As if her parents' death and the burning of the Everhart estate—the only symbol of her childhood and family legacy—weren't enough, another tragedy, one far more horrifying, descended upon Evelyne Everhart when she woke up.
The carriage had come to a jarring halt. A suffocating silence hung heavy outside, unnatural in its stillness. Evelyne forced herself upright, every inch of her body protesting in pain. The sharp scent of blood flooded her senses, and panic gripped her chest.
The scene beyond the shattered carriage walls was a nightmare painted in blood. Crimson stains marred the pristine snow, and the lifeless forms of her servants lay scattered like broken dolls. Their frozen eyes, wide and empty, reflected the brutality of their deaths. Evelyne stumbled from the wreckage, her entire body trembling under the crushing weight of shock and despair.
Her stomach churned violently at the overwhelming sight—the blood, the stillness, the sheer horror of it all. She fell to her knees, retching into the snow. The bile burned her throat, but it did nothing to lessen the suffocating nausea.
Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as she forced herself to lift her head. "H-Hely…" she croaked, her voice barely audible. "Who… who did this?" She wanted to scream, to cry, but no sound escaped her trembling lips.
Deep claw marks tore through flesh and fabric alike. Evelyne's head spun as her mind threatened to give out. She had seen injuries before, even wounds inflicted by animals, but this… this was carnage beyond comprehension.
Then, amidst the deafening silence, a faint noise reached her ears—a wet, labored sound, barely perceptible.
Her heart jumped, a flicker of hope sparking in the depths of her despair. Someone was alive. Wiping her mouth with a shaking hand, Evelyne forced herself to stand. Her vision blurry, black spots dancing at the edges, but she clenched her fists and willed her body to move.
She finally found Isabella Kensley, her late mother's loyal knight, sprawled in the snow. Her armor was torn and battered, her body riddled with claw like wounds. Evelyne dropped to her knees beside her, nearly toppling over.
"Isabella!" Evelyne's voice cracked as she gripped the knight's hand. Her hands were ice-cold and trembling, barely able to hold on. "What happened?"
Isabella's bloodied fingers twitched weakly before wrapping around Evelyne's wrist. Her grip was feeble yet determined, a flicker of strength amidst the overwhelming weakness.
"It was…" Isabella rasped, each word strained. "An ambush… They… made it look like wolves. But…" Her words faded as her head slumped to the side, unconscious.
Evelyne's mind raced. Ambush? Made it look like wolves? None of it made sense. Her body ached, her head pounded, but she knew she had to act quickly. Isabella's breathing was faint but steady—a fragile reassurance in a world that felt like it was crumbling.
Then, somewhere in the distance, the sound of hoofbeats echoed through the forest, growing louder with each passing second. Evelyne's head snapped up, her breath hitching as a group of knights emerged from the treeline. Their polished armor gleamed in the pale winter light, the crest of House Reinhardt—a snow wolf howling at a crescent moon—emblazoned on their cloaks.
"Help!" Evelyne screamed, her voice raw and desperate. "Wolves attacked us! Please, help us!" She clutched her family crest tightly, omitting any mention of an ambush, uncertain of the truth herself.
The captain, a tall man with piercing light-blue eyes and a face weathered by years of service, signaled his men to halt. His gaze swept over her disheveled state and the blood-soaked snow with a mix of caution and concern. "Wolves?" he repeated, his voice calm but laced with doubt.
"Yes," Evelyne said, holding up her family's crest with trembling hands. "I am Evelyne Everhart. My knight, Dame Isabella, needs immediate help. Wild wolves attacked our carriage. My other servants…" Her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue. "They're all dead. Isabella is the only one left. Please…"
The captain studied her closely, his eyes narrowing slightly. After a long moment, he turned to one of his men. "Sir Alden, ride ahead to the estate. Inform His Grace of Lady Evelyne Everhart's presence and the attack. Spare no detail."
Sir Alden saluted and mounted his steed, galloping off into the forest without hesitation. Evelyne watched him disappear, a growing sense of unease knotting her stomach.
"Lady Evelyne," the captain said, his tone softening slightly, "we will take you to the estate. His Grace will decide what aid can be extended. Until then, we'll ensure your knight receives care."
Evelyne nodded faintly, too exhausted to argue or even process the underlying suspicion in his tone.
The journey to the Reinhardt estate was long and silent, the cold biting deeper with every passing minute. Evelyne rode stiffly, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the barren landscape unfolded around them. The northern lands were vast and desolate, the snow stretching endlessly beneath a twilight sky painted in hues of deep indigo.
When they reached the estate, night had fallen, and the fortress loomed against the darkness like a bastion of frost and stone. Its tall, frost-covered battlements were illuminated by mana-stones casting an eerie, pale glow. The sound of hooves on cobblestones echoed sharply as the knights led Evelyne through the vast iron gates into the estate's bustling courtyard.
Inside, the atmosphere was a flurry of activity. Servants hurried about with urgent precision, carrying supplies and obeying orders. The faint scent of pinewood smoke from the hearths mingled with the crisp chill of the northern air that lingered inside the halls. Evelyne's gaze darted around, noting the polished floors and austere decor, but her thoughts remained on Isabella.
Then a man stepped forward with practiced grace, his polished demeanor marking him as a man of importance. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit with sharp lapels and silver buttons that gleamed in the flickering light. His crisp white gloves and the silver chain of a pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat only added to his air of meticulous precision.
"Tend to the injured immediately," he commanded, his voice smooth and authoritative. He gestured toward the priests who were moving Isabella swiftly inside. Then he turned to Evelyne, bowing deeply.
"Lady Evelyne, I'm Sebastian Macalas, the Head Servant and Steward. On behalf of His Grace, I welcome you to House Reinhardt." His smile seemed goodwilled, his posture respectful, his manner polished, but something in his calm precision left Evelyne vaguely uneasy.
Evelyne returned the greeting, though her mind felt too scattered to think clearly. She simply nodded and clutched her skirt, lifting it faintly in an attempt at the noble courtesy expected of her.
Sebastian inclined his head graciously, continuing, "Please, rest assured—we have many priests proficient in healing magic. Your knight will receive the best care possible. For now, my lady, you should rest after all you've endured."
Evelyne stiffened at his suggestion, her brow furrowing. "No," she said quickly, her voice trembling but firm. "I can't rest, not while Isabella—" She stopped herself, glancing toward the door where the priests had carried her knight.
Sebastian's expression softened ever so slightly. "I understand your concern, my lady," he said in a calm, measured tone. "But you are exhausted and injured. And…" He hesitated for the briefest of moments, then added with a faintly rueful smile, "If you don't rest, His Grace may punish me for failing to ensure your recovery. Please, allow us to care for her. I promise, you will be informed of her condition as soon as there is any change."
Evelyne hesitated, torn between the overwhelming need to stay near Isabella and the truth of her own aching exhaustion. After a long moment, she exhaled shakily and nodded, her voice quieter when she spoke. "Then… I'd like a room close to hers. Please."
Sebastian inclined his head once more, a look of relief flickering briefly across his face. "Of course, my lady. This way."
As he led her through the dimly lit halls, the flickering sconces cast long shadows on the stone walls. The decor was austere but refined—portraits of previous Dukes adorned the corridors, and the snow wolf crest of House Reinhardt appeared frequently, carved into pillars and embroidered into tapestries. Yet Evelyne couldn't shake the faint unease that crept over her about Sebastian as he walked ahead. His movements were polished, his voice measured when he spoke, but there was something unreadable in the way he glanced back at her after each exchange. It felt calculated, as though he were gauging her reaction.
Finally, they reached her room. It was modest yet comfortable, with heavy curtains drawn against the cold and a small fire crackling in the hearth. A simple bed with fur-lined blankets stood against one wall, and a small table held a basin of warm water and a steaming cup of tea.
Sebastian inclined his head again. "If you need anything, my lady, simply call for the maids stationed nearby. Rest well."
Evelyne murmured her thanks, but as the door closed behind him, she exhaled shakily, the weight of the day pressing down on her. For a moment, she stood there, staring at the heavy wooden door, feeling the unsettling tension in her chest slowly subside.
Why? she wondered, frowning faintly. Why did he feel so unsettling to me? He had done nothing wrong, yet something unspoken about him lingered in the air, leaving her with a vague, restless discomfort.
Shaking off the thought, she turned toward the bed, exhaustion taking over as she pulled the fur blankets around her.
She sank onto the mattress, her body heavy with weariness, but her mind refused to quiet. Fragments of the nightmare flashed before her—the bloodstained snow, lifeless bodies, and Isabella's faint, haunting words: Ambush. Made it look like wolves.
She lay back against the pillows, pulling the blankets close, yet every time her eyes closed, the carnage replayed behind her lids. The family crest sat on the bedside table, its weight cold and unyielding—a sharp reminder of all she had lost and the unanswered questions circling her mind.
Sleep came in fleeting, broken intervals. Evelyne would drift off for what felt like mere minutes, only to jolt awake, her heart racing at phantom sounds—the crunch of snow, the distant echo of howls. The quiet of the estate only amplified her unease, stirring echoes of the horrors she had witnessed. The silence felt too unnatural.