The tavern door creaked open, and a hooded figure stepped inside.

Vul was busy wiping down a table while Angeline stacked empty mugs when the man approached. He moved with careful steps, his cloak heavy with dust from the road.

"May I have a chat with you, Miss Angeline?"

Angeline looked up at the unfamiliar voice. The stranger's tone was polite yet firm. Then, without hesitation, he pulled back his hood.

Her eyes widened in shock.

"Elijah...?"

Beneath the hood was a well-groomed man in his late forties, with neatly combed silver hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. Despite his calm expression, there was something weary about him, a tiredness hidden beneath his composed demeanor.

She had never met him before, but she knew exactly who he was. Stefan had mentioned him in stories—a butler, a mentor, and a loyal servant of the fallen House of Blanc.

For a moment, she didn't know what to say.

"Vul," she finally spoke, snapping out of her daze. "Prepare a seat for our guest."

Vul perked up and immediately went to work. She swiftly pulled out a chair, set it neatly in place, and then hurried off to fetch a drink.

As Elijah and Angeline sat across from each other, Vul returned, carefully placing two cups on the table. She smiled brightly and gave a small curtsy.

"Here is your drink. I hope you like it."

Elijah nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, young lady."

Vul giggled before skipping off toward the bar, where Isaac was already preparing orders.

Angeline took a sip from her cup before finally addressing him. "So, Elijah... why are you here?"

Elijah exhaled, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup before he took a sip of his tea. He then set it down and looked at her seriously.

"I need your help," he said. "To convince Stefan to return to the mansion."

Angeline frowned slightly. She had expected something serious, but not this.

"Elijah..." she sighed, shaking her head. "I want to help you, I really do. But we both know Stefan won't come back."

Elijah didn't seem discouraged. "I believe you are the only one who could convince him."

Angeline hesitated.

Every time she tried to ask Stefan about his past, he never took it lightly. It was the one thing he always avoided. She had no doubt that if she pressed him, he would simply push her away.

Before she could reply, the ground suddenly trembled beneath them.

The entire tavern shook violently.

The mugs behind the counter rattled against the shelves, a few crashing onto the floor and shattering into pieces. The wooden beams groaned under the strain, dust falling from the ceiling. A loud creaking noise echoed as the chandelier swayed dangerously overhead.

Vul immediately stopped what she was doing. A strange sensation washed over her, something deep and primal.

Danger.

Her body tensed. Whatever was coming—this was just a warning.

Isaac grabbed onto the bar for balance, barking at his staff, "Hold onto something!"

Some of the customers shouted in confusion while others scrambled to get outside, unsure if the building would hold.

Angeline gripped the edge of the table, her heart pounding.

"What the hell—?!"

Elijah remained eerily calm, setting his cup down carefully even as the liquid inside rippled from the tremors.

Vul slowly turned toward the door, her eyes unblinking.

She didn't understand why...

But something was out there.

Something that wanted them to know it had arrived.

The trembling stopped just as suddenly as it began. For a brief moment, silence settled over the tavern. People exchanged uneasy glances, gripping their drinks with tense hands. Then, out of nowhere—

A woman shot up from her seat, gasping violently.

She clutched at her throat, her face twisting in agony as she staggered backward, knocking over her chair. Her breaths came in ragged, wheezing gulps as she tried to force something out of her mouth.

Isaac was already moving.

"Vul, stay put!" he ordered without looking back, already rushing toward the woman.

Vul flinched, her body jerking slightly forward as if to follow him, but she obeyed, gripping the counter instead.

Isaac knelt beside the woman as she collapsed onto her knees, her fingers clawing desperately at her throat. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, his voice firm yet soothing.

"Breathe, lass. What's happening? What's in your throat?"

The woman's eyes, wide with terror, darted to his face. Her lips moved, struggling to form words between her choking fits.

"S-Some...thing..." she rasped. "Inside... m-my... mouth—!"

Across the room, Elijah remained seated, his sharp gaze locked onto the woman. His fingers had already found the hilt of his sword, his movements slow and deliberate. Something was wrong. This wasn't a normal choking incident.

And then—

The woman wretched violently.

A wet, squelching sound filled the air.

Something fell from her mouth and landed on the wooden floor with a sickening plop.

An eyeball.

A human eyeball.

The entire tavern froze.

For a moment, there was nothing but the crackling of the fireplace and the distant sound of hooves clopping outside.

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Then, she gagged again.

Another eyeball tumbled past her lips, bouncing slightly before rolling to a stop.

Then another.

And another.

A thick, wet splatter followed as more of them spilled from her mouth, like a grotesque waterfall of pupils and veins, slapping against the floor in a growing, glistening pile.

A woman in the back shrieked.

The tavern erupted into chaos.

People scrambled away from the table, chairs scraping against the wooden floor as customers bolted for the door. A man tripped over himself in his haste, crashing into another patron. Someone knocked over a bottle of ale, the liquid mixing into the sickening puddle of eyeballs spreading across the floor.

"Witchcraft," Isaac breathed, his mind racing to find an explanation.

He quickly turned to the panicked crowd.

"EVERYONE, CALM DOWN!" His voice was loud and commanding. "Does anyone here know a purification spell? We need to cleanse her—NOW!"

He turned back to the woman, placing a firm hand on her back, trying to keep her steady as she continued to vomit. "It's alright, lass, just hold on—"

The woman suddenly went still.

Isaac barely had a second to process it before her hand shot out and grabbed his chest.

A violent, purple glow erupted from her palm.

Isaac's eyes widened as an invisible force struck him like a battering ram.

His entire body lifted off the ground—

Then he was thrown backward.

He crashed into the wall with bone-rattling force, the impact shaking the shelves behind him. Bottles shattered as he slumped onto the floor, gasping for breath, the wind completely knocked out of him.

Angeline screamed.

Vul's eyes snapped toward the woman, her entire body tensing.

Elijah had already drawn his sword.

And the tavern was no longer just a place of food and drink.

It had become something far worse.

"EVERYONE, OUT! NOW!" Elijah's commanding voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

The moment he barked the order, the panic-stricken crowd shoved and stumbled over one another in a frantic dash toward the exit. Chairs toppled, glass shattered, and a few unlucky ones were nearly trampled as bodies surged toward the doors. The air filled with the thunderous sound of footsteps and terrified screams.

Amidst the chaos, Angeline tried to break into a sprint toward her father—

Only for Elijah to seize her wrist, stopping her mid-step.

"Let me go!" she yelled, struggling against his iron grip. "My father—!"

"You can't," Elijah said sharply, his piercing gaze locked onto the scene before them. "She's between you and him."

Angeline froze, realization washing over her like ice water.

The woman was right there, standing between them.

Isaac was slumped on the floor on the other side, groaning, while Vul stood directly in front of the woman, still as a statue.

The last of the fleeing customers had finally made it out, leaving only the four of them with whatever thing was happening to this woman.

The tavern fell into eerie silence, save for the woman's ragged breathing.

Her trembling hands clawed at her own forehead, nails digging into the skin. Her lips moved rapidly, babbling a stream of incoherent words—

"It hurts... It hurts so much... So much... so much pain..."

Her fingers ripped into her skin, peeling it apart.

Then—

An eye.

A deep, violet eye split open vertically in the center of her forehead, blinking grotesquely as if awakening from slumber.

Angeline's breath hitched in horror.

Blood—thick and dark—spilled from the fresh wound, dripping down her face in slow, heavy streams. Her other two eyes dulled, the light within them flickering like a dying flame.

She was still alive.

But something else was, too.

Then, she began to laugh.

Not with her voice.

It was the voice of another woman.

It echoed unnaturally, layered, as if two beings spoke at once. The laughter started softly—a chuckle, almost playful—then it swelled into a full-blown cackle, shaking her entire frame as she stood.

Vul watched.

Isaac groaned weakly.

Angeline felt her stomach churn.

And Elijah tightened his grip on his sword.

Something unnatural had just taken over the woman's body.

And it was watching them now.

The woman's body jerked upright as though pulled by invisible strings. Her movements were stiff, unnatural—like a puppet being wound up after years of neglect.

Then, her head snapped toward Elijah.

Not turned. Snapped.

The violet eye in her forehead pulsated with eerie light, the blood still dripping down her face unnoticed. Her lips curled into a smirk, and with that same layered, distorted voice, she spoke—

"A little birdie told us a Blanc resides here."

Elijah's expression darkened instantly. His grip on his sword hilt tightened until his knuckles turned white. His normally composed face twisted into something furious—lips curling back, jaw tightening, nostrils flaring. His piercing blue eyes burned with an anger so raw, so personal, it was almost frightening.

"Who told you?" His voice was low, controlled—but beneath it lay a dangerous edge.

The woman chuckled—a sickening, rasping sound. "Oh... does it matter?" she cooed mockingly. "What does matter... is that we are here to finish what we started."

Elijah's body tensed.

Meanwhile, Angeline's heart pounded, but not from fear—her focus was entirely on Vul and her father.

I need to get to them.

Keeping her breathing steady, she slowly inched backward, moving as silently as possible. If she could just get Vul and Isaac out of harm's way—

But the woman's attention remained locked on Elijah.

Elijah, who had just raised his sword—

"For as long as my master lives," he declared, "the House of Blanc will rise again."

A chilling hiss filled the air.

His blade—once dull steel—now gleamed with an otherworldly glow. Mist seeped from its edge, curling around him like a living entity, tendrils of frost creeping along the wooden floor beneath his feet. The very air seemed to drop in temperature, a ghostly fog rolling out in waves, coating the room in a biting cold.

The woman—if she even was a woman anymore—tilted her head.

Then, without warning—

CRACK!

Her body contorted.

Bones twisted, popping and snapping into unnatural angles as she lowered herself into a stance. Her limbs twitched as if resisting the force controlling her, but she still moved, her spine arching grotesquely.

Her fingers flexed, nails sharpening like claws.

The violet eye on her forehead narrowed.

And then—

She lunged.

With a sharp exhale, he rushed forward, his ice-coated sword gleaming under the dim tavern lights. The woman didn't flinch. Instead, she flicked her wrist—

And CRASH!

Tables and chairs flew through the air, slamming toward Elijah like invisible fists. He twisted mid-sprint, dodging one, slicing through another with a clean stroke of his blade. Splinters rained down, but he didn't stop.

His boots slid against the wooden floor as he closed the distance. He swung—

CLANG!

The woman raised her hand.

Elijah's sword stopped inches from her face, held in place by an unseen force. His muscles tensed as he pushed against it, his blade trembling, frost forming where the resistance met steel.

She smiled.

"Too slow."

A sudden pulse of energy blasted outward.

Elijah was thrown back, skidding across the floor, his grip tightening on his sword to keep it from flying from his grasp. He barely had a moment to recover before—

A blinding purple beam erupted from the eye on the woman's forehead.

Elijah rolled, narrowly avoiding the blast as it gouged a hole straight through the wall behind him. Light and dust spilled into the tavern, the air thick with burnt wood and the lingering hum of magic.

He didn't waste time.

With a flick of his wrist, ice exploded from his sword, a jagged wall of frost surging forward to engulf the woman—

But she simply lifted her hand.

The ice shattered into nothing.

She laughed. "Oh, come now. Is this the might of a Blanc?"

Elijah grit his teeth.

Meanwhile, across the tavern, Angeline was on her knees beside her father.

"Dad! Dad, wake up!"

Isaac didn't stir. His broad chest barely moved, his breaths shallow. Panic tightened in her throat. She was a mage, yes—but healing magic had never been her gift.

She pressed her hands to his shoulders. "Please... you have to wake up, please!"

Vul stood stiffly beside her.

Her eyes flickered between Angeline's shaking form and Isaac's unmoving body. Her fingers twitched, her expression unreadable—like a machine struggling to process an unfamiliar command.

Angeline sobbed, gripping her father's shirt.

"Please, gods, don't take him—"

CRACK!

She flinched at the sharp sound, looking up just in time to see Elijah dangling midair.

The woman had caught him.

Her fingers curled into a loose fist—and Elijah's body jerked as if an invisible noose had wrapped around his throat.

His feet no longer touched the ground.

He struggled, his sword slipping from his grip, his hands clawing at nothing as he gasped for air.

The woman grinned.

"Pathetic," she purred, her voice layered with something not quite human. "Your ancestors would weep if they saw you now. Just a little pressure, and—"

Elijah choked. His vision darkened at the edges, his limbs growing numb. He tried to lift his hand, tried to summon a last-ditch spell—

The woman giggled. "Oh, don't struggle. You'll only make it worse."

And then—

THWIP!

An ice shard whistled through the air and struck the back of the woman's skull with a sickening crunch.

She didn't scream.

Didn't even react.

Instead, her head twisted unnaturally—slowly turning without moving her neck until her glowing violet eye locked onto—

Angeline.

The young mage stood tall, breathing heavily, her palm glowing with icy mist as she prepared to launch another attack. Her eyes were filled with fury, her lips curling into a snarl.

She raised her hand, another ice crystal forming in her palm.

With fire in her voice, she hissed—

"He's not the only one who can fight, bitch."