The night stretched deep and silent over the castle, the red moon bleeding faint light through the stained glass corridors. The guards had changed shifts, unaware of the shadow that moved between them.

Reva moved quickly but silently.‌ Her long hair was tied back, her usual elegance stripped away for the sake of stealth. Every corner she turned, she paused—listening for footsteps, watching the reflections on the marble floor.

She knew the layout well enough, but the Isolation Chamber wasn't part of any known floor plan. It lay beneath the castle, in the old sanctum built during the Age of Blood. Only a few among them had access to it. And she wasn't supposed to be one of them tonight.

Getting there took time—she had to distract a few guards with illusions, disable one of the sentry drones with her aura, and steal an access sigil from a slumbering watchman. Each step forward made her heartbeat louder in her chest.

By the time she reached the lower halls, her body was shaking from the pressure. The walls here were different—alive with faint symbols that pulsed like veins under the stone. Every pulse carried a weight that pressed against her chest, like invisible hands trying to push her back.

And there it was—the door.

Massive, ancient, carved from obsidian and bone. Runes spiraled across its surface, glowing faintly with crimson light. The energy leaking from it was overwhelming—something between gravity and bloodlust.

Reva took a step closer, and the world tilted. Her vision blurred, her body trembled as the runes flared brighter. Her ears rang, and her aura cracked under the pressure. It wasn't just magic—it was something far beyond that.

She tried to take another step, but her knees buckled. Her lips parted, gasping for air that wouldn't fill her lungs. Her hand reached forward as if to touch the door, but she collapsed before she could. Her vision dimmed, the last thing she saw was that faint red glow dancing along the floor beneath her fingers.

Moments later, a shadow flickered into existence beside her.

It was Luther.

He stood there for a while, staring down at her unconscious form. His face was unreadable, his crimson eyes reflecting the pulsing runes of the sealed door.

He sighed, the kind of sigh that carried centuries of exhaustion. "Foolish girl…" he muttered under his breath. "The same stubbornness as her mother. Always chasing what the world tells her she can't have."

He bent down, gently lifting her in his arms. Her head rested against his chest, her breathing shallow but steady. As he carried her back through the halls, he spoke softly to himself, words too heavy to share with anyone else.

"Love makes the wise reckless… and the strong fragile. It turns kings into beggars, conquerors into ghosts. Perhaps that's why it terrifies me more than death itself."

He stopped by her chamber door and looked back toward the distant hall where the Isolation Chamber lay hidden beneath the stone.

"Maybe that's why he fascinates her. Because he's the one fool in this universe mad enough to love her back."

Luther placed her gently on her bed, brushed a strand of hair from her face, and whispered, "Sleep, Eleanor. Your madness may yet outlive us all."

He turned away and left the room, the door closing softly behind him, leaving her to rest under the dim crimson light bleeding through the window.

Meanwhile, the city of Astraeus was still half asleep. Its towers shimmered in the early mist, pale blue lights blinking lazily across the skyline like tired eyes waiting for dawn. At this hour—somewhere between four and five in the morning—the streets were empty except for the few air patrols drifting past and the neon reflections dancing on wet pavements.

A hover car cut through the silence, sleek and black, descending toward the gated district of Vynora Heights—home to the city's elite. The car slowed before the largest estate of them all: the Blackwood mansion. Its metal gates scanned the vehicle, recognized the signature, and opened without a sound.

Lucian Blackwood stepped out, his suit still immaculate despite the long trip. His eyes, sharp and tired, swept over the mansion's facade. Even for a man used to grandeur, the Blackwood residence was something else—a fortress wrapped in elegance.

The guards straightened at once when they saw him. Some bowed, some stiffened, but none dared to speak.

"Sir… welcome home," one of them managed to say.

Lucian didn't respond and entered the mansion. The houseworkers inside froze mid-task. Even the service drones halted as if sensing the tension radiating from him. His presence there was rare—and it was never a good sign when it happened.

He went straight upstairs, the sensor locks scanning his retina and palm as he passed. The doors yielded instantly.

He stopped outside Lucas's room, placed his hand on the scanner, and the door clicked open.

The room was empty.

No sound. No movement. No trace of recent activity.

Lucian's jaw tightened. He turned to the nearest maid standing at the hallway's edge.

"Where is he?"

The woman hesitated, eyes darting between the floor and Lucian's unreadable face. "We… haven't seen Master Lucas for a few days, sir. We assumed—"

Lucian's silence pressed down like gravity.

Another worker broke the tension, blurting out, "He went with Master Aldric, sir. On a trip."

Lucian's gaze lingered on the worker long enough to make him tremble before he dismissed them with a curt, "Leave."

He turned and walked away.

Inside his own chamber—the grandest in the mansion—Lucian's steps slowed. His room was more like a private command center than a bedroom: digital maps projected across glass walls, holo-terminals flickering with data streams, shelves filled with rare alloys and ancient weapon relics. The city's nightlight shimmered through the panoramic window.

He sat at his desk and activated the holo device. The display blinked to life with a slogan 'connecting across galaxies'. After three rings, Aldric's image appeared—groggy, unkempt, half-asleep.

Lucian didn't bother with greetings.

"Where is Lucas?"

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