Newfear

Shadowfell – At Duke 'Satheron Blackmirth Palace

The rain poured heavily, striking the tall windows with force, as if reflecting the turmoil raging within the palace. In the grand meeting hall, where black chandeliers hung from the ceiling casting the flickering glow of candles, Duke Satheron Blackmirth sat on his lavish seat at the head of the long table.

His body was stiff, but the fatigue was evident on his pale features. His silver eyes, which had always reflected his authority, were glowing, but not with their usual intensity... now they held suppressed anger mixed with heavy exhaustion. His black hair, scattered across his forehead, looked messier than usual, as if illness had slowly begun to drain his strength.

His slender fingers, despite their slight tremor, tapped angrily on the wood, while his gaze swept the room sharply, moving between his family members who stood in tense silence, avoiding his direct gaze as though the rising fury within him might burst into a storm that would leave no one safe.

Across the table stood the Vicountess Silvia, his eldest daughter, in her dark dress embroidered with silver threads, maintaining a calm expression despite the tension in the air. Beside her were her younger brothers, Cyril and Thian, both of them looking at their father warily, anticipating his outburst at any moment.

Satheron: "Am I a fool in your eyes, Silvia?!"

His words came low but charged with anger, like thunder before the storm.

She didn't answer, standing still, her cold eyes watching him without a flicker of hesitation.

Satheron, his voice raspy but still carrying its usual weight of authority: "One day... One day ago, since you told me yourself that the one who would be crowned king was Lucas Nightover."

The echo of his words filled the room before he slammed his palm onto the table, the sharp sound making everyone flinch in their places.

Satheron, his voice dripping with fury and despair: "I stood there today, in front of everyone, ready to welcome the new king we were expecting, only to be shocked when that scoundrel Blatir Vanheim ascended the throne instead!!?... Why are we here, sitting on our land, while that bastard, whose name shouldn't even be spoken before me, sits on the throne, surrounded by his entourage, as if he was born to be there!!"

Thian, the youngest son, looked at his father with worried eyes but hesitated to speak, while Cyril, who was more aggressive, crossed his arms and spoke sarcastically.

Cyril: "Perhaps we should've put a dagger in his back before he reached the throne."

Satheron turned slowly towards him, his eyes narrowing with clear danger.

Satheron: "You don't understand anything, do you? That moment was their opportunity to humiliate us."

He then turned to Silvia, as though pouring all his anger onto her.

Satheron: "Do you know what Vanheim did when I entered the royal hall? When I was expecting them to bow to me, I, Duke Satheron Blackmirth?"

Silvia's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't speak, her sharp gaze following her father, who seemed to be struggling to maintain his composure.

Satheron, exhaling in anger and turning his gaze aside: "That arrogant fool dared, in front of everyone, to make me bow to his son, that boy who doesn't even have a noble title... He simply declared him the crown prince."

One of the onlookers' eyes widened in muted shock, while Satheron clenched his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Silvia, who rarely showed much emotion, raised an eyebrow and said calmly, her voice laced with deadly quiet: "So, you're angry because he defeated you politically, not militarily?"

A heavy silence fell. Cyril raised an eyebrow slightly, while Thian quickly turned his head towards her, as if he couldn't believe she'd said that.

As for the Duke, he stared at her for a long time, his breaths uneven, before slowly lifting his hand and grasping the wine glass in front of him, but his grip was so tight that the glass began to crack.

Satheron: "A clever daughter, but still a fool."

He finally spoke, before throwing the glass at the wall with force, shattering it into scattered pieces, and added in a voice that sounded like a growl.

Satheron: "This is not just a political game, Silvia. This is humiliation!! He wanted to show us that we have no power, that we are mere pawns in his new kingdom!"

Then, he suddenly turned towards the map hanging on the wall, his eyes filled with fire as he stared at it.

Satheron: "But I won't forget this, and I won't allow him to forget it either."

After a moment of silence, Satheron spoke again in a quieter voice, but full of suspicion.

Satheron: "Silvia…"

Silvia raised her head slightly, ready for what he was about to say.

Satheron, his tone carrying a hint of hesitation for the first time since he began speaking: "I'll ask you one last time… when you told me this, did you see with your own eyes King Irvin abdicate the throne and hand over the power to Lucas Nightover in front of you at the council?"

The room's breath paused for a moment before Silvia answered confidently, without any hesitation.

Silvia: "Yes, I saw it with my own eyes."

A heavy silence settled in the room. Silvia's answer was firm, without stammering or doubt, and Satheron knew very well that she wasn't lying.

He leaned back slightly in his seat, resting his palm on his chin as if deep in thought. His eyes no longer burned with anger, but instead, they were filled with a strange tension and a concern he couldn't explain.

Satheron, muttering to himself in a barely audible voice: "Then... something else is happening in the shadows."

Silence fell once again, but everyone felt that the storm had not subsided... it was only about to begin.

Frostnov Palace – Inside the Room

A chilling silence enveloped the castle. It wasn't a natural silence, but one that hung heavily on the walls, as though the place itself was awaiting something that had yet to arrive. It had only been one day since Blatir Vanheim's coronation as the King of Arcadia, but the day in Frostnov felt like it had lasted an eternity.

The day was cold... unbearably cold. The sky beyond the glass windows seemed like a bottomless black abyss, with not a single star to illuminate it, as if the entire universe had vanished into nothingness.

On the stone balcony of his room, Aqua Nightover stood. His body was still, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon, but inside... there was unrest. He didn't know why, but he could feel it.

Then...

There was a knock at the door.

It wasn't loud, but it pierced the silence like a sword striking the heart of the stillness.

Aqua, his voice calm but sharp: "Enter."

The door opened slowly, and with it, a cold draft of wind rushed inside, causing the flames in the lamps to flicker for a moment as if they were breathing... or dying. It felt as if something invisible had crossed the threshold.

The head servant entered, his steps measured, not trembling from the cold... but from something else.

He bowed slightly, then spoke in a hushed tone, as if the words themselves didn't want to be spoken.

"My Lord... there is a guest."

Aqua, speaking in a low voice laced with suspicion, as something tightened in his chest: "A guest?... At this hour?"

A moment of silence passed, but it was enough for him to feel that the answer... was not ordinary.

He turned slowly, taking a deep breath before starting to descend.

He didn't know why... but with every step he took, a heavy feeling in his chest grew.

Varlom Palace – Duke Blatir Vanheim's Room

Where the silence was like a nightmare that hadn't ended. Raymond pushed the door slowly, and faint moonlight filtered through the shattered window, casting faint shadows across the ruins of the room that had once belonged to his father. He didn't know why he returned here, but he felt something... something he hadn't understood yet, but it had been haunting him like a distorted dream that wouldn't go away.

He walked slowly, his footsteps clearly audible in the stillness, then stood in the middle of the room. It was as he had left it... destroyed, as if it were a silent witness to something that had yet to be told. He looked at the shattered wooden shelves, his eyes scanning the place as if searching for an invisible ghost.

Then, suddenly... he stopped.

His heart pounded hard, as if something unknown inside him had grasped the truth before his mind did. He stared at the upper shelf, his eyes widening at a small mark... a spot of dried blood.

It was small, barely visible, but its presence in this particular place... made the air in the room feel suddenly heavy.

Raymond: "Why is there blood here? This place... is so high up. If it was a blow to the head... it would have..."

He slowly raised his hand, measuring the distance... the height... it matched.

His breath quickened for a moment. He didn't need any further measurements, his mind had already completed the picture. The distance... perfectly matched the height of his mother, Sabrina's head.

He closed his eyes for a moment… and felt as if the room was breathing around him, recreating the scene that no one had witnessed.

Raymond: "The wound… it wasn't a stab, it wasn't sharp… it was an impact. Her head hit this shelf."

He felt a cold shiver crawl through his body.

Raymond, in his mind: ["A professional killer? No… killers don't leave a mark like this, killers don't strike their victim's head like this, not when killing is their goal."]

He raised his gaze, memories flooding back, and the image of the burial returned to him in all its grim detail…

That moment… when Dion had covered his mother's face.

Raymond hadn't thought much about it at the time, he had been drowned in his grief, but now… now, standing before the truth his mind had tried to deny, he remembered everything.

Raymond: ["Also, Dion was nervous. When I asked him about the cause of death… he hesitated. He couldn't speak a single sentence without seeming like he was searching for words."]

Then… he left quickly. His body froze for a moment, as if his blood had turned colder than the stone walls around him. There was no longer any doubt… there was no room for coincidence or illusion.

Dion… was hiding something.

Something terrible.

Something… unforgivable.

"There is something hidden… and they know what it is."

Frostnov Palace – Reception Hall

Aqua's footsteps on the main staircase were heavier than usual, as if the walls were silently watching him. When he reached the middle of the stairs, the guest turned to reveal his face.

Marquis Leon Cypher.

His gaze was lifeless, rigid like a statue carved from cold stone. Aqua approached him, his eyebrows furrowed in suspicion, before speaking in a calm but dry voice.

Aqua: "Hello, Lord Cypher... how can I help you?"

Leon's voice was low but unstable: "I have something to discuss with you, but… can we sit somewhere more comfortable?"

Aqua, sharply: "Say what you need to, Marquis Cypher, I'm not very free today."

Leon hesitated for a moment, as if forgetting how to speak. The corners of his lips trembled, but he answered in a faint voice.

Leon:" A… are you sure?"

Aqua, turning his gaze away, began to lose his patience: "Lord Cypher, if you have nothing to say, I'll leave."

But suddenly, Leon grabbed his wrist.

Leon: "Wait!"

His voice trembled, as if trying to gather his strength, then sighed slowly. He turned to the guards standing behind him and gave a brief order.

Leon: "Let him in."

The guards moved swiftly. The large door opened, and four men dressed in dark armor emerged, carrying something covered in a white cloth…

A shroud.

Aqua's eyes widened in shock, as if his vision had betrayed him, as if the air around him had frozen. He could barely breathe, he didn't move, all he did was stare. They were slowly placing the shroud before him… their calmness was deadly, as if they weren't handing him a body, but laying an eternal curse on the ground.

Aqua: "… What is this?!"

The words came out of his mouth with difficulty, as if his vocal cords were resisting him. But the silence was heavier than any answer.

Leon didn't answer immediately. He stood still, looking at the floor, as if searching for words that didn't exist. His lips were tight, his hands hidden inside his cloak, as if trying to conceal some hidden guilt.

Then, slowly, he raised his gaze to Aqua.

In his eyes was a tale more horrific than any words.

Leon: "I'm sorry for your loss."

At that moment, the word echoed in Aqua's mind like an echo, breaking something inside him that he wasn't ready to lose.

His mind refused to absorb it.

His eyes widened gradually, he blinked unconsciously, as if his eyelids were trying to close the scene, as if his eyes were refusing to believe what was before him.

Aqua: "No... it can't be..."

With heavy steps, he approached the shroud. The air became thick, as if the entire world was pressing down on his shoulders. He slowly bent down, extending his trembling hand to touch the white fabric. His fingers barely brushed it, but he felt terror seep into his veins, as if death itself was hiding beneath it.

Then he pulled the cover away.

One glance. Just one glance… was enough to make the entire universe collapse on him.

His father's face.

But it wasn't exactly him… it was a distorted face, a deep wound creating a gaping hole that stretched across his head and pierced his neck. The blood had dried, but it never left his features, the skin had lost its color, and the eyes, those eyes that once held strength… were now empty, dead.

Aqua: "No...!!!"

Aqua fell to his knees, as if his soul had shattered into pieces. His trembling hands moved unconsciously, touching his father's cold face, as if trying to bring him back to life.

Aqua: "No... it can't... this isn't real... it can't be real!!!"

He screamed, but his voice came out broken, hoarse. Tears streamed down his face, falling onto his father's face, mixing with the dry blood, as if they were trying to wash away the traces of death.

But death cannot be washed away.

In a moment of madness, Aqua began banging his head on the ground.

Once.

Twice.

Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven times.

Blood began to flow from his forehead, trickling down his cheeks, mixing with his tears, but he didn't feel it. He felt nothing except the terrifying emptiness that began to consume him.

Aqua: "Wake up... wake up, Father... don't do this to me!!"

It was a funeral without a farewell. The body before him remained silent. Cold. Dead. Like a stone laid out, as if it had never been a man full of life, who carried him, embraced him, scolded him, smiled at him.

Time no longer moved, or perhaps it did, but Aqua could no longer perceive it.

Then something happened... or perhaps nothing happened.

All he felt was the collapse of something inside him. Something invisible, but as heavy as a mountain, something that had supported him throughout his life, and now it had crumbled into ashes.

A muffled scream exploded in his chest before reaching his lips, and then suddenly, as if someone had broken his chains, he threw himself onto the body before him, with all the strength he had left, with all the hope he had left, with all the denial he had left.

His father's body was cold. But he couldn't believe it, refused to believe it.

Aqua: "Please… please, I don't want to be an orphan!..."

But death was not listening. It did not respond. It only tightened its grip on the body before him, as if proclaiming its final victory.

And in that moment, Aqua realized...

That death is not just the absence of life. It is the absence of a voice he was accustomed to hearing. The absence of a hand that used to pat his shoulder. The absence of a presence that supported him whenever he stumbled.

It is the emptiness that swallows everything, leaving behind only silence.

Aqua remained on his knees, bent over the laid-out body, his fingers tense on the white shroud, as if, if he loosened his grip for a moment, death would take him away completely.

But he didn't need to touch him to know the truth. He was gone.

Silence enveloped the place. Only Aqua's labored, uneven breaths could be heard, between desperate gasps that could not fully escape, as if they were struggling against something larger than them to find a way out.

Then… suddenly, that silence was pierced by a sharp sound, like a knife.

Aqua, with a trembling voice but clear: "Who?"

It was not a question, but a death sentence waiting for a name to be executed upon.

Leon didn't hesitate for a moment. He didn't avert his gaze. He didn't even try to soften his words, as if they didn't need any embellishment to be brutal.

Leon: "King Blatir Vanheim."

For a moment, Aqua did not move. He didn't even blink. As if the name hadn't reached his ears. As if he hadn't heard it.

But his body froze. His breath stopped. His eyes remained fixed in space until he turned to face him.

His face was empty… but his eyes?

They were two burning hells, a sea of rage and madness, a mixture of fear and loss, a desperate attempt to understand something his mind refused to believe.

Aqua was no longer human in that moment. He was a storm. He was a sword sharpened for slaughter. He was destruction in the shape of a man.

But Leon didn't give him time to process. He continued coldly, as though every word was driving a deeper knife into Aqua's chest.

Leon, in a calm voice, yet filled with hell: "Your father was supposed to be crowned and become the King of Arcadia by order of the late King Irvin..."

Then he took a slow breath, as if what he was about to say next was the worst.

Leon: "But yesterday, he disappeared suddenly..."

He lifted his eyes to meet Aqua's, with a gaze colder than death itself.

Leon: "Then I found his body, full of blood..."

Aqua's breath stopped. As if he refused to hear.

Leon: "And Blatir Vanheim's sword..."

His feet felt like they could no longer support him.

Lion: "Embedded in his head."

Aqua's eyes widened so much that his pupils almost disappeared into the whiteness.

Leon: "I removed it... and took it with me... before he felt my presence."

At that moment, there was no difference between life and death for Aqua.

There was no difference between awareness and madness. There was nothing except one desire...

A bloody, murderous desire, unstoppable by anything.

Aqua, his face stripped of all human features, reached out and pulled the cover over his father's face. He didn't want to see him like this. He didn't want this image to be etched in his memory.

Then he lifted him.

He raised him in his arms, as if cradling his whole world, and slowly stood up, the weight almost crushing his soul before his body.

He breathed heavily, but no sound came from him. No sobs, no gasps, no words.

Just deadly silence. But when he turned to the head butler, his eyes carried all the unspoken words.

Aqua, in a low voice, but sharp as a sword: "Bring me a shovel."

The head butler didn't argue. Didn't ask. He simply bowed his head, closed his eyes for a moment, and then disappeared from the place.

As for Aqua... he moved.

With slow steps, as though each one was treading on his heart, he walked behind the palace. No destination, no plan, just one desire: to bury his father with his own hands.

Finally, he found a suitable spot. Solid ground, but not harder than the heart of the one who killed him.

He placed the body on the ground. Then began to dig. Each strike of the shovel pierced the earth, but it tore through his chest too. Every handful thrown away took a piece of his soul with it.

Leon Cypher stood, watching from afar. He didn't say a word. He just stood there, his eyes following Aqua as he buried the last remnants of his humanity beneath the dirt.

Then... for a fleeting moment, a cold smile appeared on Leon's lips. A smile that lasted no more than a second. It quickly faded, as if it had never been there at all.

And when Aqua was done... when the last of the dirt was scattered, when he cast the final glance, when he whispered words of farewell that his heart spoke before his tongue...

He gripped the hilt of his sword.

He slowly drew it from its sheath, the metal screaming as it slid, as if it knew it would soon drink blood.

Then, still looking at the grave, he whispered in a low voice, but it carried with it a storm raging beneath the ashes.

Aqua: "Wait for me..."

Then he stood up.

His eyes no longer held tears. They held fire.

Then… he began to walk. With swift steps. Firm. Nothing could stop them.

He didn't walk like a man, but like a storm heading toward its goal, like a fate that could not be changed.

Leon: "Aqua!"

Leon's voice called him, as if testing him, as if he wanted to see... would he turn? Was there still something left of the old Aqua Nightover?

But Aqua didn't stop.

He didn't look back. He didn't slow down.

Leon: "Can I help you?"

But Aqua... continued on his path. And in a voice that carried no trace of hesitation, only a deep rumble from beneath the ashes, he whispered two words.

Aqua: "Enough for me..."

And in that moment, Leon Cypher knew one thing.

Arcadia had breathed its last breath.

Dreamcrown – Inside the hrone Hall.

It was a foggy evening, the moon hiding behind a dense cloud, while the winds howled through the palace's wide windows. Inside the hall, the lights were dim, but an aura of authority filled the space. Silence dominated the room, broken only by faint whispers heard in the distant corners.

His footsteps echoed through the palace's dark corridors, the soft click of his heels traveling through the air, reflecting an echo of nostalgia for the past. Each step he took heightened the tension filling him. His feet reached the end of the long corridor, where lantern light scattered in the distant horizon, seeping through the tall windows.

At the large door, he paused for a moment, took a deep breath to calm the anxiety within him, then pushed it open with force, making it swing in front of him. The hall before him seemed to hold secrets hidden in its dark corners. But what shocked him more was the room being filled with an unexpected gathering, a crowd larger than he had anticipated.

The watchful eyes were like silent spies, their intense gazes following him, not only from the courtiers or nobles but also from the kingdom's prominent figures and some shadowy characters who were supposed to remain in the shadows. From those eyes emanated anxiety and anticipation, as if everything at that moment depended on his presence here, now.

The atmosphere grew as heavy as it was strange. Everyone's eyes were focused on his entrance, but Raymond, despite the sudden freeze in his heart, held onto his courage. His feet moved forward steadily, though his body seemed to hold its breath in a world filled with questions. He felt something strange, as if time had stopped. The high ceiling scattered the light of dancing candles, and the flowing colors from the tall windows made the place look like a rare painting distorted by the shadows of the past and present.

The atmosphere in the hall was charged with tension, the dim lights emanating from the candles and the intricate mosaics adorning the walls. The murmurs of the guests blended with the heavy rhythm of Raymond's steps on the marble floor, as his heart thundered with questions and unease. His eyes scanned the hall, trying to assess every movement, every expression, and every whisper in the hall. At that moment, he found himself staring at the king's face.

Although the hall was filled with noble figures, his focus had shifted to only one person: his father, King Blatir Vanhime. He stood at the edge of the throne, holding a gleaming golden cup, sipping his wine with an indifferent coldness as a group of nobles surrounded him, exchanging polite words. His hands moved subtly between the cup and the hushed conversations around him, while all eyes on him held a mixture of respect and fear.

Raymond paused, staring at Blatir with eyes that revealed neither questions nor rejection. His gaze remained fixed on his father's face, confronting him as if the words and moments separating them had accumulated in that instant. Everything seemed to slow down, the voices of the guests fading in his mind, and with every passing second, the heavy burden on his heart grew.

Then, suddenly, Blatir noticed him. There was a brief silence, but it was filled with everything. They exchanged sharp glances, as though fate itself was deciding their destiny. After a moment of staring, Blatir moved. He raised his cup, then slowly placed it on the table beside him and smiled a cold smile that left no room for doubt.

Blatir, with a firm voice, addressing the crowd: "My Ladies and noble lords... I present to you my firstborn. My heir. And the protector of the kingdom... Raymond."

Another moment of silence swept over the hall. Those words spoken by Blatir were like bullets in the air, heavy enough to create a gap in time. All eyes turned to Raymond, who had arrived beside his father. Every gaze was on him, as if everything in that moment had stopped.

But Raymond's eyes remained fixed on Blatir's face. He greeted the crowd with cold, unpolished gestures, his eyes still glued to his father's. A strange feeling, as if the air in the hall had become too heavy, as if every step was on the edge of a cliff. Then, he moved toward Blatir, whispering to him in a low voice, full of resolve, and much less anger.

Raymond, softly, with clenched fists: "I want to speak to you alone."

Blatir looked at his son for several long moments, his eyes hiding something deeper than concern. Then he nodded and stepped away from the company, picking up another glass from the nearby table. He raised it slowly, then tapped it with a spoon until a sudden silence filled the room. The soft sound took everyone's attention in that instant.

That simple gesture was like magic, turning everything into a deadly calm. All eyes were on King Blatir, and at that moment, everything in the hall seemed frozen.

Raymond's eyes widened in silence as he felt his heart racing. Everything around him seemed to sway, and his next steps felt like fate itself. There was a moment between him and Blatir, the moment in which his destiny would be decided.

In a quiet voice, Blatir began to speak as he walked toward his throne, his steps slow and deliberate, as if everything in the world was moving too slowly for him.

Blatir, calmly, as he sat on the throne: "Come, my son. Come here and stand beside me."

There was no room for objection. There was no other choice. Raymond turned to the crowd, then followed his father to the throne, where Blatir motioned for him to stand beside him, as if the entire space had submitted to this silent meeting between father and son.

At that moment, when Raymond stood beside Blatir, the only sound filling the air was the silence of the wind howling through the windows, and the eternal silence surrounding them, as if everything would change in an instant.

In the throne hall, where the eyes of the nobles and the public were all focused on one image, King Blatir Vanheime stood, his rigid face showing little expression except for unyielding authority and strength. From behind his throne, he raised his voice to fill the hall, where every ear listened, and every eye awaited.

Blatir, in a calm, confident voice, with the dignity of past eras: "Honorable lords, people of this great kingdom, the people of Dreamcrown, today, I speak to you not only as a king but as a servant of this throne, as I have always been.

Yes, you may think that the throne gives me power, but the truth is that power comes from you, from your loyalty, from your devotion, from your will that drives you to share your fate in this ancient building."

He gazed at the crowd with a sharp vision, then raised his hand in a simple motion, directing a deeper speech. The resonance of his words grew in dignity.

Blatir: "But... do not let this scene blind you to the truth. The times we have lived through, the crises we have faced, have been a test. A test of our sincerity, of our choices. And today, we face even harsher times. Times that call on us to choose between loyalty and cowardice, between greatness and retreat."

He stared at the crowd for a moment, then continued in a calmer yet more powerful voice, as if every word was sharpened with precision.

Blatir: "The people chose for us to have this kingdom. They chose to raise this throne, but do not ask me about its costs. The costs of greatness are not measured in money, but in blood and tears. Greatness is not bought, nor is it given; it is earned. We have built this edifice with our own hands, but do not think that anyone can remove us from our place. Just as the throne is our will, the power on this throne is our will as well."

He smiled a cold smile and made a deliberate movement, placing his hand on his chest.

Blatir: "Today, this day is not just a day for celebration. It is a day when we all acknowledge that we cannot retreat. History will remember us not for the promises we made, but for the actions we took. We, who have borne the responsibility of the throne, will not allow any force to shake this entity, no matter the cost."

The eyes of the crowd looked at the king with appreciation and fear, fully aware that he was not just talking about politics, but about the fate of the kingdom he ruled.

Blatir: I say to all of you, if anyone believes that the kingdom will collapse or falter, they have not known Blatir Vanheime. There will be no appeasement, and there will be no retreat. We will move forward, holding onto power, with a resolve that does not stop, for this is the only way to guarantee our future. We rule, and we will continue to inherit this rule, generation after generation. Forever."

With a decisive voice, as if his words were carved into the walls of the hall.

At that moment, while the atmosphere inside the palace was filled with silence, outside, a fear awaited that no one had expected.

Outside the Royal Palace - in front of the inner gate

In the palace courtyard, under the dim sunlight, four guards stood like statues, keeping watch. The air was cold, and the weight surrounding the place was unnatural, as if something dark was weaving its threads around them.

At the front, the first and second guards were watching the narrow passage leading to the palace. Their breaths harmonized with the stillness around them. Then, suddenly, the first guard stiffened, sensing something strange, as if the shadows in the air were moving in an unusual way.

He gestured to the guard on his left, his eyes widening in astonishment. "Do you see that?" he whispered, his voice trembling as if he were trying to calm himself.

The second guard looked ahead, his eyes shifting between the shadows, thinking for a moment that he might be imagining things. But something in the air was unnatural, as if everything around him had faded into darkness... except for that shadow, which was slowly beginning to take shape on the staircase.

A human face floated in the air, rising slowly. The shadow was indistinct, its edges wavering in the air as if something were devouring the very light around it. He shut his eyes for a moment, forcing his mind to believe it was just an illusion. But when he opened them again, he found exactly what he had feared.

The second guard exhaled weakly, trying to rationalize what he was seeing. "What?... That's just Peter..." But his words crumbled in the air, failing to find their way back.

Then, suddenly, his mind stopped working. His eyes widened in unrestrained terror, his breath caught in his chest. His mouth fell open in stunned silence, but no words came forth. For a brief moment, he thought about screaming, about moving... but he was frozen in place, paralyzed by a deep fear creeping into his veins.

As he stood in disbelief, the first guard noticed it too. His body began to tremble, a shiver crawling deep within him before something inside his mind seemed to break. The shadow was approaching, and that entity was climbing the stairs without a sound... its movement utterly inhuman, entirely unnatural.

Then, at that moment… he appeared before them. Aqua Nightover.

It was as if the darkness itself had condensed into a human form. He walked steadily, each step crashing toward them like a thunderclap, carrying something unbearable. In his hands, he held a human head, blood pouring from it in torrents, each drop composing a dreadful melody of horror and death. The blood splattered with every movement, as if the very ground were drinking it in, leaving grotesque trails in his wake.

The eyes in that severed head stared at them... empty, wrecked, filled with agony, as though they could see but could not comprehend. As if they had yet to realize they were no longer part of the living. The head howled silent screams, swallowed by the depths, its pain spilling forth like a legend that had drained every last drop of hope. As for the body, the darkness had swallowed it whole, vanishing like a past lost in the void, leaving behind only this being who carried its remnants.

And in that moment, time froze. Everything became an unbearable silence, as if existence itself awaited annihilation. Within that frozen instant, a shudder erupted in their depths, and something within their minds began to crumble. Reality distorted, the truth became a twisted nightmare, and madness blurred the lines between the real and the unreal... while Aqua advanced, step by step, as if death itself were now walking right behind them.