Days passed in quiet rhythms within the stone walls of the Bloodthorn castle. Vespera’s room, once filled with eerie silence and worry, now carried the soft sound of whispered conversations, the clinking of glass vials, and the gentle rustling of linens. Her body was healing—slowly, stubbornly—but her soul remained tucked away behind guarded eyes.

  Yuvan sat often by her side, speaking little, only brushing strands of hair from her face or adjusting her blanket. His heart ached with the guilt of being unable to protect her. And still, he said nothing of that day—not wanting to stir the nightmare again in her mind.

  Keven came and went like a shadow, never far from her room. But unlike Yuvan, he had other weight pressing on him. He had found something—an ancient text tucked beneath the collapsed ruins of an old shrine near the symbol Vespera had last seen. The markings etched on the parchment seemed to match the strange emblem burned onto the wall during the attack. But he dared not speak of it until he was sure.

  The elderly physician—Lady Thalara—visited daily. Though her eyes carried centuries of wisdom, her skin was youthful and flawless, glowing with enchantments long forbidden. Her presence comforted the staff and unsettled the nobles in equal measure. She never asked Vespera any questions, only smiled and placed her palm gently upon her chest, muttering words of old that wrapped around the girl like a shield.

  One evening, as the rain pattered gently against the castle windows, Keven entered her room while Yuvan had gone to speak with Lady Thalara.

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  Vespera lay awake, her silver eyes open, lost in thought. Keven moved quietly, unsure if she wished to speak. But before he could turn back, her voice broke the silence.

  "Did I... do something wrong?" she asked softly, not looking at him.

  Keven sat beside her, shaking his head. "You did nothing wrong. You’ve only ever tried to protect us all."

  She turned her gaze to him, more vulnerable than he had ever seen. “Then why does it feel like everything’s falling apart?”

  Keven hesitated. He wanted to tell her everything—to spill the findings, the fear gnawing at him—but instead, he reached out and took her hand in his.

  "Not everything," he said gently. "You’re still here. Yuvan’s still standing strong. And I’m... still foolishly in love with you."

  A soft breath caught in her throat. Her eyes shimmered, but it wasn’t from tears—it was the smallest trace of a smile, barely there.

  “I never said I wasn’t in love with you, too,” she whispered.

  And in that moment, without grand declarations or dramatic gestures, their bond deepened — quietly, powerfully. He leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to her forehead. Nothing more. Nothing less. Safe. Gentle.

  But peace never stayed long in the castle.

  That night, Vespera dreamt again. Or perhaps... it was something else.

  She stood in the same hallway from her vision before — tall arches of twisted shadows, flickering candles that dripped black wax, and the low hum of voices she couldn’t place. But this time, she wasn’t alone.

  A figure stood just beyond reach — hooded, watching.

  Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe. She turned to run—but the hallway stretched endlessly before her. The candles blew out, one by one, and darkness swallowed her whole.

  She jolted awake, heart racing. The moon outside was pale and cold. And from her window... she could feel it again.

  Someone was watching.

  What did Keven find in the ruins? Why does the castle feel watched? And what power lies sleeping inside our beloved Vespera?

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  Until next moonlight...