gleamed with unsettling lifelikeness.

"You'll sleep here," Kain said, pushing open a plain wooden door.

Inside, the room was modest—an iron-framed bed dressed in crisp linen, a simple writing desk, and a narrow window framing the eastern gardens. Every surface gleamed with cleanliness, but the air felt sterile, untouched, as if the room were waiting for life but never quite received it.

Aaron dropped his bag on the bed, eyes scanning the cold space. "Do other servants live nearby?"

Kain's gaze lingered on him a moment too long. "No. This wing is reserved for those under Lord Pierce's... personal employ."

Not reassuring.

"Your duties start at sunrise," Kain continued, voice low. "Wake Lord Pierce. Prepare his tea—black, with a single drop of honey. He hates lateness, disobedience, and especially dust."

Aaron nodded, absorbing the weight of the rules.

"One more thing," Kain said as he turned toward the door. "Never enter the western library unless summoned. And whatever you do, don't open the blue door at the end of the hall."

Before Aaron could ask why, the door clicked shut, plunging him into a silence broken only by the wind brushing against the windowpanes.

---

That night, sleep came in fragments.

Strange dreams tangled in his mind—whispers echoing through unseen corridors, reflections in mirrors that did not belong to him, and golden eyes glowing from shadows too dark to ignore. He woke before dawn, sweat clinging to his skin, heart pounding wildly. Was it exhaustion? The strangeness of this new place?

He could not tell.

Dressing quickly, he smoothed his ragged shirt and tried to tame his dark blue hair into something presentable. The mansion lay wrapped in darkness, but Aaron recalled Kain's instructions and made his way to the east hall.

Finding the kitchen was simpler than expected—the mansion's layout was unnaturally symmetrical. He located the tea leaves, the honey, and a silver tray, and carefully prepared the cup.

Carrying the tea to Frankfurt's chambers, however, was a trial.

The corridor was dimly lit by wall-mounted candelabras, their flickering flames casting long, twitching shadows. Somewhere behind a closed door, Aaron thought he heard breathing—not asleep, not awake, but waiting.

He shook the feeling off and knocked softly.

"Enter," came Frankfurt's crisp voice.

Aaron pushed the door open.

The chamber was vast and dark-paneled, lined with towering bookshelves that required a rolling ladder. A massive bed draped with heavy velvet curtains dominated the center, while Lord Frankfurt Pierce sat nearby in an armchair, dressed in a high-collared black coat, reading a letter.

"You're punctual," Frankfurt said without looking up. "Good. Most aren't."

Aaron set the tea on a nearby table, hands steady despite the oppressive atmosphere. He opened his mouth to speak, but Frankfurt raised a finger.

"I don't require conversation in the mornings."

Aaron nodded and stepped back.

Pierce sipped his tea slowly, amber eyes closing briefly in rare contentment. Then he opened them, fixing Aaron with a gaze that held not judgment, but something else. Curiosity, perhaps.

"You dreamt last night," he stated flatly.

Aaron stiffened. "How would you know that?"

Frankfurt tilted his head. "This house stirs the minds of its residents. Especially sensitive ones."

"I'm not—" Aaron started, but stopped. Even he wasn't sure what he was going to say.

Frankfurt rose and approached silently, his footsteps light on polished wood. "The dreams will grow stronger. More vivid. You may see things you don't understand. Hear voices that aren't there."

Aaron swallowed hard. "Why me?"

A faint smile curved Frankfurt's lips. "Because you were meant to be here."

Before more questions could form, the door opened and Kain appeared like a shadow.

"Forgive the interruption," he said. "There's a visitor."

Frankfurt's brow darkened slightly. "At this hour?"

Kain nodded. "An emissary from the royal court. She says it's urgent."

Frankfurt's expression tightened. "Escort her to the red salon. Aaron—follow me. You may find this educational."

Aaron blinked. "Me?"

"Yes," Frankfurt said, already moving toward the door. "You're not just a servant anymore."