[THE BEGINNING OF SEASON TWO]
The air was too quiet.
Quiet like a graveyard. But not just any graveyard—a graveyard so cursed, even ghosts refused to linger. Even monsters feared to whisper.
The great Imperial Throne Room—once golden, radiant, filled with sunlight and power—was drowned in blood.
Blood coated the walls. The floor. The carved crest of the Empire was etched into the marble. Even the throne itself—the sacred seat of a thousand years of rule—was painted red like a warning from the gods.
Bodies lay strewn like broken constellations across the hall.
Maids. Servants. Nobles. Guards.
And at the center of it all... Marquess Everett and Caelum.
Their bodies were twisted, shattered in ways no human body should ever bend. They looked like dolls dropped from a great height—no grace, no dignity.
Crimson pools shimmered around their feet, spreading slowly, greedily, like the palace floor itself was drinking death. Their eyes stared upward—empty. Forever locked on a ceiling that would never offer mercy again.
And in the middle of it all...
Osric Valerius Everheart.
A gash above his right eye was still weeping scarlet down his cheek. His knees dug into the marble, his hands limp at his sides.
But...he looked...hollow.
Like someone had carved the soul out of him and left only flesh behind. His body trembled—but not with fear.
No, there was no fear left. Just stillness.
Stillness so deep, it was almost inhuman. And standing before him—Emperor Cassius Devereux.
But this wasn’t a ruler. Not a father. Not a man.
This was a monster in royal skin.
Drenched in gore. Hands shaking from rage. Eyes so hollow, so red with grief and fury, they looked like voids cracked open. He was no longer human. He was lost. Vengeance. Wrath incarnate.
And he raised his sword.
Slow. Heavy. Shaking not from weakness—but from the effort it took to not strike immediately.
"You..." His voice was jagged iron. Barely human. "I trusted her to you."
Osric didn’t lift his head.
Cassius stepped closer, the blade gleaming under shattered sunlight.
"I gave her to you. My jewel. My pride. My daughter. And you—" His voice broke—just a flicker. "You dared to betray her for someone else."
The Emperor took a slow, seething step forward.
"You don’t deserve to live."
Osric finally raised his head. Slowly. Painfully. His lips were cracked. His hair, matted with blood, clung to his forehead like chains. There was no crown. No armor. No regal posture.
He didn’t look like the grand duke. Didn’t look like a commander. Didn’t even look like a man. He looked like a ghost wearing the shell of a boy.
A graveyard of what he used to be.
"I never wanted her to die..." His voice was dry—like it had been dragged through the dirt with him.
"I thought—" He faltered. "I thought I was freeing her... from me. I thought I was saving her from them."
A laugh escaped him, broken and bitter. Almost insane.
"But I failed her." A tremble. "I failed you."
He stared blankly at the blood beneath him.
"I should’ve swallowed the poison she was given. No. I should’ve run away before it began. I should’ve stood between her and everything that ever wanted to harm her, even if it meant... even if it meant losing myself."
His throat closed as the words caught fire in his lungs. "I should’ve protected her from the very beginning—"
Then—without warning—he lurched forward and gripped Cassius’s sword with his bare hand.
Blood trickled down his wrist.
But Osric didn’t even blink.
He pulled the blade toward his own throat.
"...You’re right, Your Majesty." His voice cracked, hollow and certain. "I really deserve to die."
He lifted his gaze—not defiant, but surrendered.
"And if there’s anything left of me worth damning..." His breath hitched. "Then let me offer it to her. All of it."
He knelt deeper, sword against skin.
"I only wish..." His voice trembled like a boy begging the stars. "I wish I could see her again. Just once. Just to kneel before her. Apologize. And... give her my soul."
Cassius stared down at him, eyes no longer belonging to a man. No warmth. No forgiveness. Only cold, red rage.
He raised the sword higher.
"If that ever happens..." The Emperor’s voice was low. Feral. "...I will make sure to crush that pathetic soul of yours myself."
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[Everheart Estate—Dawn | Four Years After the Oath]
The same dream. The same cursed images.
Why...why do I keep having those dreams...where I feel like losing her.
I jolted upright—lungs burning, chest tight, sheets tangled around my legs like restraints I couldn’t shake off. My heart thudded in my ears, so loud it drowned out the morning silence.
I pressed my palm to my forehead, damp with cold sweat.
The door opened a second later, and in stepped my butler—an older man with silver-streaked hair and tired, kind eyes. Hadrien, loyal to House Everheart since before I could read.
He bowed, a practiced motion, yet I could see the crease of concern on his brow.
"Good morning, my lord."
I nodded faintly, still catching my breath. My hands felt numb.
Hadrien approached and placed a towel in my hands, his voice soft. "Was it the nightmare again?"
I dried my face in silence... then nodded.
"Yes," I murmured. "This time... longer."
Hadrien moved quietly across the room, pouring water into a glass. He handed it to me, and I took it gratefully. My throat felt scorched from whatever realm I’d just returned from.
He hesitated, then asked, carefully, "Was it about... Princess Lavinia again?"
My grip tightened slightly on the glass. I turned my gaze to the window, where the morning mist still curled around the Everheart hills like ghostly fingers.
"...Yes," I said. "But this time... it felt different."
My voice lowered. "It felt like I really lost her."
The words left a hollow echo inside my chest.
Hadrien frowned, stepping forward slightly. "My lord... You’ve been having these dreams since your coming-of-age ceremony. It’s already been four years. I truly believe you should consult a—"
"No," I said, a little too quickly.
I stood, pushing aside the remnants of the nightmare with a forced steadiness.
"I said I’m fine." I reached for the robe draped over the foot of my bed and shrugged it on with rigid calm.
I needed to breathe. I needed to move. I needed her.
"I have to leave soon," I said, striding toward the adjoining chamber. "The princess will be waiting."
Hadrien bowed, dutifully masking his worry behind manners. "Of course, my lord. I’ll have the bath prepared at once."
I paused at the threshold of the bathing chamber, my fingers brushing the carved wood of the doorway. My gaze wandered across the room—past the steam rising in elegant spirals, past the gold-veined marble tiles—until it landed on the mirror.
My reflection stared back at me.
Hair disheveled. Eyes dull. Shadows etched like bruises beneath them. A ghost wearing the name Osric Everheart.
I inhaled slowly and stepped inside. The warmth of the bath enveloped me as I sank into the water, the surface rippling gently against my skin. Scented oils floated like dreams in the steam—lavender, rosemary, maybe something citrus.
"It’s warm..." I murmured under my breath, closing my eyes.
And yet... it didn’t help. My muscles didn’t loosen. My chest didn’t unclench. My mind didn’t quiet.
There was no comfort.
Only that familiar ache curling beneath my ribs—just below the place where the dreams always struck.
Because it hadn’t started yesterday.
It hadn’t started this week.
It all began... four years ago.
Right before my coming-of-age ceremony.
That’s when I had the first one.
A vision. A nightmare. A prophecy—call it what you will. But ever since that night, they’ve haunted me. Like echoes from another life. Like whispers clawing through locked doors in my head.
They weren’t just dreams. They felt... like memories.
A memory I was never supposed to lose. A truth buried so deep inside me, it only bleeds out in sleep.
And always—always—it’s her.
The one face I cannot lose. The one name that echoes louder than the screams.
At first, I dismissed it. A meaningless dream. A fragment of pressure—growing up in the shadows of legacy and expectation
The fear of losing her?
It crawled under my skin. It dug in like a curse.
The day I saw her after that first nightmare—at my coming-of-age ceremony—standing beneath chandeliers and surrounded by light...
I felt alive again. Like breathing wasn’t just an obligation.
I can protect her. I can be her sword. I can give her everything—even the soul I don’t know how to save.
That’s why I took the vow. Not for duty. Not for power. But to remind myself of the only thing that truly matters.
That I have someone to protect.
Even if the dreams are prophecy... Even if they’re warnings dressed in blood and fate... I will make sure none of them come true.
Not while I’m still breathing. Not while I still carry a sword. Not while she still smiles at the morning light.
Whatever those dreams are—future or past—I will defy them all.