2025-05-31 05:41:16The Moon mansion radiated like a magically and snow-sealed citadel. As the convoy passed the iron gates, wards whispered protection and lighted the air around it. Marcus was the first to leave, motionless and composed, his gaze sweeping the grounds of the mansion. Not a threat. The shadows are gone.
He said, "You're safe." Victor came out next, his coat blowing a little in the breeze.
"And you're heading out?" Marcus remained still.
"I've accomplished my goal." Victor stepped forward. "My granddaughter has been saved twice by you. You are more than gratefully owed by this house. Why don't you spend the night? Marcus remained silent. He turned his gaze to the glistening windows.
Then, softly yet sharply, Sarah's voice pierced the atmosphere. She referred to it as the Elite Circle party.
"You promised to come. Tomorrow evening is the date. Unreadable, he turned to her. "So stay," she continued. "Until then. One evening won't suffice.
Another long silence. Marcus then let out a small breath. "For two days. That's all.
Victor gave one nod.
The butler's shoes tapping softly reverberated down the corridor as they went in quiet. Perhaps on purpose, the light was subdued in this place. The air, the walls, and the floor all buzzed with subtle enchantment. Old money. Traditional power.
Marcus hardly paid attention to the portraits that lined the hallway. All regal, rigid faces. Until someone stopped him. He stopped in his tracks.
There hung a painting of a woman in an elaborate frame adorned with silver from the ancient Moon family. She was sitting on a deep violet-draped chair with a high back. She looked forward with the peaceful assurance of someone who has never bowed to anyone, her eyes calm, piercing, and nearly unblinking.
She wore her hair in a crown braid, black as midnight. Her palm landed lightly on a book that was bound in leather.
But Marcus didn't stop because of the painting's beauty. It was the emotion. Pressure. An odd constriction in his chest.
As if something were attempting to pass through or reach him from the canvas. His vision became hazy. He gave one blink. The corridor surrounding him then began to tilt.
He saw wind tearing through the vast skies in a second. In a gleaming court, torches burn. A crown tumbling.
A woman's voice shouting a name was too far away to be heard clearly.
Not his name. Still, it tugged at him.
The butler murmured, uncertainly, "Sir?" "Your room is right in front of you."
Marcus remained still. He looked more intently. His voice was firm but low as he questioned, "Who is this?"
The butler moved to stand next to him and gave the image a courteous bow
“That is Lady Persephone Moon. Mr. Victor’s late wife.”
Marcus took some time to answer. He gazed for a moment more. Behind his eyelids, a quiet gasp, a broken mirror, and a fire-lined battlefield all flashed once more.
As fast as it appeared, it vanished once more.
He walked again, following the butler down the hallway, carefully turning his head. But he was walking more slowly now. His mind was agitated.
Why is it that I think I've seen her before?
Why does it feel like I've lost something when I was standing in front of her face?
He turned his head away. But she followed him with the weight of her eyes.
In the guest suite's corner, the fire flickered softly, illuminating the bookcases and velvet curtains with a soft amber glow.
Marcus stood with his back to it, arms crossed, and his gaze fixed on nothing. However, his thoughts were not still. He couldn't get the image of the woman's face off his mind. He had previously seen her.
Somewhere. Where, though? He attempted to follow the sensation. Not the feeling, not the memory. It was her presence, not just her appearance. Her aura. It was as if she had been in front of him once before. Or somewhere outside of time. He shut his eyes. As usual, now, flashes appeared.
Stone pillars. Golden skies. A throne room? No battlefield?
Wordless voices. Faceless crowns. Then it was gone. His jaw clenched as he opened his eyes once more.
Who are you?
What makes you feel like a warning,
and why?
Just outside his door, a gentle shadow shifted over the corridor. His body instantly froze. His fingers moved to the amulet under his shirt, which was now pulsing softly.
Without making a sound, he opened the door and took three silent strides across the room. There was silence in the hallway. And then, at the far end, a glimmer of activity. The thing was moving in slow, purposeful movements, more like someone keeping a commitment than someone retiring to bed. Or concealing one.
Marcus trailed behind, his footsteps soundless, his existence vanishing from the atmosphere like smoke. only to see that it had won Victor stopped at a blank wall part. flattened his hand against it. Outward, a gentle golden ripple appeared. A door with no hinges or knob emerged. Only silence and light. Victor entered. The door disappeared as if it had never been there, closing behind him.
Marcus paused a few feet away and observed the location. There was an old vitality in the air. refined. As if on the other side something holy was being preserved.
He did not proceed nor make contact. He had no business knowing what was behind that door. Without a word, he turned back toward his room.
However, the woman's visage continued to follow him without showing fear or providing answers. Simply the burden of recognition in the absence of recollection In the meantime
However,
The smoke of sour incense and one flickering lamp illuminated the dim chamber. Harrison Drake was standing close to a round table, his face stern and his demeanor unusually icy. In front of him were three mercenaries. older. hardened. Expert.
Harrison said, "I hired a team to intercept the Moon girl and her grandfather."
"They didn't succeed." The tallest of all the mercenaries cocked his head. "Amateurs?"
Harrison said, "No." "Just not well-equipped."
He strolled to the window and gazed out into the nighttime metropolis.
“The next assignment requires precision,” he continued. "This task won't be noisy. It must be quiet, clean, and long-lasting.
The second mercenary stepped forward. "Target?"
Harrison said, "Victor Moon and his granddaughter. Security will exist. There might be a backup. Don't take any chances.”
What about the man? The first person inquired. "The person who accompanied them?"
Harrison hesitated. "Take good care of him too."
He looked back at them. "Do double your normal pace. Before the next Circle meeting,
I want results. Don't be theatrical. Don't raise your voice. Cold strategy, that's all.
After a quick glance at one another, the mercenaries nodded.
They have killed for less.
Harrison gave his cane a single tap. "All right," he said.
"Then let's remind them of why a Drake is not to be messed with
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Diana’s New Reality
Diana remained silent. She was unable to. The white sheet covering her grandfather's face billowed slightly in the breeze as his body was pushed into the chilly storage room, and she remained motionless. "Deceased: Authorized Personnel Only" was prominently displayed on the door. However, it might as well have said "No Going Back to Diana.” The nurse by the entrance was interrupted by the two men wheeling the gurney. She hardly heard them. Her gaze was focused on the lone bare hand that was visible through the sheet; it was creased, recognizable, and still. She had once been lifted when she fell by the same hand. When she questioned why the moon never slept, it was the same hand that proudly gestured to the stars. It simply rested now. Like it didn't have anything else to do on this planet. Before she heard the last hollow thud of the doors locking, she turned before they closed.After a few minutes, Diana left the hospital in silence, refusing to answer the nurses' attempts to
The Room after
It was suddenly too quiet in the room. Too still. With her fingers still gripping his hand as though she could hold on long enough to bring him back, Diana remained motionless. However, he had vanished. Additionally, a flat, piercing tone had long since replaced the heart monitor's continuous, sharp beep. It sounded louder than it ought to have. One that slashed through the silence like a terrible memory. She reached cautiously for the call button by the bed, her throat burning. Thumb shaking, she pressed it once. The nurse entered as the door softly opened a few seconds later. Before she even spoke, her look spoke all. The woman whispered, "Miss Sterling, I'm so sorry." "Want to have a little time before we... before we take him?" Diana remained silent. She was unable to. She gave a faint nod. After a moment of hesitation, the nurse approached the bed and covered his motionless face with a clean white sheet. Diana's fingers pressed into her coat sleeve as she observed the move
Dust, duty, and death
With a heavy thud, the shovel cut into the ground. Marcus let out a breath as he pressed the metal further into the ground, his muscles tensing with every motion, the ground damp and cold under his boots. His hands were already scorched, even though the grave wasn't very deep yet. He continued. A neglected clearing in the woods behind the old training house, where Chronos had once taught him how to carry a sword and how to hold his tongue was illuminated by the sun's drab rays as it had just begun to rise. Not a servant. Not a guard. Only Marcus. And the quiet. He stopped when the hole was sufficiently deep, the world still around him, the perspiration still clinging to his back beneath his shirt. He looked at the white linen-wrapped body next to him, respectfully and neatly tied. Chronos had detested luxury. "The loudest funerals are for the ones who didn't listen when they were alive," he had always said. Marcus gripped the edge of the grave and gulped hard. He whispered, "You
The Only Reason
Except the wall clock's gentle ticking and the occasional ruffle of the curtains the breeze pushed through the slightly cracked window, the room was still. Sarah's silk robe slid smoothly over her bare legs as she sat cross-legged on her spacious canopy bed. The beautiful rose-gold tone of the cloth complemented the soft colors of her bedroom, which included blush accents, ivory walls, and a delicate chandelier that threw warm light glints over her vintage vanity table and bookshelves. A velvet sleep mask lay on the bedside, forgotten, and her hair was unbound, cascading down her back in soft waves. She hadn't slept. Not at all. Not since Marcus's departure. Her eyes strayed to the unfinished teacup next to her bed. chilly. Similar to the quiet that had surrounded her all day. A lot had transpired. Too much. She detested the weight in her chest, the anticipation, the uncertainty, and the pain that accompanied comprehending how profoundly a person's absence could reverberate thro
For Her
As if they were weary of hearing, the candles flickered low, their flames slender and twitchy. The tiny subterranean room felt chilly, not only from a lack of heat but also from aging. The stone walls were wet with ancient wetness, and dust clung to the corners. Chalk was used to draw a circle of black runes on the floor, almost smeared by too many pacing feet. With his coat still on and the sleeves stretched past his forearms, Harrison sat by himself in the room, his creases as sharp as if he hadn't slept in days. His brown hair hung freely across his forehead, his shirt was half-buttoned, and his boots were dirty. He appeared to be a man who had lost the ability to sleep. The crystal, dark and slightly humming, was perched on an ancient marble pedestal in the center of the room. He crossed his arms and clenched his jaw as he peered at it. He whispered, "I know you're still in there." His voice reverberated a little. They believe you posed a threat. that you were a thing that h
Don't Walk Away
She didn't knock. Sarah opened his door as soon as she got there; it was too loud and too quick, as if he might vanish if she waited another second. Half-hunched over his duffel bag, Marcus stood close to his bed. He had his back to her. The strap was gripped in one hand. The other lay on a shirt that he hadn't packed yet, folded. He paused at the sound of the door. He straightened slowly and glanced over his shoulder. They looked at each other. He seems unsurprised. She didn't appear composed. With a tighter voice than she intended, she questioned, "Are you leaving?" With a quiet sigh, he turned to look at her. "I intended to inform you." "When?" Her voice became piercing. "After you left my pillow with a note? Or should another maid have told me?” Marcus ran a hand down his face and looked away. “Sarah…” "No," she replied as she entered and closed the door. "No more silent departures. Stop acting like none of this is important.”He didn't answer. She examined the bag. Not ful
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