Sapphire and Eugene stood in the courtyard, mounting their stallions. The morning sun broke through the grey clouds as the manor slowly stirred to life.
As Eugene swung his leg over the saddle, he slipped slightly, landing awkwardly with a grunt.
Sapphire burst into a soft giggle. "You can't ride."
"I supervise a manor, not lead cavalry charges," he muttered, straightening himself with as much dignity as he could muster.
With that, they rode out, cloaks billowing behind them.
By the time they reached the kingdom gate, the guards stepped forward, halberds lowered.
"State your business."
Eugene pulled out a signet sealed with Lord Typhon's mark. "Royal business," he said flatly. "Stand aside."
The guards exchanged a glance before moving back.
"Ride safe.
Their pace slowed as the forest gave way to a cliffside. In the distance loomed the suspension bridge, ancient and looming over a violent gorge.
Sapphire reined in slightly, her eyes locked on the swaying bridge. She shifted uncomfortably.
Eugene caught the change. "You alright?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly, eyes still on the drop below.
He gently took her reins, steadying her mount alongside his. "Most people hate it the first time."
They stepped onto the bridge.
"The king's Uncle built this bridge decades ago. It linked Hivities with other kingdoms. Trade flowed. Trust was strong. Alliances were made here." His voice steadied as they crossed slowly. "Now it's more of a memory... and a warning."
Wood creaked beneath them. Sapphire clenched her jaw, but focused on Eugene's voice more than the height.
At last, they reached the other side. Sapphire released a long breath.
"See? Not so bad," Eugene said, handing back her reins with a knowing look.
"Speak for yourself," she muttered.
"Next time, don't laugh at me falling," he smirked.
"Next time, don't almost fall."
They both chuckled, then pressed on toward the brook.
Eugene's boots hit the ground with a soft thud, eyes darting from tree to stone with sharp alertness.
"Milady, we shouldn't linger, especially when the sun's this high," he muttered, voice tense. "Let's just get the sample and—"
"Wait." Her voice cut in, thoughtful.
She crouched near the edge of the brook, eyes narrowing as she brushed her fingers gently over the bright green leaves of a creeping herb.
"If the water is contaminated…" she began slowly, "…why are the plants still thriving?"
Eugene stilled, his brow furrowed. He stepped closer, careful not to cast a shadow on her.
"That doesn't make sense," she added, eyes flicking to a patch of blooming flowers just a few feet from the stream. "These should've wilted weeks ago."
Eugene glanced toward the brook, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "Unless… whatever's killing us doesn't affect the land."
"Or it's selective," she murmured, rising slowly. "Targeted."
They exchanged a look. Then Eugene's jaw tightened. "Take your sample. We're leaving. Now."
From her satchel, she drew out a small leather pouch designed for collecting samples. "Relax," she muttered when Eugene took a sharp breath behind her.
"I'm not about to drink it."
"Don't inhale it either," he warned, eyes scanning the trees beyond the brook. "We shouldn't even be this close."
She rolled her eyes but kept her movements precise. Uncapping the pouch, she carefully scooped up some of the brook's water, sealing it tight again before slipping it into her bag. Her gaze shifted to the nearby vegetation, lush, green, and strangely untouched.
"That's odd," she murmured to herself
Eugene watched her in silence, his arms crossed, the reins still in one hand.
"It seems untouched," Sapphire murmured, eyes narrowing as she observed the thick, healthy blades of grass. "While the outbreak is destroying life… this is still green."
She crouched low, fingers digging lightly into the soil. It was damp, rich — too clean for a place near contaminated water. Carefully, she scooped some of the sand into a small pouch, examining it closely.
"Looks like this would come in handy."
Then she reached for a cluster of small white flowers blooming along the edge, their petals surprisingly vibrant. She plucked them gently and tucked them into her satchel with the same care she'd shown the soil.
"You done?" Eugene asked, voice low and uneasy.
"Almost," she said, glancing around once more. "This place doesn't make sense."
"No, it doesn't," he muttered. "Which is why we shouldn't linger."
Sapphire gave a quiet nod but her mind was racing. Something here wasn't right… and it was worth finding out.
***
Fletcher P.O.V
Fletcher sat at the far end of the long dining table, a silver plate steaming before him. Maids lined the walls, hands folded, eyes lowered, ready to serve, but he paid them no mind. His knife scraped sharply against the plate as he hacked at his steak, each cut a quiet rebellion. Loneliness seeped into his bones, thick as the morning fog outside. He had been born in an unusual year — one marked by silence, absence, and shadows where warmth should have been.
Deep in thought, Fletcher hadn't noticed when the chair across from him shifted. His father, the Lord of Waydell, had entered without a sound, as he always did. He poured himself blood tea in silence, the liquid dark and steaming, his movements calm, precise.
Fletcher looked up only when a soft knock echoed from the polished table. He flinched slightly, then straightened.
"Good to see you, Father," he said, voice low.
The Lord of Waydell said nothing — he never did.
His bluish-green eyes, sharp and unreadable, stayed fixed on Fletcher, watching, weighing. His hair was uncombed, falling over his brow; his tunic hung open, revealing a chest marked by time's quiet cruelty.
Fletcher felt suddenly small. Not from fear — from expectation.
He shifted under his father's gaze, eyes flicking down to the blood tea, then back up.
"How did you sleep, Father?" he asked, though he knew he'd get no answer — not in words.
The Lord of Waydell didn't blink. He simply raised his cup in a slow, deliberate motion, held it for a moment… then drank. That was his way, a gesture, a glance, the smallest motion weighted with meaning.
Fletcher studied him. The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was old. Familiar. Heavy.
"I barely slept," Fletcher added softly, mostly to fill the space. "The wind wouldn't stop howling."
He paused, then smiled faintly. "Or maybe that was the ghosts again."
No reaction. But something in his father's eyes shifted, a flicker, maybe.
That was enough.