Darkness.
The only color in the depths below Elmhurst Manor.
Far beneath the stone foundations—past walls choked with roots and veins of age-old rock—a single flicker of light broke the endless black.
It pulsed from a crystal sphere.
Perched atop a pedestal of pale, bone-colored stone, the orb shimmered like the surface of deep water. Cracks ran along its base, filled with damp and time. Within its glassy shell, a vision stirred.
The library.
Dust. Silence. Rows of ancient books left to decay in peace. And two intruders—Garron and Captain Alric—standing before a locked cabinet.
Watching them from the depths below sat the vampire.
Veylar.
His crimson eyes reflected the torchlight within the orb, sharp and unblinking—like a predator watching prey from the tall grass. As if he stood there among them.
But he was not.
He was here. Alone in the belly of the earth.
Seated cross-legged on cold stone, his back leaned against a throne of twisted roots that curled behind him like a crown carved from the jungle’s veins. Shadows clung to his cloak like a second skin.
Around him, the air reeked of mold, ancient parchment, and the dry iron scent of blood long spilled.
Veylar smiled faintly.
“Hm... I see you found them. The old archives of Crimson Crow,” he murmured, voice like wind in a tomb—soft, dry, and hollow.
He tilted his head, a flicker of amusement dancing on his lips.
“The Saintess and the assassin’s guild…” he mused, savoring the words. “It should be… exquisite, when they meet.”
One pale finger tapped the surface of the orb, and the image shifted—now showing Alric by the door, one hand on his sword hilt, the other twitching with nerves.
He chuckled then—a sound like bells muffled beneath coffin lids.
“Nervous little human,” he whispered. “But don’t be. I’ll let you live this time.”
His hands laced together in his lap. The smile widened.
He leaned back slowly, red eyes rising to the ceiling above—where the stone was cracked and heavy with black mold, the faded remains of old carvings lost to time. Roots hung low, dripping with moisture, pulsing faintly with life.
Above him, the manor stood still. A hollow shell of wood and stone.
But here—in its dark heart—something older still lingered.
And remembered.
He closed his eyes.
There—footsteps. Voices. The scent of new blood. Warm.
More were coming.
He inhaled slowly, a flicker of something stirring behind his brow.
“Ah... yes… you came after all, little Saintess,” he whispered, lips barely parting.
He opened his eyes.
A soft, crimson glow bloomed like blood in water.
“This will be fun.”
Veylar rose.
Slowly, like a shadow peeling itself from the ground.
His cloak unfurled behind him with a whisper, brushing the stone like silk through ash.
The throne of roots groaned softly as he stepped away, their tips twitching as if reluctant to let him go.
The chamber was vast, though the darkness made it feel close.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRscwajPSYd
The ceiling lost in gloom. Walls glistened with moisture. Runes—long dead—etched faintly into the stone.
He did not need light. His eyes saw everything.
He walked barefoot across the cold floor, his steps soundless.
The orb behind him dimmed, though the scene within still flickered faintly—with the blurry image of Garron now trying to open the cabinet.
Meanwhile, back in the manor’s entrance hall...
A fresh group had just arrived.
Mira, now fully in her adventurer’s gear and twin rapiers, stepped forward, brushing damp hair from her cheek. She approached one of the guards stationed near the base of the grand staircase.
“Hi,” she asked politely, “have you seen my father and Captain Alric?”
The guard looked startled by her sudden question—he straightened, wiping a smear of sweat from his brow as if remembering his place.
“Yes, Mira-san,” he said quickly. “They went into the library about an hour ago. Told us to secure the perimeter and not to lower our guard.”
Mira nodded, her emerald eyes scanning the vast entryway.
Elmhurst Manor loomed around them like the inside of a forgotten mausoleum—grand, quiet, and far too still.
The air was thick with dust and the scent of rotting wood. Cobwebs clung to corners. Even her boots made no sound on the faded red carpet.
She glanced back at the others.
Lucien stood just a step behind her—golden eyes sweeping the shadows, one hand resting near the hilt of his blade. He said nothing, but his expression made it clear: he didn’t like it here.
Cassian, with his usual caution, gazed up at the grand staircase, expression tight.
“This place smells like dead people,” Rook muttered, sniffing the air.
“You can bet on that,” Kael replied, eyes narrowed. “Don’t let your guard down.”
Grey, standing slightly apart from the group, stared up at the vaulted ceiling, arms loosely folded.
“This place feels… wrong,” he muttered. His voice was calm, distant, clinical. “The air feels dead. And Mira-san is right. Something’s watching us.”
Leila, her fingers tightening around her crossbow’s trigger, gave a small nod.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmE0Ir4eANO
“I feel it too,” she said softly.
Mira took a slow breath. Her heart beat steadily—not from fear, but from the weight of something she couldn’t name. A hum in the air. A familiar presence of... something.
She stepped forward. Each movement stirred faint motes of dust into the torchlight.
To her left, a faded portrait watched from a cracked frame—an elegant woman in black, face pale and eyes stern.
Mira locked eyes with the painted woman—and a cold prickle ran down her neck.
“You know her?” Lucien asked quietly, walking beside her.
Mira shook her head.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyySu35bjco
“No. I just have a feeling… like she’s watching us.”
Leila squinted up at the painting.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYbmK5yQZuB
“I get what you mean. Those eyes… they look alive.” She gave a small shiver. “I hate that.”
They moved deeper into the manor, the hall swallowing their footsteps.
The doors they passed—some slightly ajar, others sealed tight—offered only glimpses of forgotten salons and shattered mirrors, dust-choked lounges, and cold hearths.
Torchlight flickered across faded wallpaper and tarnished glass, stretching their shadows like ghosts along the walls.
At the end of the hall, an arched double door stood ajar—its hinges crooked, its wood swollen with age. The faint scent of candle wax, old parchment, and iron drifted through.
Mira pushed gently on the door. It creaked open.
The Elmhurst Library stretched beyond.
Even in the dim light, it was breathtaking.
The room soared upward—vaulted ceiling lost in gloom—its walls lined with towering bookshelves that groaned under the weight of time and knowledge.
Scrolls and tomes, many bound in leather, others wrapped in faded silk, were tucked in every cranny.
An iron chandelier hung above, webbed in dust, its candles long dead.
Leila let out a quiet breath. “I’ll be damned…”
Cassian blinked. “Elmhurst really goes way back…”
Lucien moved closer to one of the shelves, running a gloved hand across the spines.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEmzRH2kQse
“Some of these seals are centuries old… untouched.”
Grey stood near the center, head tilted toward a faded banner hanging between the shelves—its sigil long flaked away.
Kael crouched beside a pile of discarded scrolls.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9JeZDxRdZy
“They don’t make scrolls like this anymore. These might be pre-Empire.”
Mira stepped forward, awed. Her fingers brushed the edge of a large tome with no title—only a silver sigil etched into its spine.
Then—she paused. Her gaze lowered.
Something beneath her?
Or just her imagination?
“Over here!” a voice called from behind a nearby shelf.
It was Captain Alric.
Mira turned just in time to see him step into view, one hand near his sword hilt, his uniform dusty but intact.
Garron followed close behind, a heavy volume tucked under one arm.
“Mira!” Garron’s face lit up. “You’re finally here. I wasn’t sure how long it would take for word to reach you.”
Mira hurried over, relief in her eyes. “Are you alright, Father?”
Garron nodded. “We’re fine. But… I think we need to stay here for a while.”
He gestured around. “This place is a graveyard of knowledge. We can’t let it stay buried.”
“And we found something about the Crimson Crow as well,” Alric added grimly.
He pointed toward the shattered lock on a glass cabinet.
Garron raised the book in his arms. “This volume… it holds the secrets of the Crimson Crow.”
A hush fell over the room.
Cassian stepped closer, brows furrowed. “What kind of secrets?”
Garron nodded, his face stony. “Their origin. I’ve only glimpsed the first few pages, and I already felt a chill run down my spine.”
Rook whistled low. “That bad, huh?”
Lucien, still thumbing through a nearby tome, looked up. “And yet... those secrets were just lying there? That’s too convenient.”
“You’re suggesting someone wanted these records found, Your Highness?” Kael asked, voice low. His eyes narrowed, unease crawling in his gut.
And that was when a cold weight dropped into Mira’s chest.
That presence.
She knew it now—knew it clear as a cloudless sky.
Her breath caught.
It’s him.
The vampire.
He’s here.
The realization struck like ice along her spine. The sensation—so unmistakable—wrapped around her like a vice.
She turned sharply.
“Father. Captain Alric.” Her voice was low, but steel threaded through it.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ33zgLhcTh1
“Stay here. Guard His Highness. Don’t leave the library.”
Garron opened his mouth to speak—but Mira was already moving.
She unsheathed her rapiers with a whisper of steel and sprinted toward the corridor, the shadows swallowing her as she vanished without another word...
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