The mist swirled between their legs, dark tendrils reaching out to touch them, then suddenly pulling back when they moved even slightly. It was impossible to see farther than a handful of steps, yet the archway was in clear view.
House Induen
The words were carved into the chalk-coloured stone, may centuries ago. While all else began to corrode and fall apart, they had remained clean and undisturbed by the elements, and the corrosive effect of the mist.
Cait’s fingers clenched. Her knuckles turned white as her gaze fixed on the building beyond the archway. “Of course he went there,” she breathed out through gritted teeth. “To the house of ruin that-“
“Enough.” Ilya’s voice rang clear. “We’re leaving.”
“No,” Midhir shook his head. “Ilya, we can’t. We don’t know what kind of power still remains there. And Lonan… he’s not in his right mind. He’s not thinking straight. We can’t let him die and be taken by the mist.”
“That’s the Induen House!” Ilya’s raised voice echoed in the mist, repeating itself over and over again as it slowly faded into obscurity. “We are not stepping foot in there, and that decision is final. I won’t risk you to save the life of a madman.”
“Then you’d make a poor princess, and an even worse monarch.”
Midhir felt his heart sink as he whirled around to face Arwen. The young woman’s voice rang clear – he hadn’t misunderstood.
“And Midhir would make a poor prince – a coward and a liar, who’d rather escape and live, than fight to save his own people.” Her fingers clenched around her staff as all four of them looked at her in disbelief. “But I know him – he won’t leave.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Ilya. “He’ll fight to save Lonan, and to make sure he doesn’t use tainted power to repeat history. The only question is whether the future Monarch will escape or not?”
“Arwen!” Willow hissed with a pale face, but before she could continue, Ilya marched towards the young woman.
“Dare speak with me so again,” she hissed as she leaned forward, putting her face in front of Arwen’s, “go on, I’m waiting.” She stepped forward, forcing Arwen to step back. “What gives you the right to speak to me so? What gives you the right to speak to my brother so?” her voice was but a whisper, clearly spoken in the deafening silence.
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Arwen raised her chin. “I speak to him as his equal – as he wanted it.”
“Enough.” Midhir walked between them, forcing them both to take a couple of steps back. “Ilya – we must stop Lonan. Whatever happened fifteen years ago could happen again, Arwen isn’t wrong.” He then turned to face Arwen. “Arwen, you may speak to me as an equal – I welcome it. But you will show my sister the respect she deserves. For your sake, most of all.”
Ilya wasn’t like her father. She was kind, giving and gentle. Had Midhir not been there, she wouldn’t have hesitated to march into the old Induen estate, and dragged Lonan out. But if her father got wind of what was said here… He didn’t even want to think of what would happen.
Ilya bit her lip before she finally nodded.
She was worried about him, and it was for good reason. They still didn’t know the entirety of what happened here the day the thirteenth district began to sink below the ground.
Summoning his courage, he stepped through the archway, into the Induen Estate.
The ground was shaking violently. Bottles and boxes fell from the shelves lining the walls, and the marble tiles on the floor began to crack. People rushed about, some attempting to hold the metal reinforced door closed, while others circled around the stone slab at the middle of the chamber, drawing things on the ground around it with a reddish black liquid from the jars they carried.
The shouting, the deafening creaks and the blood-freezing cracking of the slabs drowned his own thoughts. His heart raced, almost as if it was trying to escape his chest. As the shaking grew stronger, and the sound of something collapsing echoed in the large, round chamber, someone finally paid some attention to him.
Without a single word, a tall woman with crimson hair reminiscent of his own dragged him towards the large stone slab. He kicked and screamed until his throat hurt, but her grip was iron, and his screams fell on deaf ears. She pushed his chest against the slab, forcing his right hand onto its smooth, clean surface.
“I offer my flesh and blood!” Her voice rang in his ears. “I offer my first born heir!”
A knife struck the back of his hand, piercing it, and the slab beneath his palm. Searing pain blinded him, tears rolled down his eyes as he screamed until his voice was no more. Then, behind him, he felt the cold touch of what felt like death itself.
The stone slab shattered in half, freeing him and his hand. He fell back as his vision began to return. Vines rapidly grew around him before he could even regain his sight properly. They wrapped around his legs, covered the room, and chased after the other people who escaped.
The woman with the beautiful crimson hair – the person he had loved and called mother, smiled. She opened her arms wide, her gaze lingering behind him.
“I welcome you-“
Her voice cut off as the front end of a barbed arrow stuck out of her chest. Her victorious expression turned into shock before she collapsed.
Her silhouette stood where she fell, looking down in shock. Her expression twisted into anger as she turned around, almost as if she was trying to escape. She could only take two steps before something invisible pulled her back. With an ear piercing scream that he only heard in his mind, she flew over his head, into what seemed like a blue vortex.
As he made his way through the now dilapidated garden of the estate of his bloodline, Midhir reluctantly let unwanted memories surface.