Apart from the oppressive atmosphere that was thick with the kind of murderous tension that made my chest feel like it was being slowly pressed inward..... there was nothing.
No monsters. No spells. No traps. No screaming.
Nothing.
Just dry wind against my cheeks, and a strange silence that made even the air feel suspicious.
Honestly?
I expected something to attack the moment we landed here.
Especially since it was the estate itself that forcibly transported us. A reactive punishment? A trap? An execution ground?
Yet... nothing.
Which only led to the most important question:
Where exactly are we?
We stood in a vast field, if you could call it that.
A landscape filled with cracked black soil, sharp-edged monoliths jutting out at wrong angles, and twisted roots like petrified veins running through the ground.
Above us, the sky stretched open and wide.
Not grey. Not blue.
Blood red.
Like spilled wine left to rot in the sun.
Couldn't be the estate. The estate had walls, a ceiling, constraints.
This place... hmmmmm.
Could be outside?
Could be like Lavender's space? A separate space?
Hmmmm.
Quite intriguing.
Still, I didn't like the aura here. It clung to the skin like static and whispered in languages the ears weren't built to hear.
I nestled a little deeper into Mira's arms, quietly hoping I wasn't the only one that noticed the hairs standing on end.
The silence was finally broken.
Of course, it was by the most irritatingly casual voice possible.
"So... what's our move now?"
Jet.
His voice was unmistakable.
Soft. Youthful. Mocking.
Like someone who'd been born with a death wish and made it everyone else's problem.
He was no longer chained.
He stood freely now, arms hanging loose at his sides, head tilted slightly as he looked toward Lavender with a mild smile on his face.
How did he get out?
Lavender opened her mouth to respond-
-but she never got the chance.
In less than a blink, the atmosphere changed.
A gust. A shimmer.
A flash.
And then steel.
Lucien blurred from where he stood - no chant, no movement buildup - just gone, replaced by the cold ringing of a blade unsheathed mid-motion.
Jet's arms hit the ground.
Cleanly severed.
There wasn't even time for pain to register - just the visual shock of it. His face twitched, eyes widening slightly in momentary disbelief.
Lucien was on him now.
Sword drawn. One boot planted firmly on Jet's chest, pinning him down. The other hand lifted his blade, the tip hovering just inches above the boy's heart.
Jet coughed.
Not in pain, but from the sudden dust, still smirking even as blood trickled down his sides.
Lucien's voice was composed. Too composed.
"Your weakness is probably your heart."
The sword dropped.
Almost.
A rope - no, something like a glowing thread made of binding energy - lashed out from behind and coiled around Lucien's wrist, halting the strike just short of Jet's chest.
Lavender.
Her expression wasn't her usual grin. She was focused now, more serious, but not panicked.
"What do you think you're doing?" Lucien asked, eyes sharp, not turning.
Lavender's reply was swift. "I apologize for not explaining sooner, but he's on our side. Just... take my word for it for now."
Lucien held still for a moment, his expression unreadable. Slowly, his gaze drifted down to Jet, who hadn't flinched, hadn't whimpered. Just looked back with that same annoying calm.
Eventually, Lucien exhaled sharply through his nose. He pulled his sword back, standing upright and sliding it into its sheath in one smooth motion.
"Miss Solmire... it seems you have a great deal of explanation to do."
Lavender released the thread with a light snap of her fingers and bowed her head slightly.
"If we somehow come out alive from this current situation, I shall entertain you with a satisfying one."
Lucien didn't respond with words. He simply turned his back on Jet and walked a few paces forward, surveying the blood-red horizon ahead.
His voice came cold and clear:
"It seems our only way... is forward."
Lavender grinned again, voice lilting with just enough sarcasm to sound like herself again.
"Guess we have no choice."
Jet, still sprawled on the ground, stared at his severed arms... and then sighed.
"Tch. Old bastard."
His shoulders shifted - bones cracking, flesh crawling in reverse.
Thin silver tendrils, like fluid wires, stretched from his shoulder sockets. They writhed and clicked as the torn muscles began reforming, bone reconstructing itself like puzzle pieces flipping into place. The ligaments wove together like threads from an invisible loom. Flesh knitted back over bone, followed by skin tightening, until fully reformed arms flexed into place with a wet snap.
I watched it all from Mira's embrace.
Unflinching.
But inwardly?
Ew.
Don't think I'll get used to that.
Jet stood up, rolling his shoulders with a little grunt.
"Next time, I'll kill you, old man."
Whap!
Eirlys' hand smacked the back of his head so hard he staggered forward.
Her cheeks were flushed red - both from embarrassment and suppressed fury.
"Do you ever learn?! What did I say about provoking people? What if we weren't here, huh?! Huh?!"
Jet rubbed his head with a pout. "Ow... That hurt more than getting my arms sliced off."
"GOOD!" Eirlys hissed, still fuming.
Lavender giggled under her breath.
Charlotte looked away, shaking her head.
Mira just... sighed.
I stayed nestled. No plans to move.
But soon enough, our group began forming a loose path - eyes turning toward the vast horizon that stretched ahead.
Twisting landscapes. Whispering winds. Faint echoes in the distance.
It wasn't much of a plan... but it was a direction.
And sometimes?
That's all you need.
So we started moving.
I guess we had no choice.
We moved.
There was no chatter, no urgency. Just motion.
The ground pulsed faintly beneath us, like walking on something alive yet half-asleep. Cracks in the earth glowed faintly red beneath blackened roots, and strange gusts of wind whispered through the monoliths around us - each whisper too rhythmic to be coincidence.
It wasn't hostile.
But it wasn't welcoming either.
No creatures lunged from the shadows. No cursed tendrils dragged anyone away. Just silence. A quiet so loaded, it pressed on the chest.
The only thing we fought was the landscape itself.
Twisted trees with no leaves, spires that sloped unnaturally like melting towers, jagged stone pathways that bent just slightly under our feet.
We walked.
And walked.
And walked.
No threats.
No traps.
Just the kind of dread that builds without incident.
Eventually, it came into view.
A bridge.
From a distance, it shimmered. Not like glass. Not like light. But like something between.
It stretched across a wide chasm - wide enough that we couldn't see the other end clearly. From our position, the bridge seemed to hover midair, anchored by nothing. A faint mist swirled beneath it, parting just enough for glimpses of what lay below.
Even from here, the aura of the thing sent shivers crawling down my spine.
Lucien, ever the lead, stepped ahead.
The rest of us paused slightly, watching as he approached the strange bridge alone.
His boots tapped the icy surface, and I saw his posture change. Not crumble, not shake... but stiffen.
His expression shifted too.
Just slightly.
Enough to notice.
He didn't look back. But his voice cut cleanly through the air:
"It'll be advisable if no one looked down."
Then he walked forward.
A few seconds passed.
Then Charlotte did exactly the opposite.
Her steps were light, almost hesitant, but her gaze flicked downward mid-step.
She froze.
Her breath caught audibly in her throat.
Then her shoulders trembled.
Fingers clenched at her side. A sharp inhale, not fear, not confusion.
Grief.
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Mira noticed instantly.
She stepped forward quickly, eyes narrowed, scanning Charlotte, then turned her gaze downward, curiosity overriding caution.
The reaction was immediate.
Mira froze.
Not the elegant, composed stillness of a noble.
But the kind of stillness that happens when the world violently halts.
Her eyes went wide. Her breath caught, then hitched. She blinked once. Twice.
Then her knees buckled slightly.
Not enough to fall, but just enough to betray how unsteady she suddenly was.
Her hand instinctively reached for the bridge's edge, clutching it like she needed something, anything, solid to anchor her.
A sharp, involuntary sound escaped her lips—half gasp, half choked breath. Her free hand hovered near her mouth as if trying to process what her eyes refused to unsee.
She didn't speak.
Couldn't.
Her gaze was locked, unblinking, fixed on the horror below.
No words. No movement.
Just her chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow.
Her shoulders shook, small at first, then visibly.
She wasn't just disturbed.
She was breaking. Quietly.
And I understood.
Beneath the transparent surface of the bridge, beneath the thin layer of that glowing, frozen material, lay a scene worse than any battlefield.
A river.
But not of water.
A slow, thick flow of blood-red liquid, moving just enough to ripple.
And floating in it...
Bodies.
So many.
Corpses.
Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Workers from the Alaric estate.
Some who I recognised.
Men. Women. Young ones. Old.
Faces frozen mid-scream, eyes glazed over with silence. Some partially submerged, others drifting sideways like discarded dolls.
The uniforms were unmistakable.
Maid aprons stained with red.
Butlers' coats torn open.
Even the training armor from the estate guards.
There was no violence in the way they floated, only finality.
I'd asked myself quietly, somewhere in the back of my mind, during the trials...
Where did all the estate staff go?
No one ever answered.
It was a silent question the group never raised aloud, as if asking would make it real.
But now we knew.
Charlotte finally whispered, voice cracking like glass:
"...Myra. Adele. I-I see Finnegan too..."
She clutched her own sleeves tightly. Her nails digging into her arms, face turned downward, grief rippling across her body in waves she couldn't control.
Jet was silent.
Not mocking.
Not smiling.
Just... silent. He kept walking. His eyes flicked downward only once.
Lavender, too, had no smirk now. She didn't say anything for a long time. But when she did, her voice was quiet, almost numb.
"...What a horrible fate."
She didn't dress it up.
Didn't joke.
Didn't try to soften it.
Just said what it was.
Eirlys, sweet, innocent Eirlys slowed to a stop near the center of the bridge, clasping her hands together at her chest. Her eyes were wide and glassy.
She looked down, lips trembling.
Then she whispered softly.
"They didn't deserve this. I... I hope their souls are at peace..."
She bowed her head for a moment - respectfully, reverently.
Then stepped forward again, her gaze not leaving the floor.
Lucien, still ahead, had paused. His arms were folded behind his back, his gaze forward. I couldn't see his face. He hadn't looked down once.
Maybe he didn't need to.
He already knew.
The group kept walking. Slowly. Heavily.
Even the bridge groaned faintly beneath our feet - as though aware of the weight it now carried, both literal and emotional.
I stayed quiet.
Nestled in Mira's arms.
I couldn't say anything even if I wanted to.
My little heart felt like it had been dipped in cold iron.
Some sights don't scream.
Some sights don't explode.
Some sights just sit in your mind. Quietly. Permanently.
This was one of them.
We walked on.
Across the bridge.
Across the memory.
Across the guilt.