Beneath the Blood Keep, deep within the forgotten veins of the castle, a single figure walked the dark tunnel that led toward the old prison chambers. In his right hand, he held a rusted iron lantern, its dim light flickering with each step he took.
On both sides of the tunnel, the newer prison cells had been built—rows of reinforced doors, iron-barred and cold. Most of the rooms lay empty, shadows clinging to the corners like cobwebs. But some were not silent. Within the cells, twisted forms stirred: witches with hollow eyes, barbarian raiders, fallen Northern warriors, cutthroat assassins, and other cursed souls who had long since been forgotten by the world above.
As he passed, they stirred from the gloom.
Some begged for food, their voices rasping with starvation.
Others pleaded for death, their minds broken by solitude.
A few sat in utter silence, eyes empty, long since surrendered to madness.
But the man did not look at them. He walked as though they did not exist, their cries washing over him like wind through a ruined temple.
At the end of the tunnel, he reached a towering black door, ancient and veined with cracks, its surface veiled in thick, broken spiderwebs. He pushed it open with a low grunt, the hinges releasing a deep groaning creak that echoed into the dark.
Beyond the door was a winding spiral staircase, its stone steps lit faintly by burning torches embedded in the damp walls. The flames danced like specters as he descended, each step deeper than the last.
At the bottom of the staircase, he emerged into a vast, empty hall—cold and cloaked in shadows. The air was still and heavy, the silence pressing against his ears. Set into the ancient stone walls were four heavy doors, two on each side, sealed and untouched by time. He walked past them without pause.
At the end of the hall, he knelt and placed the lantern gently on the ground. Then, with both hands, he pressed against the wall, fingers feeling for the hidden mechanism carved into the stone.
A low, grinding noise filled the chamber. Dust fell from the ceiling as the wall slowly began to slide open, revealing a hidden doorway behind it.
He stood in front of the revealed door, paused for a breath, then knocked twice—a quiet but deliberate sound.
When the door opened, a burst of blinding white light spilled into the dark hall, momentarily blinding him. He squinted, then stepped forward as the light revealed his face.
He was a man in his mid-thirties, tall and commanding, standing at six-foot-two. He wore a long, tattered black robe, its hem lined with crimson thread, draped over a set of old but well-maintained black iron armor. His light brown hair was short and tousled, his hazel eyes glinting with calm intelligence and weary strength. His sharp features were hardened by years of battle, experience etched into every line of his face.
He pulled back the hood of his robe, letting it fall around his shoulders, and quietly set the lantern by the threshold. The light behind the door flickered—warm, but wrong. Like it didn't belong in this world.
Without hesitation, he stepped inside.
A vast square hall greeted him, its walls cloaked in black stone. Torches flared to life as he entered, casting eerie shadows that danced along the interior like ghosts stirring from slumber. The scent of old blood clung to the air.
Directly ahead stood a sacrificial altar—crimson-stained, encircled by ancient bones. Remnants of humans and barbarians long forgotten, their remains arranged like offerings. Beyond the altar, a black throne loomed empty atop a staircase stained dark red, like dried blood.
Above the throne, etched in ancient stone, was her image.
The Goddess of Night.
Her face serene and unreadable, framed by flowing stone-carved hair and crowned with a halo of crescent stars. Her gown, sculpted with layered ruffles, seemed to swirl like liquid shadow. A fine net robe clung to her arms, merging with the carved mist that pooled at her feet. She was femininity and beauty incarnate—divine, yet chained. Around her neck, a stone-carved chain wound downward into the hand of a faceless man. Her posture, captured mid-dance, was one of defiance and grace—but the chain made it look like a silent plea.
To the left, another massive door stood sealed. Upon it, a ring of carved moons shimmered faintly in the torchlight.
The knight's gaze swept the room.
"Come out, you idiot," he barked.
From behind the throne, a girl slowly emerged. Chestnut-brown hair, dark eyes, pale skin—wearing a maid's uniform and holding a pair of daggers.
Joan.
The moment she recognized him, the daggers vanished in a flick of her wrists. Her eyes widened in mock delight.
"Brother!" she shouted, sprinting toward him. She leapt up and wrapped her arms around him like a child.
He grunted and shoved her back. "Cut the act. I see right through you."
She grinned, unbothered. "You're no fun."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped. "You tried to kill that moron on your first day! If I hadn't been here, that crazy bitch might've turned you into a wall ornament!"
Joan gave a dramatic sigh. "I'd like to see her try. Besides, I already got what we needed. So why do I have to keep pretending to be that jerk's maid, anyway?"
"Forget him. I'll take it from here," her brother said, lowering his voice. "Tomorrow is the Blood Moon. When it reaches its peak, the door will open. That's your chance—head straight into the Dark Forest and to the Goddess of Night's temple. Shift your form and vanish. I'll meet you there and we restart the mission."
Joan clenched her fists for a moment… then forced a sweet smile. "Of course, brother."
His expression softened. "You haven't eaten, have you?"
He reached into his robe and pulled out a piece of bread and a small pouch of water. She took them without hesitation, plopping down on the altar with a dramatic groan.
"You're feeding me on a sacrificial altar. How romantic," she teased between bites.
He just shook his head and watched her eat, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Once she finished, he rose and turned back toward the castle, his footsteps echoing in the haunted hall.
…