The Obsidian Manor did not offer comfort; it offered containment.
In the northern territories, his name was a curse.
Grand Duke Caelum Valerius—the richest warlord on the continent, ruler of the Obsidian Domain, and a man who ruled through absolute terror.
He never negotiated, he never forgave, and he certainly never showed mercy.
He sat surrounded by the enormous wealth of his estate—golden statues, ancient shadow-stone, and weapons taken from conquered lands.
Yet none of it mattered.
Because he was dying.
A low, bitter laugh escaped his throat, echoing through the massive, empty halls.
If death wanted him, it could try to take him.
But the Imperial Family in the capital was getting impatient.
Crown Prince Julian had spent three years sending elite spies into this estate, trying to locate his military layouts and discover exactly how long the Grand Duke had left to live.
Every single spy had been returned to the palace in pieces.
He sat surrounded by the enormous wealth of the Obsidian Domain—Everything around him was proof of the empire he had built through blood.
Yet the irony wasn’t lost on him.
He could command armies, buy entire cities, destroy noble houses with a single order, and make thousands of men kneel.
But he couldn’t command his own heart to keep beating.
Suddenly, an agonizing burning sensation tore through Caelum’s chest.
He leaned his forehead against a freezing stone pillar, his jaw clenched until the bone ached.
Outside, torrential northern rain lashed against the windows, matching the lethal storm inside his own body.
Mana Backflow.
The hereditary curse of the Valerius bloodline was tearing through his internal meridians like liquid fire.
It was late Tuesday night, the exact time when atmospheric lightning spiked and drove his spirit veins to over-exert themselves.
Purple mana lines pulsed violently across his collarbone, creeping up his neck.
He had exactly three months before his core collapsed into total madness.
Caelum pulled a loose black silk robe over his heavily muscled torso, his fingers tracing the jagged, silver battle scars that marred his skin.
He was a monster, and monsters didn’t have room for error.
~♡~
Outside the grand estate, the freezing mud of the northern trenches sprayed against Vivienne’s leather boots.
She pressed her back firmly against the exterior stone wall of the manor, her breath coming in short, calculated puffs of white mist.
Above her, violent violet lightning illuminated the massive clockwork defense turrets mounted on the roof—mechanical traps designed to vaporize any intruder.
Vivienne closed her eyes, pulling the memory from her past life.
Julian’s spymaster spent three years losing dozens of elite knights to these arrays before mapping the flaws, she thought, her teeth chattering against the biting wind.
The clockwork mechanism rotates every forty-five seconds.
The third turret has a blind spot.
She didn’t hesitate.
The moment the gold-plated lens turned northward, Vivienne dropped low into a tactical slide, her black cloak brushing the mud as she dashed across the open stone lane.
A spinning shadow sentry—a dark, floating sphere with a rotating blue mana eye—drifted past the nearest marble pillar.
Vivienne held her breath, her spine rigid against the stone.
Three steps left.
Pause.
Wait for the blue glare to pass.
The blue eye scanned the stone a mere inch from her boot, then rotated away.
Vivienne exhaled, darting forward toward a ground-level cellar window.
She pulled out the silver hairpin she had stolen from Catherine’s vanity case, jamming it into the lock.
With a sharp, deliberate twist of her wrist, the internal gears clicked open.
She slid inside, tumbling onto the cold stone floor of the manor’s underbelly.
She was the first outsider in history to breach these walls alive.