In the secret chamber below Blackvale Hall, the air was thick and cold, almost like the breath of a sleeping beast. The faint glow of the black dagger, wrapped in twisting, thorny roots and studded with deep red stones, pulsed like a heartbeat inside its glass case.
Elira lay on the cold stone floor, her chest rising and falling shallowly as if the very walls had sucked the warmth from her body. The silence pressed against her ears, and her vision blurred at the edges like smoke drifting in the dark.
Slowly, as if drawn by an unseen force, she pushed herself up, her hands trembling. The chill bit into her skin, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were wide and glassy, reflecting the faint light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
Tears welled up suddenly and spilled over, tracing cold paths down her cheeks. She had no idea why she cried. There was no sadness—only an aching inside, a strange mix of sorrow and hope that did not belong to her.
A whisper hovered on the edge of her mind, like a breeze through dead leaves.
A name, soft but powerful, floated up from deep within her soul.
"Elira…"
Her lips moved, barely a breath, speaking the name aloud though no one was there to hear.
The name was old, older than the manor above her. It was carved into stones long forgotten, etched into the memory of the world.
And somewhere, far above her in the glittering ballroom, Aaryan Knight spoke the same name under his breath, not knowing why it burned his throat.
The glass case shimmered, and the black dagger seemed to pulse faster. The red stones caught the faint light and flickered like glowing embers. The twisted vines that wrapped around the blade shifted subtly, as if alive and watching her.
Elira took a slow step forward, then another. She could feel the energy in the room rising, thick and buzzing like a storm waiting to break. The ring on her finger glowed warm, a soft light that grew stronger with each heartbeat.
Her fingers brushed the glass carefully, and a sudden shock ran through her — a tingle like fire and ice mixed. She pulled back, breath hitching, but her eyes never left the dagger.
Images flashed behind her eyelids—flashes of a life she could not remember but somehow knew.
A woman in flowing silver robes standing in a circle of fire, her eyes blazing with power and pain.
A man with dark eyes holding the very dagger she now stared at, his face grim and haunted.
Blood spilled onto stone floors.
An oath whispered in an ancient tongue.
A curse cast in shadow.
Elira gasped and stumbled back, falling onto the floor again. Her heart hammered like a wild thing trapped inside her ribs.
Who was this woman? Who was the man?
What did it mean for her?
The room seemed to breathe with her, the stones humming with secrets, and the dagger's light growing ever stronger. Elira's tears dried on her cheeks as determination replaced confusion.
She could feel the magic deep inside her waking up. It was a power she had never understood but had always feared.
It was calling her home.
A soft rustling sound came from the corner of the chamber. Elira's head snapped toward it.
Shadows moved—shapes formed out of the darkness.
Voices whispered, faint but clear.
"The Oath must be fulfilled."
"The curse cannot be broken."
"The Knight blood must bleed."
Elira shivered. She had heard these words in her dreams, but hearing them here made them real—dangerous and alive.
She rose, clutching her silver ring tightly, as if it were the only anchor to her sanity.
The whispers faded, but the feeling lingered. Something ancient and terrible was watching.
Meanwhile, far above in the grand ballroom, Aaryan's mind raced.
He could not explain the sudden weight pressing on his chest, the cold sweat that prickled his skin.
He had felt it before—on lonely nights in the office, in the silence of his sprawling mansion—an invisible thread pulling him toward something dark and unknown.
He looked out over the crowd, searching for the girl in blue who had vanished moments ago.
Why did her face haunt him like a ghost?
Why did her name echo in his soul?
He turned abruptly, eyes narrowing.
There was an old portrait on the wall, the same one Elira had seen—a man holding a dagger, staring out from centuries past.
Aaryan's fingers brushed over the carved wood frame as if seeking answers.
The curse that had haunted his family for generations—the Oath of the Bloody Dagger—was real.
And somehow, it had found its way back into his life.
Back in the chamber, Elira felt her own pulse quicken.
She had to understand what this all meant.
Her thoughts drifted to the few things she knew about her past—a broken orphanage, a ring with a strange symbol, and the dreams that had never stopped.
She stepped closer to the glass case, her breath fogging the cool surface.
Then, without warning, the glass shattered.
Elira stumbled backward, heart pounding wildly.
The dagger was free.
Dark vines slithered from the hilt like living snakes, curling and twisting toward her.
But instead of fear, a strange calm settled over her.
The dagger was calling to her.
Claim me, it seemed to say.
Her hand reached out slowly, trembling, and wrapped around the cold, heavy hilt.
The moment she touched it, power surged through her veins like wildfire.
The chamber filled with a glowing light—red and black—swirling around her.
Visions crashed into her mind.
The witch who had cursed the Knight bloodline.
Her screams in the dark forest.
The pain of betrayal.
The burning of a village.
And the love that had sparked the curse—the love that had doomed them all.
Elira dropped to her knees, clutching the dagger as the magic settled inside her.
Her body felt alive with fire and ice.
The ancient words of the oath echoed in her ears.
Her lips moved again, whispering the curse she barely understood but somehow knew by heart.
"By blood and blade, by fire and fate,
The oath is sworn, the curse will wait."
Tears flowed again, not of sadness, but of power.
She was no longer just a lost girl.
She was the heir of a terrible magic.
Above her, the moon slipped behind clouds, but for a moment, it shone red as blood.
Aaryan felt a shiver run down his spine.
He whispered the name again, louder this time.
"Elira…"
The name burned between them, a thread pulling two souls through time and darkness.
Two destinies locked in a deadly dance of love and revenge.
And somewhere, in the shadows of Blackvale Hall, the oath awaited its next move.