The girl was thrown into my carriage mere moments before we began to move.
She wore a simple black shirt and trousers, lying opposite me on the carpeted floor, motionless.
The sun had risen above the treetops, golden light filtering through the curtains as the carriage rolled steadily through the dense forest.
Soon, we would be free of the Forest of Nights.
As the sunlight grew stronger, piercing through the towering canopy, it marked the nearing edge of Aestherisin territory. We were close now—closer than I'd anticipated.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to the quiet rhythm of hooves on earth. The trees outside were thinning.
A balding man rode up beside the carriage. He leaned toward the window, his horse keeping pace with us.
"Sir, are we really going to let him have her?" he asked, just as a pale hand reached out from within the carriage to draw the curtain aside.
George, riding ahead inside the front compartment, turned his head toward the man. "What do you want to do, Sarim?"
"This is the territory of House Aestherisin," George said flatly.
Sarim met his gaze. "And we'll soon be in the human world," he replied with a faint smile.
George frowned. "Still... I don't trust this. That man—he's not just some wandering noble."
"I thought the same before," George said. "But he saw through it all—and he still chose to follow us."
"He thinks he can survive?" Sarim scoffed.
George's tone sharpened. "If he can't... then we take the girl. But don't forget—you're speaking of the Crown Prince of House Aestherisin."
He let the curtain fall shut.
George had once been an Aestherisin himself, before the current ruler had taken the throne. He had turned his back on his bloodline and entered the service of the Trinity.
Sarim had hoped George was simply rediscovering his roots, but he knew better than to tempt the wrath of Aestherisin. Even with a weaker king on the throne, the House had endured—and that endurance was due to its Pillars.
Of the Four Pillars of Aestherisin, only one—Frozen Time—was publicly known. The others had faded into legend, and yet their presence alone was enough to prevent any of the Four Houses from challenging Aestherisin's strength.
Even the Trinity treaded lightly around the Pillars.
Sarim, a man of House Noctarion, had always trusted his instincts. They were the only reason he'd survived this long, despite lacking raw power. And those instincts now screamed at him: if he ever raised a hand against the Prince... he would die before realizing what had struck him.
A shudder ran down his spine. He nudged his horse forward.
The procession continued in silence.
Inside the carriage, the girl stirred. Her yellow eyes opened slowly.
She lay perfectly still. She was in her human form. That wasn't surprising—what was surprising was that she wasn't on the cold forest floor. She was lying on something soft.
A carpet? No... it felt too plush.
As her vision cleared, she lifted her gaze. First, she saw his polished boots. Then up—white garments, silver hair, a striking face, and a well-built figure cloaked in elegance.
Then it all came rushing back.
Last night. The fight. The crushing grip on her neck. Darkness.
But how had she ended up here?
She stared at the man before her—handsome now, yes, but in her memory, he had been something else entirely. A monster.
"Had enough staring?" he said without opening his eyes.
She flinched. His voice was calm, almost lazy. But when he looked at her, she froze.
Where his eyes should have been, there was only silver—pure, endless silver.
She had to escape.
She had to kill him.
The decision came as naturally as breathing. Without hesitation, she lunged.
She didn't even see the blow coming. She felt it—a burning sting across her cheek, followed by the deafening sound of a slap that sent her crashing back into the floor. The entire carriage jolted.
"Quite the wild dog," the man said with a faint smile. The same smile he wore last night—fangs gleaming, silver eyes gleaming eerily.
She stared at him, dazed.
She didn't know who he was. She'd lived her whole life in the forest with her grandfather. But she remembered his warning. The one he'd repeated every morning.
"If you ever see one with colored eyes... run. Run as fast as you can."
She hadn't run. She'd been caught.
"And if you're caught, fight. Fight with everything you have."
Her vision sharpened. Her body responded. Her teeth elongated—razor sharp—and she lunged again, sinking them deep into his thigh.
Blood filled her mouth.
It wasn't metallic.
It was sweet. Enchanting. Her instincts faltered at the taste.
The man gently stroked her black hair.
"You could've just told me you were hungry," he said, chuckling.
She stared up at him in confusion, blood still on her lips.
Then he gripped her hair and yanked her head back.
A chunk of flesh tore free with her, and as she looked down, she saw the wound already knitting itself closed—silver blood stitching the skin as if it had never been touched.
And then she remembered the last thing her grandfather had said.
"If their eyes are silver… bow your head. Accept your fate. Never, ever try to run from those refined monsters with silver eyes."
Her blood ran cold.
"Now," the man said softly, "it's my turn."
Before she could react, he seized her black hair near the scalp again and pulled her upwards, near him. In a blink, his fangs pierced her neck.
She gasped as her blood was drawn. She tried to fight—but then she remembered the old man's words.
And she lowered her head.
Her strength ebbed away.