Storm clouds gathered above Castle Varn, transforming daylight into premature dusk. Inside his study, Lord Varn stood at the window, watching lightning fracture the sky. He held a glass of wine, barely touched.
"The ritual failed," he said, his voice level but edged with frustration.
Behind him, Ery arranged papers on his desk, her crimson hair pulled back in a severe knot. Unlike the other servants, she wore no uniform—just practical black clothes and a dagger at her hip.
"So it seems," she replied, her tone carefully neutral.
He set his glass down and straightened his cuffs. "Let's find out why."
With a lazy wave of his hand, the air shimmered. Shadows twisted, and a figure materialized on the floor—Scarlet, her armor cracked and stained, her face pale with shock.
She gasped, clutching her chest as if expecting a wound that wasn't there. Her eyes darted around, landing on the man.
Fear replaced confusion.
