As I galloped toward the caves, the steady rhythm of hooves pounding against the earth mirrored the chaos in my mind. The moon’s pale light spilled over the path, guiding me through the darkness.
The men toiled relentlessly in the damp, musty air inside the caves. Their frustrated grunts and muffled curses echoed off the stone walls as they chased shadows, following leads I had intentionally misdirected. They would never find what they sought. The elusive moon dagger was already ours, hidden where no prying eyes or greedy hands could reach it.
The cave walls rose around us like silent sentinels, their rough, glistening surfaces seeming to hold their breath, waiting for a discovery that would never come. I gave the workers their final instructions; my voice was calm yet resonant against the oppressive quiet. Sweat streaked their faces, their dedication evident in every weary movement. I offered them my thanks, expressing gratitude for their unwavering efforts. The silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water from stalactites, felt timeless as if the cave existed outside the bounds of the world above.
Leaving the dimly lit caverns behind, I strode toward the entrance, eager to reunite with Olivia. But as I reached the hill leading back to the estate, the horizon burned with an ominous orange glow. Dread twisted in my gut.
Malik emerged at the crest of the hill, his silhouette framed by the fiery backdrop. He sat astride his steed, a dark figure against the flames.
“Malik! I told you to stay with Olivia!” I shouted, my voice thick with disapproval.
“I know, my brother,” he called back, urgency lacing his tone. “I had to feed. I dispatched someone quickly into the woods and regained my strength. I’ll ride back with you.”
Before I could voice my frustration, my eyes locked onto the inferno consuming Mathias’ estate. Flames licked hungrily at the sky, devouring the grand structure like a beast unleashed. Panic gripped me, my blood running ice-cold.
“My god—my wife, my baby!” I screamed, spurring my horse forward in frantic desperation.
“Rosie!” Malik’s cry knifed through the air, tethered to a name that meant everything to him.
We charged toward the estate, the fire swelling into a monstrous inferno, devouring everything in its path. The horses screamed, sensing the danger, but we urged them forward, driving them to their limits until we reached the roaring blaze.
Dismounting in a flurry, we tied scarves around our mouths, bracing ourselves for the smoke and cinders. The house was a living beast, its fiery jaws open wide, consuming everything I held dear. Without hesitation, we plunged into the part of the manor not yet claimed by the fire, my eyes scanning desperately, my heart pleading for a sign of life amidst the chaos.
“Olivia!” I screamed, my voice barely cutting through the crackling fury around us. The oppressive heat pressed down like a vice, every breath searing my lungs as if the air burned.
“Rosie!” Malik called out, his voice carrying the same desperation. He moved ahead of me with the grace of a predator, even amid destruction.
No answers came, only the relentless howl of the fire. There was no trace of Olivia’s laughter, no sound of my baby’s cries, no sign of Rosie’s gentle presence—only silence and smoke.
We stumbled upon a horrific scene—bodies of maids, their uniforms charred, lives stolen too soon. Malik clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with grief and fury.
The house groaned and trembled, a behemoth in its death throes, ready to collapse and take its secrets to the ashes.
“Olivia!” I shouted again, my voice raw and ragged, a plea carved from the depths of my soul.
Malik pushed forward, room by room, relentless, his voice hoarse from calling Rosie’s name repeatedly—a prayer, a demand, a cry.
But there was nothing. No one. Only fire, death, and the bitter taste of despair.
“Maybe they’re in the dungeon,” I said suddenly, the thought cutting through the suffocating smoke and grief.
Malik nodded, his eyes reflecting the frantic hope surging through us both. Together, we stumbled toward the stairwell leading down to the bowels of Mathias’ estate. The heat began to abate as we descended, but the thick and suffocating darkness closed in around us.
The dungeon loomed before us, its iron gates ajar, gaping like the maw of a great beast. We swept inside, our steps hurried and hearts pounding.
Raul’s lifeless body lay in gruesome disarray across the stone floor, his severed limbs scattered like discarded remnants of a broken man. Deep gashes carved through flesh and bone, his torso split open in grotesque butchery. But the most harrowing sight was the absence of his manhood—cut away with merciless precision—a final, humiliating punishment. Every jagged wound stood as a brutal testament to Balthazar’s unrelenting savagery.
“Balthazar is gone,” I choked out, the realization freezing the blood in my veins. He had vanished, leaving behind only destruction and death.
Malik’s expression hardened. “We have to find the others.”
We raced back upstairs, dread weighing heavily on every step. The house groaned and wailed around us, timbers snapping and splintering under the fiery onslaught.
Then, a faint cry pierced through the cacophony: “Help me! Someone, help me!”
The voice came from the library.
“Osman!”
