Iseult Montfort stood at the entrance of the great hall, her expression unreadable, her presence like a shadow consuming the light. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the distant flickering of torches against the stone walls. This was the night she had waited for—the night of reckoning.
She stepped forward, her movements slow, deliberate. The gathered members of her family, the ones who had once ruled with cruelty, now trembled before her. Some clung to desperate prayers, others whispered her name in horror. But Iseult felt nothing. No pity. No remorse.
Her cold gaze settled on her father, the man who had shaped her into what she was. He sat still, his face a mixture of defiance and dread. He had taught her that weakness was a curse, that mercy was betrayal. Tonight, she would prove she had learned that lesson well.
Without a word, she raised her dagger and plunged it into his heart, watching as the life drained from his eyes. One by one, the others followed, their pleas fading into silence. The weight of their sins soaked into the marble floor, pooling at her feet like an offering to the darkness.
Yet, not all would die.
She turned to her younger brother, the only one who had never raised a hand against her. He stood frozen, his body trembling, but his eyes—his eyes held something different. Not fear. Not hatred. Only sorrow.
Iseult stepped closer, lifting his chin with a single finger. "Run," she murmured. "Run, and do not look back. This is the only mercy I will ever grant you."
He did not hesitate. He turned and disappeared into the night, leaving behind the ruins of a family that no longer existed.
Iseult exhaled, her chest rising with the weight of finality. The Montfort name was finished, and from its ashes, something far darker had been born.