Skill Level Up: Burst of Speed.

Skill Level Up: Aether Surge.

Skill Level Up: Burst of Speed.

Thorne sprinted across the countryside, the world around him a blur. His breaths came in harsh gasps, chest heaving with exertion, but his mind was louder than his pounding heart.

Selene. Selene is in danger.

The thought ricocheted in his head, each repetition driving him faster. His legs burned, his vision narrowed, and his stamina plummeted. Notifications of his skills leveling up registered faintly in his mind, but there was no triumph, only fear.

Skill Level Up: Burst of Speed.

I'm not going to make it in time.

The thought clawed at him, raw and unrelenting. The idea of arriving too late, of finding Selene's lifeless form, made his already flagging stamina points dip dangerously low. His body screamed at him to stop, his muscles trembling with exhaustion.

Thorne ignored it all.

The lights of Alvar flickered behind him now, distant and faint, swallowed by the rolling darkness of the countryside. The Ravencourt ancestral home was a speck against the silhouette of the mountain ahead, its walls gleaming faintly under the waxing moon. It loomed like an unyielding sentinel, massive and imposing, a fortress with centuries of defiance embedded in its stones.

And yet, it felt impossibly far away.

Thorne tore through the wilderness, each step a battle against his faltering body. Aether swirled around him, motes of light like fireflies drawn to the desperation radiating from his core. His glowing eyes lit the path ahead as he pushed himself beyond his limits.

His footing faltered. A loose rock sent him skidding, his body leaning dangerously. He barely avoided a fall, his boots scraping against the dirt-packed path as he surged forward. Burst of Speed activated instinctively, propelling him forward with unnatural momentum.

Aether pulsed through his veins, his Aether Surge skill compensating for the power his body lacked. Muscles that should have long since given out were infused with strength, pushing him closer to the Ravencourt fortress.

The wild expanse gave way to cultivated pastures and fields, their neat rows of crops now dark and silent under the night sky. The sharp smell of fresh-tilled soil and the occasional silhouette of cottages marked the edge of a village. He saw no one, the hour too late, and the village too distant from the chaos of Alvar to be stirring.

As the last of the village faded behind him, the Ravencourt home came into full view. A sprawling fortress nestled at the foot of the mountain, its size was a testament to the family's great power. High defensive walls loomed, enclosing the structure in a protective embrace. Turrets stretched toward the sky, and behind them, the shadowed gardens hinted at a grandeur now locked away from prying eyes.

Thorne slowed, his chest heaving as his stamina dipped perilously low. His hands trembled, and sweat slicked his clothes and hair. The wind whipped around him, carrying the scent of stone and greenery.

How am I going to get in without being noticed?

The thought steadied him, giving him something to focus on and knowing that the hard part was still ahead.

For a moment, he stood at the edge of the Ravencourt lands, catching his breath and staring up at the formidable fortress. The aether around him thrummed in anticipation, a maelstrom that reflected his desperation.

He muttered a curse under his breath, his jaw tightening. There was no room for mistakes. Selene's life depended on it.

Steeling himself, Thorne melted into the shadows, his mind calculating the safest way past the defenses. With a final glance at the towering walls, he disappeared into the darkness, becoming one with the night.

Thorne's glowing eyes narrowed as his Veil Sense flared to life, painting the surroundings with ethereal clarity. Two guards patrolled the main gate, their aetheric cores dim but steady. Other than that, the fortress was eerily still.

His frown deepened.

Where is everyone?

The battle for Alvar had been bloody and chaotic, and he'd assumed the Ravencourt home would be swarming with soldiers to protect the family, especially Alaric and Selene. Yet, here it stood, cloaked in silence. No thrumming cores of guards, no watchful eyes atop the walls.

It felt wrong.

Thorne moved swiftly, searching the perimeter for an unguarded way in. The fortress walls loomed above him, smooth stone broken only by ivy and the occasional arrow slit. He scanned the surface, his Veil Sense picking up faint traces of structural weaknesses.

And then he found it, a narrow gap near the base of the wall, partially obscured by a tangled bush. He slid through it, the rough stone grazing his shoulders as he slipped inside.

On the other side, a winding staircase spiraled down from the wall, its worn steps descending into the fortress proper. Thorne crouched at the top, straining his ears.

The only sound was the whisper of the wind brushing past him. No murmurs of conversation, no creak of armor, no distant footsteps.

It was too quiet.

A cold knot twisted in his stomach as he descended the stairs step by careful step, pausing at the door that led to the gardens below. He closed his eyes, focusing on the faintest vibrations in the air.

Nothing.

The ominous feeling gnawed at him. Was I too late?

The moment Thorne stepped into the garden, his evolved Stealth skill enveloped him, his form melting into the shadows like smoke. He became a ghost, every movement calculated, every step silent.

The fortress gardens stretched before him, wild and untamed. Towering trees stretched their limbs skyward, their leaves whispering secrets to the night. Overgrown shrubs and tangled ivy gave the space an air of abandonment, more like a dense forest than a manicured retreat.

The sheer scale of it was disorienting.

The Ravencourt home, up close, was less an estate and more a castle, a sprawling, awe-inspiring structure that loomed like a monument to forgotten power. Its imposing walls and jagged turrets cast long shadows in the moonlight, making Thorne feel like a trespasser in a domain not meant for the living.

He wandered aimlessly through the maze of trees and overgrown paths, his thoughts circling back to Selene. Would I find her dead? Would I be too late?

The thought made his chest tighten, each beat of his heart a thunderous echo in the quiet night.

And then, his eyes caught it, something out of place. A flicker of light.

His muscles tensed, instincts sharpening as he moved closer. Every step was deliberate, silent, his presence undetectable.

The light grew brighter as he approached, and the scene before him came into focus.

Under an ancient oak tree that stood like a sentinel in the heart of the garden, Selene sat in a lavish chair that seemed more throne than seat. Around her, torches and lanterns glowed like fireflies, their warm light casting flickering patterns on her pale pink dress.

She was stitching something with nimble fingers, her gaze downcast as she hummed a melody so peculiar it made Thorne's heart ache. A soft shawl wrapped her shoulders, and her hair spilled freely down her back, catching the light with every movement.

Selene was a dream, as she always was. Untouched by the chaos of the outside world.

Before he could think, her name slipped from his lips, a whisper of desperation.

"Selene."

He stepped out of the shadows, unable to stop himself.

Thorne froze as Selene's eyes met his. Relief surged through him so powerfully his legs nearly gave out, weakened further by the relentless strain of his mad dash. His breaths came in shallow gasps, the glow of his eyes pulsing faintly in the dark.

Selene stopped humming, her gaze steady and unreadable. She didn't move, didn't call out to him, and that stillness set every instinct in him alight with warning bells.

"Selene," he whispered, his voice rough and raw. He stepped closer, his boots crunching softly against the garden path.

"I know you must have questions," he began, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "But we don't have time. You're in danger. I have to get you somewhere safe, somewhere I can protect you."

Her silence was a blade to his heart. She just stared at him with those big, expressive eyes, eyes that now gave away nothing.

Unable to bear the distance, Thorne closed the gap between them, his steps hesitant. Selene didn't move from her throne-like chair under the ancient oak. He stopped a few feet from her, his voice breaking. "Please, Selene, let's go."

Selene sighed softly, as though the weight of the world rested on her slim shoulders. She placed the needlework she'd been stitching onto the table beside her with a practiced grace. "I'm not going anywhere, Thorne," she said at last, her voice calm, almost detached. "This is where I belong."

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Thorne stared at her, his shoulders slumping. He looked at her face, beautiful as ever, but so distant, so closed-off.

"You know," he murmured.

She leaned back in her seat, her expression mirroring his defeat. "I do," she replied, her voice laced with quiet sadness. "You made no effort to hide your true identity during the battle. When you slaughtered all those people... my people."

Thorne dropped to his knees before her, taking her hands in his own. She tensed at his touch but didn't pull away. He gripped her hands like a lifeline, his voice trembling.

"Please," he said, his words barely above a whisper. "I can explain everything. But first, we have to get you somewhere safe."

Selene shook her head, her hair catching the soft glow of the torches. "I'm safe here."

Thorne, overwhelmed by her calm refusal, placed his head gently in her lap, his voice breaking. "I know you must be angry with me, but please, Selene... please listen to me."

One of her hands found its way to his hair, her fingers combing through it with a tenderness that made his chest ache.

Thorne lifted his head, their faces inches apart. Her luminous eyes, once so full of warmth and mischief, were now distant, guarded. His glowing gaze searched hers, desperate to find a sliver of hope.

Selene's voice was soft, almost wistful, as though speaking to a memory rather than the man before her. "I met a handsome, dashing young lord," she began, her tone laced with bittersweet nostalgia. "You were charming, rebellious, and so full of life. I didn't stand a chance. I was smitten from the moment I saw you."

She let out a soft laugh, devoid of humor, her fingers trailing across his cheek. "At the time, I thought you were an escape, a chance for me to rebel, to finally do something just for myself. For once in my life, I thought I could ignore the expectations, the demands, the rules."

Thorne felt her hand tremble slightly, and it sent a pang through his chest. "Selene..." he started, but she gently shushed him, her palm brushing his lips.

"I'm not going to lie," she continued, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "Since then, I noticed things. Little things. Peculiarities that didn't make sense. The way you avoided certain questions. The way you always seemed to know too much. The lies... I could tell when you weren't being honest with me."

Her other hand joined the first, cradling his face with a tenderness that broke him. "And I ignored it," she said, her voice cracking, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I ignored it because I loved you. I loved you so much, Thorne."

Her lips curved into a faint smile, one filled with melancholy. "You're very lovable, you know. Charming, clever, infuriating... but lovable."

The smile faded, replaced by an expression of quiet resignation. "But I can't ignore it anymore. You know that, don't you? The moment you made your identity public, the moment I realized who you are... I can't keep playing the fool. A dashing, foreign lord? Perhaps I could have lived with that illusion. But the son of a criminal overlord?"

She shook her head slowly, as though convincing herself as much as him. "No. I can't. Not anymore."

Her hands lingered on his face for a moment longer before she pulled them away, leaving his skin cold where her warmth had been. Thorne felt a lump rise in his throat, his heart a storm of guilt, regret, and a desperate longing to turn back time.

Thorne kissed her palm, then rose to his feet. He extended his hand to her, his voice steady but pleading. "We'll talk more when you're safe."

Selene chuckled softly, a sad sound that tugged at his chest. She took his hand, her fingers delicate in his grasp. "I told you, Thorne, I'm safe here."

He grunted, his glowing eyes scanning the dark garden. "Let's go inside," he urged. "Somewhere with no windows and only one exit."

Selene tugged at his hand, her grip firmer than he expected. "No," she said with quiet insistence. "I'm in the mood for a walk. Let's go this way."

She began leading him toward a narrow path lit by lanterns nestled among blue roses.

"Selene!" Thorne protested, his voice tinged with desperation.

She chuckled again, tugging at his hand with surprising strength. "Come on, Thorne," she said softly. "This may be our last walk together."

His teeth clenched, his body tensing, but he relented. Even knowing she might be leading him into a trap, even knowing it might be his end, he let her guide him, his heart a storm of dread and hope.

Selene's hand felt light in Thorne's grasp, as though she might drift away with the wind. They walked in silence at first, the only sound the faint crunch of grass underfoot. Yet, in the stillness of the night, something pricked at Thorne's senses. A soft, rhythmic creak, almost imperceptible, drifted from deeper within the garden. He couldn't pinpoint it, but the sound gnawed at his focus, a reminder that this place was not as tranquil as it appeared.

His glowing eyes flicked to the edges of his vision, where a faint, fleeting light pulsed intermittently. It was so faint he almost dismissed it, almost.

"Was it all a lie?" Selene's voice broke the silence, soft but laced with an edge that cut through the night.

Thorne hesitated, his pulse quickening. He squeezed her hand gently, shaking his head. "No."

Her steps slowed. She tilted her head, her gaze piercing. "Was I a target?" Her voice hardened. "You are an assassin, after all. Right? You're a... Lost One?"

The question hung in the air like a blade. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, I was trained there, but..." He trailed off, avoiding her gaze. "I'm not a Lost One."

She arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Then what?"

He swallowed. The familiar creak echoed again, distant but insistent, tugging at the edge of his hearing. "I was sent there to train," he admitted, his tone laced with bitterness, "to be groomed and prepared for... later."

"Later?" she pressed, her voice sharp now. "Thorne, no more lies."

He flinched, her words cutting deeper than he expected. "I was sent there by..."

"Your father," she interrupted, her voice firm but quiet.

"That man is not my father," Thorne growled, the words escaping with venom. He took a steadying breath, forcing his tone to soften. "He wanted me trained so that I could eventually take his place."

Selene laughed, a sharp, almost incredulous sound. "Thorne, the crime lord of Alvar," she said with a shake of her head.

"I'm glad I amuse you," he muttered, bitterness dripping from his words.

She waved a hand dismissively. "It's not that. It's just... absurd, all of it. My life has been turned upside down in a matter of days."

Thorne chuckled mirthlessly. "Welcome to my life. It's happened to me more than once."

Selene stopped, her gaze fixed on him. "I still can't believe that our relationship wasn't a part of your father's, sorry, that man's, master plan."

Her words struck harder than he wanted to admit. He sighed heavily. "It wasn't," he said firmly. "He didn't even know until recently. If anything, it was against his plans."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion etched into her features. "You're lying again, Thorne."

His jaw clenched, the tension palpable between them. "Alright," he snapped, his frustration bleeding through. "He made it part of his plans. But I refused to do what he instructed me."

Her gaze hardened. "Thorne?"

He shook his head, cutting her off. "You don't need to know, truly."

For a moment, she studied him, her eyes searching his face for answers he wasn't willing to give. Then, with a small nod, she let it go, resuming their walk.

"Where are we going?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

"Just up ahead," she said, pointing toward the faint outline of a clearing. "There's a small plateau. From there, we can see Alvar."

Thorne frowned but followed her lead. The faint creaking sound echoed again, closer this time. He forced himself to focus on Selene, though the unease gnawed at the back of his mind.

"So you..." she began, her voice detached, "you and your... master are responsible for my family's ruin."

Her tone was flat, as though the answer no longer mattered.

Thorne hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It might sound cold," he said finally, "but... everyone has a share of the blame. Me, you, your father, brother, Lord Thornfield, the Lockridges, Uncle... everyone."

Selene laughed, the sound devoid of humor. "How convenient."

She stopped suddenly, turning to face him. "How many people have you killed, Thorne?"

His steps faltered, his heart pounding in his chest. "I..." He swallowed hard. "I don't know. I've lost count."

She nodded slowly, as if the answer was exactly what she expected.

"Ah," she said, her voice lighter, pointing ahead. "There it is."

The trees thinned, revealing a small plateau bathed in moonlight. The ground rose gently, leading to a single, gnarled tree standing sentinel over the wild grass. Selene tugged his hand, pulling him forward.

"Do you love me?" she asked suddenly, her voice soft but clear.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation, the truth slipping out before he could think.

She froze, her back to him, her hand still clasped in his. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes wide and shimmering with unspoken emotion.

"You didn't lie," she whispered.

Thorne shook his head, the faint flicker of light beneath his glove catching his eye again. But Selene stepped closer, her grip tightening around his hand, drawing his focus back to her.

"Let's go," she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly.

He followed her lead, his unease growing as the creaking sound grew louder, the fleeting light appearing at the edge of his vision. But Thorne pushed the dread aside, his attention anchored to Selene. Whatever was coming, he would face it.

Thorne's focus locked onto the tree, his heart a storm of emotions as the shadows came into sharp relief. Among the gnarled branches, four black figures swayed lifelessly. The sound, the ominous, creaking rhythm, was unmistakable. A tight rope strained against the weight of the bodies hanging from the branches.

Selene released his hand, her presence at once grounding and distant. Thorne's steps were slow, methodical, carrying him closer to the ghastly sight. His eyes took in every detail, his mind unwilling but unable to turn away.

These were no nameless corpses; he knew them. The faces of the Lost Ones stared back at him, pale and lifeless. He had fought alongside them, shared the same dangers, yet here they were, broken, discarded, and dead.

Selene's soft voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. "I told you I was safe."

He took a steadying breath, though the words clawed at him. "It appears so," he said quietly.

But inside, his mind raged. He was sick of it, sick of seeing familiar faces turned into lifeless remnants. How many more would he have to bury? How many more would be casualties of his choices?

"Thorne," Selene said, her voice trembling. "Were you the one who killed my father?"

There it was the question they had both dreaded.

He wanted to laugh at the bitter irony. Selene, his once pure and untainted love, had brought him here with purpose. She wanted to unbalance him, to pull his grief and anger to the surface, to push him into confessing truths she already suspected. She wasn't naïve anymore; he had poisoned her with his lies and manipulations, turned her into someone who could scheme and play her own games.

"No," he replied evenly.

Selene sighed, the sound of her relief audible.

"Did you know about it?" she pressed, her voice softer now but no less insistent.

Thorne's jaw tightened. His glowing eyes didn't leave the dead Lost Ones swaying in the branches. "Yes."

He heard her breath catch, the silence stretching out between them. The quiet became a chasm filled with their shared pain, regrets, and unspoken words.

Finally, Selene's voice broke through again, quieter but laced with intention. "You know... I didn't bring you here just to see your friends."

Thorne startled slightly, feeling her fingers interlace with his. Her touch was both intimate and devastating. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he could feel her warmth, her nearness, a cruel comfort amidst the chaos.

"I wanted to see the sky with you," she whispered.

Thorne turned to look at her, his heart heavy. Selene's gaze was fixed on the heavens, her expression unreadable.

"My brother promised me fireworks tonight," she said softly, almost wistfully.

A chill ran down Thorne's spine as unease coiled tighter in his gut.

"Look at the stars," Selene said, raising her hand and pointing to the night sky. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Thorne's gaze followed hers, his glowing eyes scanning the glittering expanse above. The moon hung bright and full, casting its silver light across the world. But then he saw them... The stars Selene spoke of.

There, in the sea of white light, were specks of red. Blood red.

A deep frown creased Thorne's brow. Those weren't stars. His stomach churned as they seemed to grow brighter, larger, with each passing moment.

"There!" Selene exclaimed with delight, pointing to one in particular.

Thorne's breath hitched as realization struck. His eyes widened, his mouth dry as he whispered, "Selene?"

"Yes?" she replied, her voice soft and distant, oblivious to the terror rising in him.

"Selene," he repeated, this time louder, his voice shaking.

The stars weren't stars. They were moving, growing, their ominous red glow staining the sky. The moonlight seemed to pale in comparison, swallowed by the approaching crimson light.

A low, keening noise filled the air, rising steadily as the stars descended. A primal fear gripped Thorne, an ancient, helpless terror in the face of something unstoppable.

He turned to Selene, gripping her shoulders. "We need to leave," he said, desperation thick in his voice.

She looked up at him with those sad, knowing eyes. "Maybe after tonight, you'll just be Thorne," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Not the son of a monster."

Thorne's hands shook as he pulled her closer, his vision blurring. A flicker of light drew his attention downward. His glove... no, the mark beneath it.

"No," he whispered, pulling off the leather glove with frantic urgency.

The mark of the crow flared to life, pulsing with purple light. The aether around him quivered and rippled like a living thing, feeding off the ominous energy in the air.

"Selene," he begged, his voice breaking.

Her eyes glistened as the crimson stars grew larger, plummeting toward the earth with terrifying speed.

Behind her, the first star struck. A brilliant explosion of red light obliterated the horizon, consuming Alvar in an instant. Shockwaves rippled through the ground, and a deafening roar filled the air.

Selene's voice was a faint echo in the chaos, her words carried away by the devastation. "Aren't they beautiful?"

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