The night felt heavier as Alaric returned to the mansion, the conversation with the Blackwoods lingering in his mind. The grand entrance of his home welcomed him with its familiar dark elegance, but something about it felt different tonight. The wind had picked up, carrying with it a sense of unease, as if the mansion itself sensed the storm that was brewing just beyond the horizon.
As Alaric stepped through the front doors, his sharp eyes caught every detail around him—servants moving with quiet efficiency, torches flickering along the walls, and the shadows that stretched in every corner. Gilbert stood at the entrance, waiting patiently, his hands clasped in front of him as always, ready to attend to any orders.
"Master," Gilbert greeted him with a respectful bow, his face betraying no emotion, though his eyes watched Alaric carefully. "You've returned."
