The house knew.
It always knew.
That morning, the walls sweated frost, and the chandeliers shivered. Something had shifted deep within Valeblood Manor — not a creak, not a groan, but a presence. The kind of pressure that thickened the air and curled the edges of reality like burning parchment.
Elara stood in the great hall, barefoot, staring at the grand staircase that now descended into shadow instead of the west wing. Yesterday, it had led to a sitting room and several locked doors. Today, it led downward — into somewhere she'd never seen.
And the house was inviting her.
---
"Where does that go?" she asked.
Balthazar sat by the hearth, licking his paw with all the serenity of a cat who'd seen kingdoms rise and fall.
"To the Dead Court," he said.
"Is that a band? Sounds very metal."
"No," Eryx said, appearing beside her with a candle. "It's a tribunal. Every heir must present themselves when their blood is claimed by the house. It's a rite."
"I didn't agree to any rites. I barely agreed to being alive today."
"You bear the pendant," Eryx said. "You have no choice."
Elara stared down the staircase. It had swallowed the lower half of the hallway, and cold mist rose from each step like breath from a corpse.
"I hate this house."
"It loves you," Balthazar purred. "That's why it's testing you."
"Oh good," she muttered. "A haunted mansion with abandonment issues."
---
They descended.
The further they went, the quieter the world became. The walls narrowed, the light dimmed, and time itself seemed to thin like stretched glass.
At the bottom, massive doors awaited. Black wood with veins of silver, carved with faces twisted in anguish and ecstasy — some weeping, some laughing, some screaming.
The moment her fingers touched the handle, a voice whispered behind the door:
> "Blood answers blood."
The doors creaked open.
Inside was a cathedral of shadows.
---
Candles floated in midair like suspended stars. A gallery of thrones lined the walls, each occupied by a spectral figure in ceremonial garb. Some wore crowns of bone, others veils of ash. One throne was completely empty, draped in crimson silk.
At the center stood a dais, and upon it, a large obsidian mirror.
Elara stepped into the room, her skin crawling.
Balthazar slunk beside her. "Don't lie. Don't kneel. Don't flinch."
"Great. Anything else?"
"Don't make eye contact with the Duchess of Bones. She'll take that personally."
"Of course she will."
---
A voice echoed from the farthest throne. Masculine, cold, and formal:
> "Heir of House Valeblood, step forward."
Elara did.
Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, but her steps were steady. The pendant around her neck pulsed in rhythm, as if the house itself were pushing her forward.
A second voice — this one female, sly and melodic — spoke next:
> "Name thyself, girl. And let the house judge thy truth."
Elara swallowed. "Elara V. Graves."
A soft gasp echoed from one of the thrones. The name Graves was not unknown here.
"I didn't come here to rule," she added. "I came here because rent was cheap and the ghosts wouldn't stop screaming."
Laughter rippled through the court — cold, dry, rustling like parchment.
"She has humor," said a voice behind a cracked porcelain mask.
"She has nerve," said another.
"She has no idea what she's inherited," said a third.
---
The mirror on the dais rippled like disturbed water.
Suddenly, it showed an image — not of Elara, but of the First Elara.
Younger. Pale. Beautiful in a terrible way. Her eyes were crimson and endless. She stood beside a much younger Eryx, hands joined, blood dripping down both wrists into a ceremonial bowl.
The image shifted — fire, war, betrayal.
The First Elara was laughing as the manor burned, then rebuilt itself around her.
The mirror then showed current Elara, holding the dagger from Chapter 3, bleeding and defiant, facing her phantom twin.
> "The blood endures," intoned the court in unison.
---
Suddenly, the room went silent.
From the empty throne, the red silk fluttered — and a figure began to rise.
Not walk. Not step.
Rise.
Like smoke congealing into form.
A woman formed from ash and grief, her face a near-match for Elara's own but older, regal, and cruel. Her crown was made of thorns and teeth.
The First Elara had arrived.
And she was smiling.
> "So this is the girl who would wear my name."
Elara's blood chilled.
"I didn't ask for it."
> "Nor did I. But I took it."
The First stepped down from the throne. Every other specter bowed their head.
> "You carry my echo, girl. But echoes fade. I want to see what remains."
---
The First Elara held out a single bony hand.
A blade materialized.
The same dagger Elara had used to stab her ghost twin — now glowing red-hot.
> "Will you bleed for the house again?"
"I just stopped bleeding yesterday."
> "Then we begin anew."
Before Elara could respond, the First slashed the air — and everything changed.
---
They were standing in a mirror world — same cathedral, but shattered. The thrones were rubble, the mirror was cracked, and the First Elara stood atop a pile of bones, holding the dagger.
"Fight me," she whispered. "If you bleed and stand, you're worthy. If you fall, I reclaim the line."
Balthazar's voice echoed from nowhere. "This is the trial. Don't hold back."
Elara summoned the pain, the fear, the anger — and stepped forward.
"I'm not your puppet."
"You're my remnant," the First spat.
"No," Elara whispered. "I'm your end."
---
The fight was a blur of fury and flame. Elara ducked and rolled, swung a spectral blade she didn't know she possessed, blocked with the flat of her memory. Every time she was struck, a piece of her childhood flashed: laughter in the attic, the feel of rain, her mother's lullaby.
The First drew strength from rage.
Elara drew strength from defiance.
And then — with a scream that cracked the ghostglass — she plunged her blade into the First's chest.
> "This name is mine now!"
The First smiled as she crumbled.
"Then carry it well... Elara Valeblood."
---
The mirror world shattered.
She collapsed onto the dais, panting. The court was silent.
Then one by one, the thrones bowed.
Eryx knelt beside her, offering a hand. "You bled for the house. You stood. You passed."
Balthazar padded up, purring smugly. "She made the Duchess cry. I'm impressed."
Elara groaned. "Can someone bring me breakfast before the next existential test?"
Valeria's voice rang from the doorway.
"You'll want to eat fast. Because now that you've claimed the blood…"
She stepped into view.
"…every thing outside this house just felt it."