The air was thick with the stench of blood and death, the metallic tang of it coating my tongue with every ragged breath I drew. I could hardly feel my hands anymore, raw and slick with blood where the chains cut into my wrists. My fingers, trembling with the last remnants of strength I possessed, scraped helplessly at the cold stone beneath me, trying to push myself closer to my father and brother.

But I couldn't move. The weight of the chains felt like the weight of the world itself, dragging me down, making every inch gained a battle I couldn't win.

I didn't need to see the full extent of my father's injuries to know that he was already gone. His once-powerful frame lay twisted on the ground beside me, his chest motionless, his eyes staring at nothing. The proud Earl Sebastian Vale, the man who had ruled the Vale region with honor and integrity, now reduced to a lifeless husk in a pool of his own blood. His face, once filled with wisdom and quiet strength, now bore the pallor of death. The sight of it twisted my insides, and a sob rose in my throat, choking me.

But it was Lucas, my fiery, stubborn brother, whose shallow breaths haunted me the most. He was lying just beyond Father, his bloodied hand barely visible, twitching as if still clinging to life. His face was smeared with dirt and blood, his dark curls matted to his forehead, but it was his eyes that broke me. They weren't the lively, defiant eyes of the boy I had grown up with. They were distant, glassy, filled with nothing but pain and confusion as he struggled to breathe.

"Lucas..." I whispered, my voice hoarse from screaming, my throat raw from the agony of watching my family torn apart. "Please... don't leave me. Please..."

But he didn't answer. He didn't even look at me. His chest rose and fell in shallow, irregular gasps, each one weaker than the last.

No. Not like this.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and stinging as they streaked down my cheeks. I tugged at the chains again, desperation burning through my veins like wildfire. If I could just reach him, if I could just hold his hand—maybe, somehow, I could give him the strength to hold on. But the chains held me fast, biting deeper into my wrists with every futile pull.

I was powerless. Utterly, devastatingly powerless.

A sob tore from my throat, but it was swallowed by the cold, uncaring silence that filled the room. The stone walls of the dungeon loomed around me like the bars of a cage, their ancient surfaces slick with moisture and the faint, sickening scent of decay. This was the place where my family would die. This was the place where everything I loved would be taken from me.

And standing above me, like a dark shadow cast by the flickering torchlight, was Idris Gordondale.

Even in the dim, suffocating gloom of the dungeon, his presence dominated the room. His silver hair gleamed in the faint light, and his blue eyes—once so striking, so mesmerizing—were now cold and distant, devoid of any warmth or humanity. He was no longer the distant, quiet figure I had known as the Duke's youngest son. Here, in this dark and terrible place, he was something else entirely.

A monster.

He stood tall and unmoving, his posture rigid with authority, a figure so devoid of emotion that it chilled me to the core. His face, sculpted like a statue, showed no signs of remorse, no flicker of pity for the lives he had just destroyed. He looked down at me as though I were nothing more than a piece of debris—a nuisance to be swept aside.

Why? Why was he doing this? What had we done to deserve this?

I wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but my throat was too raw, too hoarse from the hours I had already spent pleading, begging for mercy. My voice cracked as I forced the words out. "Why?"

He blinked, the faintest movement in an otherwise statuesque figure. His cold eyes met mine, and for the briefest of moments, I thought I saw something—something like recognition, or maybe amusement—flicker behind that icy exterior.

"Why?" I asked again, my voice trembling with desperation and fury. "Why are you doing this? We did nothing wrong! My father was loyal to your family! He would never—"

"Loyalty is a fickle thing," Idris said, his voice as cold and sharp as the blade in his hand. His gaze swept over me, and there was something detached, almost clinical, in the way he looked at me—as though I were already dead, and he was simply deciding how to finish the job.

"You and your family sought power," he continued, his tone devoid of emotion, almost bored. "You threatened the stability of this region, and for that, you must be eliminated."

My heart raced, my blood pounding in my ears as his words settled over me like a suffocating blanket. He truly believed this—believed that my family, the Vale family, had somehow conspired against him, against the Duke. But it wasn't true. My father had been nothing but loyal to the Gordondale family. He had served them faithfully, with honor and respect. And now... now we were being executed like common traitors.

"You're wrong," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. "You're wrong about us. We... we didn't..."

But he wasn't listening. He had already made his decision, and nothing I said would change it.

The glint of his sword caught the moonlight filtering in through the barred windows, casting a silver sheen across the dungeon floor. My breath hitched as he raised the blade high, his movements smooth and deliberate, like an executioner preparing to deliver the final blow.

"Please..." I whispered, tears streaming down my face as I looked up at him, my vision blurring. "Please... don't do this..."

But Idris was unmoved. His face remained cold, his eyes fixed on mine with a distant, almost detached expression. And then, with a swift, fluid motion, he brought the sword down.

The pain was immediate and excruciating, a sharp, searing agony that shot through my chest as the blade pierced my flesh. I gasped, my body convulsing as the shock of it rippled through me. My heart hammered against my ribcage, each beat sending fresh waves of agony coursing through my veins.

I could feel the life draining out of me, feel the warmth of my blood as it spilled onto the cold stone floor. My vision blurred, the edges of the world fading into darkness as I struggled to hold on, to stay conscious. But it was no use. The darkness was pulling me under, dragging me down into its cold embrace.

And yet, even as the darkness swallowed me, I clung to one final thought.

Idris Gordondale would pay for this.

I fixed my gaze on his face, even as the world began to spin and blur around me. His blue eyes were still locked on mine, but now... now there was something else in them. A faint glow, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. His once-blue eyes were turning green, the eerie, unnatural color of the full moon reflected in their depths.

I wanted to scream, to curse him with my dying breath, but no sound came. My body was too weak, too broken. My vision darkened, the pain dulling as the world around me faded into nothingness.

And then... silence.

But in that silence, in the cold, empty void of death, something stirred.

A warmth. A pulse of energy, faint at first, but growing stronger, spreading through my veins like fire. It pushed back the cold, the pain, the darkness, filling me with a strange, unfamiliar strength.

I gasped, a sudden rush of air filling my lungs as the world around me shifted and changed. The cold stone floor beneath me was gone, replaced by something soft and warm. The heavy chains, the suffocating weight of death... all of it was fading away.

I wasn't dead. I was alive.

But how?