Sylas
I leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed, watching the flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room. The house was eerily quiet now, save for the occasional rustling of the wind outside. The only sound inside was the soft, uneven breathing of the human girl curled up in the next room.
Lana.
Her name left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
I should have felt satisfied. I had waited for this moment, hadn't I? From the very beginning, I had wanted to see her break, to watch that defiant spark in her eyes flicker out. She had been thrown into this world, forced into a life she never asked for, and yet she had refused to collapse like every other human before her.
It annoyed me.
It irritated me to no end.
So, when she finally shattered tonight—when she cried, screamed, and sobbed like a helpless child—I should have relished in it. I should have felt victorious.
And yet...
I didn't.
Something about the way she had looked at us, the raw fear and frustration in her trembling voice, unsettled me.
I clenched my jaw, shifting my weight.
No. I don't care. I shouldn't care.
I ran a hand through my hair and let out a sharp exhale, as if I could physically force the irritation out of me.
Kaelith, of course, was completely unbothered, sitting across from me with his usual cold, unreadable expression. He had barely said a word since Lana had finally cried herself into exhaustion.
Typical.
I smirked lazily, trying to shake off the strange discomfort still lingering in my chest. "Hey, Kael," I drawled, tilting my head toward him. "How does it feel to have a wife who throws tantrums like a child?"
Kaelith didn't even blink. "She only makes things harder for herself."
His voice was flat, emotionless—as if Lana's suffering was nothing more than an insignificant detail.
That was expected, really. But something about it... grated on my nerves tonight.
I let out a chuckle, but it felt hollow. "She's still standing, though. Most humans wouldn't have lasted this long. Normally, they die within a day, maybe two if they're lucky."
Kaelith didn't reply immediately. He only stared at the candlelight, his sharp eyes reflecting the flickering flame.
"She will either adapt or die." His tone was final, as if there was no room for anything in between.
I hummed in response, but deep down, I wasn't sure if I agreed.
Lana was different.
She wasn't strong—no, she was as fragile as every other human. But she was stubborn.
Even after breaking down tonight, even after showing us her weakness, there was still something about her that refused to submit completely.
I leaned forward slightly, my voice turning thoughtful. "Are we really going to protect her from every danger that comes?"
Kaelith finally looked at me, his gaze cold as ice. "That is our responsibility. She is our wife now."
Wife.
The word felt so foreign.
I had never cared for the concept of marriage, let alone one forced upon me through blood and magic. Lana was nothing but a burden, a complication I never asked for.
I scoffed, my lips curling into a smirk. "I could kill her now, end the problem before it grows." I twirled the dagger between my fingers, watching the candlelight glint off the sharp blade. "It'd be easier that way. Less trouble for us."
Kaelith didn't react. He simply exhaled slowly before stating, "You won't."
I chuckled, flicking the dagger back into its sheath. "Yeah, yeah. You're right." I stretched my arms lazily. "Besides, I wouldn't want to ruin my reputation by killing my own wife. That'd make me look bad, don't you think?"
Kaelith finally met my gaze, his expression as sharp as a blade. "Your reputation was ruined the moment we killed her."
His words hit heavier than I expected.
He didn't need to clarify who he meant.
The bride. The original bride, who was supposed to stand at that altar instead of Lana.
The woman we had cut down without hesitation.
Nerina.
I rolled my shoulders, brushing off the weight of the memory. "Well, she wasn't very interesting," I muttered, standing up. "If she had lived, she would've been just another name in a long list of forgettable faces."
Kaelith didn't respond. He didn't need to.
I turned toward the door, feeling a sudden, restless energy clawing at my chest. "I'm going to check the perimeter," I announced. "Make sure no more uninvited guests decide to drop by."
Kaelith simply gave a small nod, not bothering to question me.
I stepped outside, letting the cool night air hit my skin.
I walked into the forest, the wind carried the scent of damp earth. I exhaled slowly, watching the mist of my breath vanish into the cold night air.
Still too quiet.
I walked deeper into the forest, my fingers tapping idly against the hilt of my dagger. My senses stayed sharp, eyes scanning the darkened landscape. The trees stood tall, their twisted branches stretching toward the sky like skeletal fingers, the moonlight barely filtering through.
Then, I stopped.
My gaze lowered to my hand.
For a moment, I remembered.
Back in the house—just before Kaelith and I stormed inside to kill that masked bastard—I had felt it.
A burning sensation, sudden and sharp, flaring in my palm.
At first, I hadn't realized what it was. But then, I saw it.
A golden glow, flickering beneath my skin, symbols swirling just beneath the surface. The bond.
It was the first time it had reacted since the day of the ceremony. Well, because she is in danger.
Back then, when I first sealed the magic bond, I hadn't paid it much attention. It was nothing more than an inconvenience—a reminder that I was now tied to a human girl I wanted nothing to do with.
I flexed my fingers, my jaw tightening.
An annoying and unsettling sensation.
Now, my palm was normal again. No glow. No warmth. Nothing. Because she was safe now. She and Kaelith were inside, away from immediate danger.
I scoffed under my breath, pushing the thought away. It doesn't matter.
But even as I forced my focus back on my surroundings, a part of me refused to let it go.
I hated this. I hated her.
Because no matter how much I tried to ignore it, Lana kept defying every expectation I had of her.
And I hated that even more.
A flicker of movement pulled me from my thoughts.
The air shifted and then, I felt it.
A presence.
I wasn't alone.
I turned my head slightly, my fingers tightening around the hilt of my dagger. They were here.
The presence slithered between the trees, barely more than a whisper against the wind. Shadow Butchers. More than one this time.
I almost sighed.
Did they think I wouldn't notice? That they could sneak up on me like I was some blind fool?
Pathetic.
I let my stance relax, pretending not to notice as I took a few slow steps forward. The forest stretched around me, the mist curling at my ankles, concealing the figures lurking within the darkness.
Then—
The first one moved.
A blur of black shot toward me, swift and silent.
But I was faster.
With a flick of my wrist, my dagger sliced through the air, catching the attacker mid-stride. A deep, clean cut.
A muffled gurgle escaped from beneath his wooden mask as dark ichor spilled from his throat.
One down.
I didn't stop.
My body moved before my thoughts could catch up—fluid, effortless, instinctual.
The second one lunged.
I sidestepped, smooth as a shadow, twisting my body just enough for the enemy's blade to miss me by inches. My free hand snapped forward, grabbing the masked figure by the wrist.
I yanked him in, spinning him around—a living shield.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
An arrow.
It embedded itself deep into the Butcher's back before he could even scream.
I let his body fall to the ground, my gaze flicking toward the direction of the shot.
The third one.
Perched in the trees, bow in hand. Clever.
But not clever enough.
I flicked my dagger into a reverse grip, calculating the distance. Too far to reach in a single strike.
Then I smirked.
Perfect.
With a swift motion, I hurled my dagger.
It cut through the night like a silver streak—fast, precise, deadly.
The archer barely had time to register what had happened before the blade buried itself into his skull.
He slumped forward, the body falling from the tree like a lifeless puppet.
Three down.
I rolled my shoulders, adjusting my stance.
"That all you've got?" I muttered.
Then—
A whisper of laughter. Low. Hollow.
The remaining Butchers didn't run. They didn't attack, either.
Instead, they stood still.
Waiting.
Something wasn't right.
I narrowed my eyes, my muscles coiling like a spring. My senses screamed at me to move, to act before—
Crack.
Their bodies convulsed.
One by one, their forms twisted, bones snapping in unnatural angles. That same horrible sound from before—the same way the last one had died inside the house.
I watched, dagger clenched in my grip, as their flesh crumbled away like burnt paper.
Within seconds, nothing remained but black stains on the ground.
I clicked my tongue. "Tch. No information, huh?"
Self-destruction. Again.
They were trained well.
A pity. I would've liked to carve some answers out of them.
The forest was silent once more, the only sound left was the soft rustling of the wind.
I retrieved my dagger from the fallen archer, wiping the blade clean before slipping it back into its sheath.
"This place is no longer safe."
Then, with one last glance at the remains of my would-be assassins, I turned on my heel and walked back toward the house.
To be continued…