The sky above Raventhorn Manor hung low, bruised in shades of purple and deepening gray, the weight of an impending storm pressing against the stone walls. The wind whispered through the cracks in the windows, carrying the sharp scent of rain. The cold, metallic tang clung to the back of Kael’s throat as he walked down the dimly lit corridors. His footsteps were soft, but they echoed faintly against the polished stone floors, each sound amplified by the suffocating stillness of the manor.

Kael’s hand brushed along the cool, damp stone walls, his fingers twitching with unease. Something was wrong, though he couldn’t put a name to it—an unshakable feeling that had been gnawing at him for days. It moved beneath the surface of his thoughts, like a shadow skirting the edge of his consciousness. He flexed his fingers, trying to shake the sensation, but it clung to him, making his skin prickle.

The manor had never felt so closed-in. The hallways, usually grand and imposing, now seemed narrow, pressing in on him from all sides. The smell of smoke from the hearths mingled with the scent of wet earth, seeping in from the gardens outside. It was a thick, pungent smell, heavy with decay. Even the air inside felt alive, weighed down by the coming storm. And somewhere beyond the manor walls, the wind howled like a wounded beast, its low, mournful cry making the windows tremble.

Kael's thoughts circled back to the same unsettling notion as he neared the heavy oak door of his father’s study. There was something waiting for him behind that door. Something that didn’t belong.

His father had been quiet—too quiet—these past few days, his usual sharp commands and steely demeanor replaced by a distracted edge Kael couldn’t quite understand. His father had been distant before, of course, but not like this. This silence felt... dangerous.

Kael’s heart quickened as he reached for the door, his hand hesitating just above the cold metal handle. Then he heard it—voices.

One of them, unmistakably his father’s, though strained and sharp in a way Kael had never heard before. The other was low and insidious, winding through the air like smoke. Kael froze, every instinct telling him to turn away, but something rooted him to the spot. His father hated eavesdropping, despised it, but the pull was too strong. Something was wrong.

"You're playing with forces you don't understand," Daren Raventhorn's voice snapped through the air, tense and brittle. "I deal in trade, not the shadows of forgotten powers."

Kael’s breath caught. Shadows of forgotten powers? His father never spoke like this. He was a man of calculation, not mystery. His fingers tightened around the door handle as the other voice—smooth, deliberate—responded, sending a shiver down Kael’s spine.

"Ah, but Lord Raventhorn," the stranger’s voice was low and velvety, tinged with menace, "you underestimate the value of your position. Trade and power are inseparable, two sides of the same coin. You have more influence than you know."

Kael’s chest tightened. He was about to retreat, to step back and return later, when something cold brushed against his thoughts—like a faint whisper inside his head. His heart thudded hard against his ribs, a sudden pulse of something foreign thrumming beneath his skin. He blinked, confused. What was that?

His breath came faster now, his pulse quickening, but he couldn’t make sense of the strange sensation creeping over him. He swallowed, sweat beading on his brow, the air around him growing heavier by the second. It wasn’t fear—at least, not exactly. It was something deeper, primal.

Before he could stop himself, Kael pushed the door open just a crack, enough to peer inside.

The flickering light of the hearth cast long shadows across the room. His father stood by the window, his silhouette rigid, hands clenched tightly behind his back. The firelight threw his features into sharp relief—lines of tension etched deep into his face. Daren Raventhorn, the man who ruled his world with an iron grip, looked shaken. Fear flickered in his eyes, a fear Kael had never seen before.

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And in the center of the room stood the scholar.

His presence dominated the space despite his unassuming stature. His long, dark cloak draped around him like a shroud, and his face—pale and gaunt—held an eerie calm that made Kael’s blood run cold. The scholar’s eyes gleamed like polished onyx, hard and unfeeling, as if they saw straight through Daren, through the walls of the manor, through everything. His smile, barely there, was a hollow thing—a smile that promised nothing but ruin.

"I don’t need your trust," the scholar said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the air like a blade. "I need your decision."

Kael’s heart raced. His fingers gripped the edge of the doorframe, knuckles white, as that strange pulse beneath his skin flared again. Stronger this time. It felt like something deep inside him was stirring, waking. The scholar’s presence, his voice—it was setting something off in him, something he didn’t understand. Something he wasn’t ready for.

For a moment, Kael thought the scholar’s gaze flicked toward the door, toward him. His breath caught, the weight of those cold eyes like a vice around his chest. He could feel the scholar’s presence pressing in on him, like an invisible hand gripping his mind.

"You should consider your family’s future, Lord Raventhorn," the scholar continued, his voice a poisonous melody. "The winds of change are coming. Valewatch will not escape the storm. Those who resist the tides of power... are often the first to drown."

Kael’s stomach churned, the words curling like smoke in the air. His father’s hands clenched tighter behind his back, his jaw set in a hard line, but Kael could see the tension rippling through him, the weight of the scholar’s words settling like a noose around his neck.

"You speak in riddles," Daren snapped, but his voice lacked its usual authority. "I am not interested in your threats."

The scholar chuckled softly, the sound barely audible, but it sent a chill down Kael’s spine. "No threats, my lord. Merely the truth. The truth is often the most dangerous thing of all."

Kael had heard enough. He pushed the door open a little further, stepping into the room before his mind could talk him out of it. The sudden movement broke the tense stillness, both men turning toward him.

His father’s eyes widened, surprise and something else—something close to relief—flickering across his face. But it was the scholar’s gaze that held Kael in place. Those cold, dark eyes locked onto him with an unsettling intensity, and that strange pulse inside Kael flared, more insistent than before.

"Kael," Daren’s voice was sharp, but Kael could hear the strain behind it. "This isn’t—"

The scholar’s smile widened, just a fraction. "Ah, the young Raventhorn." His voice was like silk, smooth and dangerous. "I was wondering when you would join us."

Kael’s mouth went dry. His throat tightened as he fought to find words, but the weight of the scholar’s gaze made his mind blank. The air around him felt charged, thrumming with something unseen, something old. It was as if the very air vibrated with the presence of the scholar, making Kael’s skin prickle. That pulse beneath his skin—something inside of him—was reacting to this man, though he didn’t know why.

"Leave us," Daren’s voice broke through Kael’s confusion, but it was thinner than usual, lacking its usual command. "This is none of your concern."

Kael hesitated. His eyes flicked to his father, then back to the scholar. He wanted to argue, to demand an explanation, but the look in his father’s eyes stopped him. His father—this man who had never shown fear—was barely holding it together. Kael had never seen him like this. And that, more than anything, frightened him.

Reluctantly, Kael nodded. He could still feel the scholar’s eyes on him, watching, measuring. And for a brief moment, Kael thought he saw something in the scholar’s gaze—something that sent a chill racing down his spine.

As he turned to leave, the scholar’s voice followed him. "You can’t avoid the storm forever, Kael. None of us can."

Kael’s breath caught. The words echoed in his mind as he stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. His pulse raced, the strange energy still thrumming under his skin, though it had begun to fade. He didn’t know what was happening to him, didn’t understand why the scholar’s presence had stirred something within him.

But one thing was certain.

The scholar was dangerous.