Alaric materialized on the balcony of his chambers, his form emerging from shadow and mist. The moment he stepped onto the cold stone, an ominous stillness wrapped around him like a vice.
The air carried a thick, metallic scent, a palpable weight of pain, and despair that suffocated his lungs. Blood, her blood.
His heart thundered. It was more than unsettling; it was a foreboding symphony that made his pulse thunder like war drums.
He hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground as if stepping further into the room would unravel him completely.
The blood in the air screamed her name, and his entire body tensed. The stillness of the room was louder than any scream.
He wanted to believe it was nothing—a figment of his heightened imagination—but the truth was undeniable. He couldn't hear her heartbeat.
What has happened?
His mind spiraled into chaos, the same question looping like a curse.
What has happened?
