​The minivan smelled faintly of coffee, and snacks.They had been on the road, for which feel like eternity.Isolde leaned her head against the cool glass, watching the landscape of Romania devour the last traces of modernity. Hours ago, the world had been a bustling, friendly green. Now, it was a charcoal study in mist.​“Seriously, Isolde, are you sure this is the right road?” Leo, their team’s pragmatic research lead, peered over the GPS unit clamped to the dashboard. His voice held the familiar, stressed cadence of a New Yorker lost in the wilderness.​“The legend says ‘the forgotten pass, where the pines weep over stone.’ I think we’re exactly where we should be,” Isolde replied, pushing back a stray wave of dark hair. She tightened the scarf around her neck, but the chill she felt wasn't from the air.​The cold that began to seep into her bones brought with it a familiar, sharp spike of defiance. Two weeks ago, in her parents’ Upper East Side apartment, her mother’s voice had be

The frantic journey down the mountain road ended just as the sun broke fully over the distant peaks. They reached a regional hospital on the outskirts of Cluj-Napoca.After hours of tense waiting, the doctor confirmed Leo’s prognosis: a deep, ragged laceration, severe blood loss, and a clear need for heavy antibiotics. He was stable, but he would be grounded for weeks.​In the hospital cafeteria, the remnants of the team Isolde, Maya, and Ben stared into their lukewarm coffees.Isolde broke the silence, the road to the clinic took us three hours.That’s six hours round trip on those roads. We’d be traveling well into the night to get back, and we know what happens after dark.”​Maya, still shaken from the attack, stared down at her hands. “The Zimbrul Fomist. He called it the Hungry Auroch.”​“It’s tied to the castle, Maya. That means this entire valley is a perimeter,” Isolde explained, drawing strength from the cold logic she was imposing on the situation.“Marius has organized a ro

The moment Isolde stumbled out of the Great Hall, her hands over her eyes, the sheer terror radiating off her was palpable. She didn't have to utter a word to signal the danger.​Maya, whose nerves were already shattered by the attack of the Zimbrul Fomist earlier that day, waited for no one. Seeing Isolde’s face was enough. She abandoned the tripod she was holding and raced down the slope to the parked minivan, wrenching the door open and diving inside.​“Marius! Go! We are leaving!” Maya shrieked from the passenger seat, her hands trembling as she fumbled for her seatbelt.​Marius, who had been guarding the perimeter, moved quickly. He packed up the remaining gear with practiced efficiency, throwing the bags into the trunk before jumping into the driver's seat. Isolde scrambled into the back, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Ben hopped in after.The minivan tore away from the castle gates, bouncing violently down the treacherous King's Road.**********​The chaotic journey

Isolde returned to the Corbul Negru after the festival, her mind reeling. The image of the pale man in the black coat, the man who looked the same as the man she saw in the castle burned behind her eyelids.After bidding the others goodnight, she couldn’t sleep, she tossed and turned for hours.​When she finally drifted into a fitful doze, she was awakened by the sound of her window latch clicking shut.​She sat up, heart pounding. "Who’s there?"​The room was empty. The window, which she was certain she had locked, was unlatched. But on the sill, bathed in the pale moonlight, lay a single object.​It was a black rose.​It was fresh, velvety, and impossibly perfect, with thorns that looked like polished obsidian. Next to it was a small piece of parchment. Isolde picked it up, her hands trembling.​There was no text. It was a charcoal sketch.​It was a drawing of her, standing by the bakery wall at the festival, looking into the shadows.The skill was masterful, capturing not just her

Isolde waited for the entire team to go to bed, then she slipped outside, the entire village was quiet.But why would she actually agree to meet this mysterious man, what if the Zimbrul Fomist attacked her? But curiosity already gotten the better of her.Nothing will stop her, and even though she wants to, there's something pulling her towards the castle.​The mountain air was a razor against Isolde’s skin as she walked, but the cold couldn't stop the fire burning in her veins.​She reached the trailhead, expecting the lonely silence of the woods. Instead, she found a scene pulled from a nightmare of royalty.​In the center of the path stood a massive, high-backed chariot. It was carved from wood so dark it seemed to absorb the moonlight, adorned with silver filigree shaped like weeping vines.Two obsidian-black stallions stood at the front, their eyes glowing with a faint, milky luminescence, their hooves striking the frozen earth with a sound like muffled thunder.​Standing by the