"Where did Gazel disappear to so suddenly?" Silvia wondered, scanning the hall. Her absence was abrupt, but rather than concern, Silvia felt a flicker of relief settle in her chest.
She slipped out of the crowded ballroom and stepped into the open air, breathing in deeply, her lips curving into a soft smile. "At last, I can hide away where no one will see me. That way, I won't have to talk to anyone. Maybe that accident was a blessing in disguise."
Her dress was still damp from the ordeal inside, but she wasn't remotely upset about it. If anything, it provided her with the perfect excuse—her attire was now unsuitable for mingling with nobles, meaning she had every reason to avoid introducing herself. No one could blame her for not wanting to humiliate her family in such a state.
She glanced around, searching for a secluded spot where she could wait for the ball to end. Somewhere quiet, away from prying eyes.
But even as she planned her retreat, another thought took hold of her mind.
"Where is Jordan now?"
If she could find him, perhaps they could finally talk. Settle their differences. That was how she saw it—how she hoped it would be.
After wandering for a while, Silvia stumbled upon a parapet so exquisitely adorned that it left her momentarily breathless. She had never seen such lush greenery before—not in her entire life. The extravagant gardens of the Countess's mansion stretched endlessly before her, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, their light casting a warm shimmer over a breathtaking display of flowers.
"This is nothing like BillowWood," she murmured to herself, awe flickering in her gaze.
She wandered deeper into the garden, drinking in the fresh scent of blooming petals, the crisp night air carrying whispers of floral sweetness. As she walked, she noticed a perfectly trimmed row of tall trees forming a winding pathway ahead.
"Is this a maze?" she wondered aloud, tilting her head. "I've heard of these before, but I thought they were just stories. It looks real."
Her curiosity was mild—Silvia was not the kind to pry—but just as she prepared to turn away, a hushed murmur floated past the trees.
She paused.
The voices were low and almost indiscernible, but something about them sent an eerie chill down her spine.
Then, as if fate wished to torment her, she caught a few words.
"The Duchess's carriage is about to reach the mansion, Master. Please give the order, and I will bring you her severed head."
Silvia's breath hitched.
Her blood ran cold, and an unbidden gasp escaped her lips.
Snap.
The brittle twig beneath her foot broke like a cracking bone, the sharp sound splitting the silence.
Everything stopped.
"Who's there?!" The deep voice from before thundered, now sharp with suspicion.
Silvia's limbs felt frozen, her body numb with terror. Her mind raced, but she couldn't move. 'An assassin…? If they find me, I'll be dead!'
Before she could think of an escape, another voice—lower, eerily calm yet laced with unmistakable bloodlust—spoke again.
"Bring them."
The unmistakable hiss of a blade being unsheathed followed.
No! I can't die here!
Just then, from the distance, a loud announcement rang across the estate.
"The Duchess of Glorianda has arrived!"
The sudden proclamation sent a jolt through Silvia's paralyzed body. It was so loud, so commanding, that she almost missed what the man said next. But she had no time to process it.
Desperation took over.
With no other options, she shoved herself into the dense hedge behind her, twisting her body into the thick leaves and branches, pulling her dress in with her. The sharp twigs scratched at her skin, tangling in her gown, but she forced herself deeper into the foliage until she became one with the garden.
Curled into the shrubbery, her breathing shallow, her heart thundered so violently she feared they might hear it. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she didn't dare let them fall.
She didn't dare move.
She could only pray they wouldn't find her.
Crunch. Crunch.
The sound of stealthy footsteps creeping around the shrubs was all Silvia could hear. Her nerves were frayed, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. With one hand, she clutched at her pounding heart, while the other tightened over her mouth, ensuring not even a whimper escaped.
Through the gaps in the dense leaves, she saw the figures of men in uniforms moving past her. The flickering torchlight barely illuminated their faces, but she could make out the sharp vigilance in their eyes.
Tears had already welled up, blurring her vision.
'Please… please just go away.'
She chanted the words in her head, hoping, praying.
And for a moment, it seemed as if they would. The men continued their search, scanning the area, but eventually, they wandered ahead, their footsteps fading into the distance.
Silvia's shoulders slumped. A trembling breath slipped past her lips.
Relief.
But before she could even move—
Slash!
A sword cut through the trees with a sickening hiss, slicing through the branches in front of her.
Silvia barely had time to react before the cold, gleaming edge stopped just shy of her throat.
"Gasp!"
Her body seized, trembling violently.
"If one must hide—they should hide their scent as well."
The voice was calm. Too calm.
Tears pricked at her lashes as she sat frozen, too terrified to turn toward the man who had spoken. But she knew. She knew without a doubt—this was the same voice that had ordered the men to seize her.
The one they called Master.
"P-please," she stammered, barely able to force the words past her dry throat. "I—I only came here for some fresh air... I don't want to die."
Her voice cracked into a choked whisper.
The man was tall, clad in dark garments that draped like shadows around him. White gloves covered his hands, pristine and unblemished, yet eerily out of place against the weapon he wielded. His sword bore an intricate pattern she didn't recognize, its craftsmanship too refined for an ordinary soldier.
Then—he pulled back his blade.
His gloved fingers pushed aside the leaves as he crouched, leveling himself with her hiding place.
And that was when Silvia saw him.
Her breath hitched.
Eyes—gray, void of warmth, as if drained of all color. His face, pale to the point of lifelessness, was partially obscured by a mask, concealing the left side entirely. A deep hood shrouded his head, yet strands of stark white hair peeked from beneath it.
'Is he even human?'
His features were hauntingly hollow, his sunken eyes shadowed by exhaustion, dark circles framing them as if sleep had never once touched him.
"Please," she whimpered, clutching her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white.
The man's unreadable gaze bore into her—not as though he was seeing her, but rather… simply looking in her direction.
Then, after a long pause, he spoke again.
"Today, only one must die."
His voice was heavy with fatigue, yet laced with something chillingly resolute.
"That one is not you. But you will not be this lucky next time, miss."
His words sent an icy shiver down her spine.
"Until then—live well."
And just like that, he stood, sliding his sword back into its sheath. Without sparing her another glance, he turned and walked away, his presence melting into the shadows as though he had never been there at all.