"Why is she here?" Astrid's voice came low, her breath barely stirring the air between them. Her gaze tracked the fading silhouette of Lady Mary as she glided out of the hall with Lady Dahlia.
"She's finding a way to cure herself," Adeena replied, tone neutral. But her eyes—glowing ever so faintly under the sun's waning light—said otherwise. Amber lit like molten sap, a trace of her bloodline made visible only under shadow or moonlight.
She didn't need to look at Mary to understand her. Adeena's gaze had already scanned her entire form—her veins, brittle bones, the rot creeping under every layer of powder. Even the air Mary exhaled reeked faintly of decay.
She wouldn't be that sick if she stopped lacing every inch of her skin with poison, Adeena thought dryly.
She might've helped—if Mary weren't from Central City.
But this wasn't charity. This was survival. Their presence here was supposed to be secret, bought with a price too steep to say aloud. The promise had been clear: if their uncle let them go, if he claimed the Wisteria name, the household, the wealth, then Aidan, Naina, and Adeena were to vanish from its legacy. They could never use the name again.
What would they do if they knew? That Gloria, not Wisteria, held the future? Their father had built it with uncanny foresight—his final rebellion carved into land, not war. She had the title, the key. She just hadn't dared use it yet.
They would come again—those vultures in silk and gold. The greedy, the scared. The very ones who destroyed her family.
Her teeth clenched.
"How dare she call me a bastard."
"She's the bastard," Adeena muttered once the hall emptied.
Astrid gasped with a half-laugh. "Oh my, Adeena, you shouldn't have said that."
Adeena's eyes remained on the horizon. "I saw my father, My Lady. She's the one born of wedlock, hidden beneath gilded laws."
Astrid chuckled, clearly entertained. "Even if it's true, you can't say that aloud. She's a princess. You could be executed."
But she didn't seem truly concerned. She tossed the warning with a grin as she helped take off Astrid's damp dress into a dry robe—soft white fabric embroidered with Raellan flowers at the hem. The household sigil shimmered faintly at the collar.
Adeena didn't lower her head. She had spoken the truth. That's what they feared most.
"They silence mouths to protect power," she said, adjusting her damp sleeves. "That's all they've ever done."
Astrid didn't answer right away. She was still watching Adeena. Not with suspicion. With… curiosity. As though weighing her.
And maybe fear.
Astrid was always near, following like a shadow. But sometimes, when Adeena turned too quickly or spoke too boldly, Astrid would flinch—like a master unsure whether her pet would bite.
The maids nearby tried not to react. But they'd heard Adeena's words. They'd seen her confidence. Her truth.
"She must have noble blood," one of them whispered once out of earshot.
"Then why is she here?" asked the person next to her. The three of them looked at each other at the same time. Deciding it is best not to talk about it again. Especially in the halls of Raellan.
But one thing's for sure: her power was once greater, noting no one talked bad about this Wisterian girl.
"Hide what they will," Adeena said under her breath, "but Lord Bertram could spread his seed as he pleased, and no one called it adultery. If the roles were reversed, though… it would be just like the painting Melinda once made."
What was written about my family—they executed us to bury their fear. Her father's legacy threatened empires. His mind was his weapon. And her brother…
Aidan was just like him.
Except for one thing.
He lacks the courage to fight in the open.
He could heal, create, rebuild.
But I—
I will become the sword.
Healer or assassin—it didn't matter anymore. She remembered how her mother was sold. How Aunt Angelica was stripped of her name.
Aidan can heal. I'll be the one who strikes back.
"My lady," said one of the senior maids, stepping in with a small bow.
Astrid pressed Adeena's palm, smiled a bit before telling her she is done and will go with the other maids that are responsible for dressing her up.
"See you tomorrow," Astrid bid farewell.
Astrid waved her off. "It's fine. You're dismissed."
"You may clean yourself before you leave. I grant it."
The women bowed, allowing the Lady to walk ahead and follow the Raellan girl from behind. Adeena walked down the marble steps into the bathing courtyard, trailing through white silken veils that danced in the breeze.
Raellan's famous garden framed the open bath. Moon-roses, silver thistles, and dusklilies bloomed in elegant disorder, scenting the air with floral musk. The pool itself reflected the hills, the sky, the faint blush of late day.
A pillar stood tall in its center, wrapped in climbing vines and framed with soft white drapery. The wind caught the cloth, making it ripple like water itself. Light filtered through the sheer fabric, weaving patterns across the surface.
She slipped into the warm water.
The pool was steep—deep enough to submerge fully. The oil in it clung softly to her skin, fragrant, golden. As she dipped below the surface, her limbs felt weightless, her mind clear.
Beneath the surface, her eyes opened.
She wasn't afraid of glowing. Her people's bones always shimmered faintly under moonlight. That's how they caught Father. How they killed Aidan.
She froze.
No. Not Aidan.
Not yet.
"How did it happen!? How!"
Embracing the memories of her mother's scream when one man walked into their house nine years ago.
Trembling, stuttering, her mother plopped to the ground, losing her mind—
"You lied—he can't die that way, I refuse to believe my lover is dead!"
"They knew—they knew what can kill Red, My Lady," a brown-skinned man kneeled in front of her mother, whispering something so she couldn't hear, so that 10-year-old girl saw through the back of her mother's head. Reading the lips of that man.
"It was—"
She surfaced slowly, water cascading down her hair like a curtain.
The words echoed in her head.
"That leads to the fruit of envy," she remembered her mother whispering. "Once you bite it, there's no return… unless death comes."
Behind her, laughter rang out.
The three younger maids had joined the bath, slipping into the warm water shyly. Adeena turned toward them with a soft, disarming smile—masking everything beneath.
And swam toward them.
Gloria
The last rays of dusk clung to the edges of the rooftops, casting long, jagged shadows through Gloria. Adeena walked with purpose, her burgundy cloak trailing like spilled wine across the cobblestones, her steps quick and clipped. The pool's warmth was still fresh on her skin, but the joy in her voice earlier had already been discarded like a robe.
A group of villagers stood near the front gate, chatting idly, still dirt-streaked from a long day's work. Adeena passed them with a bright smile, masking the cold storm brewing within.
"Lady Adeena! You came back late today," called one of the older women, patting flour from her apron.
"Lost track of time," Adeena replied with practiced cheer. "The girls challenged me to a breath-holding contest. I won, of course."
Laughter rippled among them.
"We'll be harvesting fevergrass at dawn," said another man, lifting a woven crate of herbs. "Could use quick fingers."
"I'll be there," she promised, then turned away before the tremor in her voice could betray her. Her hand clenched at her side.
Aidan. Why aren't you home?
She followed the scent—not of blood, but of iron and camphor and something bitter that always clung to Dmitri's clinic. Her steps picked up. She barely noticed Ian as he approached from the stable path, waving eagerly.
"Lady Adeena—"
She shoved past him without a word. Ian stumbled, caught only by the reins of a tethered goat. Her eyes didn't even flick to him.
There was no smoke from the chimney above her brother's cabin.
Not a whisper of life.
Her eyes narrowed. "That bloody old fool…"
Then she saw it.
A glint of golden hair among the crowd—faint but unmistakable. Lady Mary. Cloaked and veiled, trying to disappear into the dusk. A coppery scent hung in the air like perfume. Blood. Old blood. Familiar.
Her kin's blood.
Her fury followed her all the way to the bridge where Dmitri's clinic squatted like a guilty shadow.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her boots hit the stone bridge one after another, revealing her face. She wasn't smiling. Dmitri was still in his position, waiting for her like a guilty child.
Did he imagine the call? Maybe he didn't. It wasn't hallucination, because the aura that is coming to him is indeed fluctuating by the same person.
Those amber eyes shine in the dark.
"Where is my brother?" Her eyes landed on the backpack strap. Dmitri held it tighter, gulping—afraid it will be taken by her.
"I know he's inside. I felt his presence."
"But weak—were you torturing him?" Her lips trembled as she said that. Frightening indeed, only if Aidan could see this behaviour. She will transform into a nice young girl in front of her brother.
Behind his back, this girl might have blood on her hands.
"No," he lied.
"I know you lied."
"I'm not!" His knees were wobbling.
"Give me the bag then," Adeena pushed Dmitri by walking closer and closer. Her height getting higher, taller, heavier. Her voice felt heavy.
Dmitri felt heavy. The bell on the door rang a couple of times just as how he was frightened by this sudden visit.
"Poke all you want, drain as much blood as you can, but if I see a scar on him? I'll put a scar on your head, Uncle."
She sneered.
"Bear in mind I let you off not because you are family, but my brother trusted you. Therefore, I trust you to keep that hair yourself, because if I ever see nor hear strangers' lips moving, asking the direction to where that lovely wig came from? I'll pluck that heart of yours."
"Uncle."
Adeena finished the talk. Gripping the doorknob—entering the building as if she were the owner of it.
Clang—
Dmitri's teeth clacked. She's scary! Blood pumping fiercely throughout his body. He must sell these 'items' tonight.
This is the special item people have been waiting for months. Aidan wouldn't mind. It's in the contract.
I won't be held responsible for it. This is money! I'll just make sure the buyers keep their mouths shut, that's all.
The clinic was dim, quiet save for the steady creak of wind nudging the loose shutters. Shadows pooled in corners like old secrets. Aidan lay motionless on the cot—skin ashen, chest rising with an unsettling stillness. He wasn't asleep.
He was fading.
Adeena stood beside him, her hands trembling but steady in intent. The burgundy cloak had slipped from her shoulders. Her sleeves rolled up.
She had felt it the moment she stepped past the gate—his presence, flickering.
The core was growing unstable.
She touched the center of his back lightly, just above the spine. Her palm warmed.
The room brightened—not from the lamp—but from within them.
A golden thread unraveled from her fingertips, weaving into his skin, searching, seeking.
And then—there.
A faint glow beneath his skin. Like a jewel buried in flesh.
She pressed harder. Her breath hitched. "Forgive me, Aidan."
With her other hand, she drew her fingers across her own back, right at the dip of her spine. The heat was unbearable. It stung, sliced, then burned inward.
A whisper of gold peeled from Aidan's body—a core, round and shimmering like condensed starlight, pulsing faintly with his life. It resisted.
His body twitched on the cot. His fingers spasmed.
Still, she drew it out—inch by glowing inch. Like extracting a soul.
Then from her own back, another light emerged—her own core, more luminous, brighter, but marked with the faintest crack near the center. That fracture held a shadow of what she had done. What she had become.
She stared at it for just a moment too long.
Then moved.
With breath held and muscles clenched, she placed her core into Aidan's spine.
And his into hers.
The air shivered as their magic shifted.
For a moment, both cores hovered—each recognizing their new vessel, hesitating.
And then—
Snap.
Threads of ancient gold unraveled around them—binding them together again. One strand looped from his chest to hers, another from spine to spine. They shimmered faintly like spider silk in moonlight, tangling their essence.
Aidan arched with a sharp gasp. His face twisted. A low cry rumbled in his throat—but it was over quickly.
Adeena winced, hand still pressed against her back.
A faint scar bloomed beneath her left eye. Barely visible. But it ran from the edge of her lower lid down to her cheek.
Like a tear that had carved itself into skin.
A sign of a Niran who had taken a life.
But also a sister who wouldn't lose her brother.
She slumped slightly, breath shallow but firm. "Now we'll know, Aidan. If you vanish—I'll feel it. If your heart stops—I'll hear it in mine."
Behind her, the lamp on the wall flickered.
And then it happened.
In the corner of the room, tucked beside a cabinet, an old lantern flickered to life. No flame inside. No fuel. Just a quiet glow. Like it was responding to the shift. The light from within looked oddly familiar—the exact shimmer of Aidan's core.
The same glow that often poured from his cabin window at night.
She turned to look at it, brows twitching.
A signal…? Or a safeguard?
Perhaps he had prepared for this moment. Perhaps his core had always been calling home.
She sat beside him again, watching his breathing return to steadiness. Her hand brushed his hair from his face.
"You'll live now," she whispered. "Even if something comes for me… you'll live."
And she would feel every beat of his heart, every time it fluttered with fear or joy or pain.
Their bond—strengthened by blood. Secured by soul.
Somewhere far away, in a hidden forest, a small Jara flower bloomed suddenly—one of its petals curling inwards. Golden veins pulsed through its stem, reacting to the shift in its bearer.
A guardian's flower.
A heart's mark.
A warning.