Michael stepped into the corridor, his boots silent against the cold stone floor. Crystalline mana stones lined the walls in place of torches, embedded in ornate silver sconces. Their pale glow pulsed like distant stars, breathing softly in rhythm. But tonight, their light dimmed as he passed, flickering with an unease that felt almost sentient—like they recognized him, and recoiled.
The castle was too quiet.
Not peaceful—watchful.
As if the very walls of Blood Keep had ears, listening in on every breath he took.
Through the tall, narrow windows that stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, a thick silver mist drifted across the outer courtyard. It wrapped around the statues, columns, and battlements like ghostly serpents, gliding across the ground in coils of lightless shimmer. Moonless skies loomed overhead, and the mist reflected the mana stones' dim glow in eerie, ever-shifting patterns.
Michael moved with care, every sense sharpened. At the end of the corridor, two knights stood motionless, guarding the heavy oak door that led toward the inner chambers. They were Benjamin's men—loyal, efficient, and dangerous. Their armor gleamed black and crimson, etched with ancient runes of silence and binding, pulsing faintly beneath the misty light. Runes meant to nullify spells. To trap monsters.
Michael didn't need to be told who the real monster was. Not tonight.
He pressed himself against the cold stone beside one of the tall windows, keeping just out of their line of sight. If he stepped into the open, they'd spot him. One would tail him while the other reported to Benjamin. There'd be no escape after that.
He frowned.
This was a leash, and he was the beast.
Two options.
One: Bribe the guards. Possible—but not likely to work. These weren't the soft types who could be swayed by gold or charm.
Two: Jump.
A dangerous idea. But one that could work.
Just below this wing of the castle was an open ledge, leading to the towering stained-glass window of the Great Hall. He'd seen it dozens of times from the courtyard, high above the mist-covered spikes. The only path from here to the heart of Blood Keep without passing through the inner chambers.
But the fall? Lethal.
Blood Keep was not made for escape. It was built to trap.
Unlike the human-built fortresses of the Imperium, Blood Keep was a relic of a darker time. One of the three great strongholds of the realm—older than the Empire itself. Its black walls weren't just stone. They were obsidian, carved and raised by mythical dwarves under Aldric the Undying—the First Vampire King.
This wasn't a place of defense.
It was a prison in disguise.
The obsidian was imbued with blood magic, etched into the very bones of the fortress. Its enchantments were ancient and hungry, designed not just to contain enemies—but to devour them. The Keep had a will of its own. A memory. A soul soaked in the blood of the innocent and the damned.
Michael had heard the legends.
He'd even laughed at them as a boy.
But tonight, as the walls pressed in, the silence tightened, and the air seemed to pulse with a forgotten hunger—he believed every word.
He leaned out the window, eyes narrowing.
The mist parted just enough to reveal the black spikes below—twisted, jagged, and glistening red, as if still wet with old blood.
His heart pounded once.
Twice.
Then he smiled.
Not the grin of a reckless child, but the calculated smirk of someone who knew exactly what he was about to do—and how insane it was.
He melted into the shadows, creeping closer to the tall arched window. The knights didn't even flinch. Their eyes were locked forward, unaware of the silent rebellion unfolding just steps away.
Michael swung one leg over the ledge. The cold wind bit through his coat, lifting his black hair and tugging at the corners of his cloak. He closed his eyes for a breath, then leapt into the void.
But he didn't fall.
The air caught beneath his boots—thin, shimmering threads of resistance. Not magic. Not wind. Something deeper.
Sky Walk.
Every true-blooded Centarious began unlocking the Divine Seals of their blood at the age of ten. The stronger one become, the more Seals one break. His father, Duke William, had broken three and become a rift walker at the age of 30. His uncle, Benjamin, also broken three and become a rift walker at the age of 28. Both formidable. Both feared through the entire imperium.
But Michael only broken one.
But considering his age it is more than enough that one who can break the fifth seal of the divine and become a sky walker, the ability to step upon the sky—briefly. Imperfectly. But enough.
Enough to defy gravity.
Enough to break free.
The wind howled past his ears as he descended slowly through the mist, stepping onto the invisible path of air. Below him, the cursed spikes reached up like the teeth of some slumbering beast. His heart thudded in rhythm with every step, sweat gathering at his brow.
One misstep, and he would fall.
One falter in focus, and he'd be impaled.
But his mind was clear.
His breath steady.
He moved like a ghost through the fog, drifting toward the stained-glass window of the Great Hall. Towering depictions of night, blood, and flame watched him approach—art as old as the Keep itself.
With one final step, he landed softly on the outer ledge of the window, steadying himself against the frame. Then, with a swift motion, he slipped through a narrow seam where the ancient glass had cracked, falling into the vast shadow of the hall beyond.
Inside, the Great Hall was silent.
Grand black pillars lined its length, carved in twisting shapes of serpents, fangs, and wings. Crimson light glowed faintly from the walls, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Michael landed behind one of the towering black-and-red pillars, blending perfectly into the shadows.
He was inside.
Unseen.
Unbound.
A wolf loose in the den of monsters.
And tonight, for the first time in weeks, he was free.