Chapter 266: Time to begin

The carriage moved along the illuminated road, the rhythmic sound of the wheels against the ground creating an almost hypnotic cadence as the silhouette of the city of Arven slowly grew on the horizon, each tower and each wall silhouetted against the dark sky sprinkled with stars. Damon remained silent inside the vehicle, his eyes half-open, attentive to every detail that passed through the gaps in the curtain, absorbing the unusual movement that took over the main roads. Even from a distance, it was already possible to perceive the intense flow of carriages converging on a single point, like a river being inevitably drawn towards a center of power.

Ingrivid also remained quiet, but her rigid posture betrayed constant vigilance, as if she were ready to react to any unexpected deviation. The tension in the air was not explicit, but it existed, dense and silent, like a taut string about to vibrate.

As the minutes passed, the road began to widen, becoming more well-maintained, lined with rows of tall torches that cast a flickering light across the path. In the distance, finally, Arven Mansion appeared.

It was imposing.

Much more so than Damon remembered.

The high walls, illuminated by dozens of lights, reflected wealth and power. The windows gleamed intensely, and the distant sound of music and voices began to spread through the air. Carriages lined up in an orderly queue before the main entrance, where well-positioned guards controlled the flow with absolute attention.

Damon observed everything in silence.

“Heavy traffic at the entrance.”

He murmured.

Ingrivid nodded slightly.

“As expected.”

The carriage slowed as it approached the main area.

It was at this moment that Damon made his decision.

He lightly tapped the inside side of the carriage with his fingers. “Stop here.”

The coachman obeyed, slowing down even further until stopping a few meters before the final curve that led directly to the main entrance of the mansion.

Ingrivid turned to face him.

“You’re getting off here.”

“Yes.”

He replied simply, already opening the door.

The night air invaded the interior of the carriage again, bringing with it the distant sound of the reception that was already in full swing.

Damon descended with a fluid movement.

His feet touched the packed earth floor lightly, without raising dust.

He closed the door without looking back.

“See you inside.”

Ingrivid simply nodded once.

The carriage resumed its movement, following its path towards the main entrance, where it would assume its role within the plan.

Damon, on the other hand, disappeared into the darkness of the roadside.

He walked away from the main flow, keeping to the shadows cast by the trees and dimly lit areas. His steps were silent, almost nonexistent, as he gradually approached the mansion’s perimeter from a less obvious angle.

The music grew louder as he drew near.

Laughter.

Conversations.

The clinking of glasses.

All of this contrasted sharply with the calculated silence of the property’s rear.

Damon stopped behind a thicker tree, observing.

Guards.

Patrols.

Patterns.

His eyes moved quickly, analyzing each route, each gap between passages, each blind spot. He was in no hurry. Entering the wrong way would mean failing before even beginning.

“Front entrance is suicide,”

He muttered to himself.

His gaze slowly traveled up the mansion’s structure.

First floor.

Very exposed.

Lots of lights.

Second floor…

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

There.

A window.

Open.

The light curtains swayed gently in the night breeze, creating a subtle movement that betrayed carelessness… or overconfidence.

Damon observed for a few seconds.

“Interesting.”

He took a few steps back, assessing the path to get there.

The side wall of the mansion had small decorative protrusions and narrow columns that could be used for support. It wasn’t easy… but it wasn’t impossible either.

He took a deep breath once.

Then he moved.

Quickly.

Silently.

Absolute precision.

His feet found support where there was almost none, his hands gripped tiny points as he climbed the side of the structure like a living shadow. There was no hesitation in his movements, only execution.

In a few seconds, he was already close to the window.

The sounds of the party were clearer now.

Voices.

Music.

Life.

Damon carefully approached the windowsill, keeping his body pressed against the wall as he tilted his head slightly to observe the interior.

The room seemed empty.

Dim lighting.

Probably a secondary room.

Perfect.

He gripped the window frame firmly and, in a controlled movement, propelled his body inside.

His feet touched the wooden floor without making a sound.

Damon remained motionless for a second.

Listening.

Nothing.

He slowly straightened up.

His eyes scanned the room.

Simple.

Organized.

No signs of recent presence.

He let out a small sigh.

“Inside.”

The light from the party only partially flooded the room, creating long shadows that danced on the walls.

Damon walked to the door.

He stopped.

He placed his hand on the doorknob.

And smiled slightly.

“Now it begins.”

With a silent movement, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway of Arven Mansion.

Damon closed the bedroom door with the same care with which he had entered, ensuring that no sound betrayed his presence. The hallway before him was illuminated by elegant sconces, whose golden light reflected on the polished floor, creating a sophisticated yet dangerous atmosphere for someone who shouldn’t be there. He didn’t hurry. First, he listened. Distant footsteps. Voices echoing from more open areas. No immediate sign of guards in that specific stretch.

Then he began to walk.

His steps were natural now, no longer stealthy as outside, but also not drawing attention. It was a subtle, yet essential change. Within that environment, appearing invisible meant acting like someone who belonged there.

He followed the indirect flow of the sound.

The music grew clearer with each turn of the corridor.

String instruments.

Elegant rhythm.

Overlapping conversations.

The kind of event where alliances were forged with smiles and betrayals hidden behind glasses of wine.

Damon descended a side staircase, maintaining a relaxed posture, as if he knew the place. Two servants passed him carrying a tray of drinks, barely glancing in his direction. It worked.

When he reached the main floor, the atmosphere opened up.

The mansion’s main hall was completely full.

Many people.

More than he expected.

Nobles dressed in extravagant clothes, expensive fabrics, and jewels that reflected the light from the dozens of chandeliers scattered across the high ceiling. Loud laughter, discreet conversations, calculating glances. Each group seemed to exist within its own social bubble, but they all shared the same space, the same game.

Damon paused for a brief second at the entrance to the hall.

His eyes scanned everything.

Exits.

Entrances.

Guards strategically positioned on the sides, near the columns and main doors. Nothing ostentatious, but clearly prepared.

Servants constantly circulating.

And in the center…

The dance.

Couples moving in perfect synchronicity, twirling to the music, creating an almost hypnotic visual distraction.

“Too crowded…”

He murmured softly.

But it wasn’t a problem.

It was an advantage.

Damon took his first step into the hall.

And then disappeared among them.

He didn’t try to hide.

He simply became one more.

He walked among the guests calmly, sometimes slightly dodging groups in conversation, other times passing by someone who didn’t even register his presence. His gaze never lingered on a single point for long, but it didn’t seem restless either. It was pure balance.

A maid passed by him offering a tray.

Damon took a goblet without hesitation.

Now he seemed even more a part of the scene.

He raised the goblet slightly, observing the liquid inside for a second before taking a small sip.

“Good.”

He murmured.

His eyes continued working.

He analyzed patterns.

Who was talking to whom.

Who was avoiding whom.

Who was observing too much.

It was then that he noticed something.

A specific group near one of the sides of the hall.

Guards.

Not in formal positions, but clearly attentive.

And among them…

An older man, well-dressed, with a rigid posture, a distant yet present gaze.

Damon narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Interesting…”

Something about that man didn’t quite fit into the festive atmosphere.

He seemed… out of place.

Or perhaps…

Controlled.

Damon took another sip of his drink as he slightly changed his route, approaching slowly, without haste, without drawing attention.

At the same time, something else caught his attention.

A slight movement on the upper floor.

An internal balcony that offered a direct view of the hall.

Someone was watching.

He couldn’t clearly see who it was, but he felt it.

The feeling.

Eyes.

“So you’re here…”

Damon didn’t smile.

But his eyes gleamed for a brief instant.

The game was happening on multiple levels.

Perfect.

He continued walking, now completely integrated into the flow of the party, conversations passing by him like white noise as his mind began to connect the dots.

Morgana.

The father.

The stepmother.

And whoever was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Damon brought the glass to his lips again.

Calm.

Controlled.

Dangerously at ease.

And in the midst of dozens… perhaps hundreds of people…

No one had any idea that the real problem…

Was already inside the mansion.

From the top of the inner balcony, partially hidden between ornate columns and heavy curtains, Morgana observed the hall with attentive and cold eyes, completely different from the woman who hours before had been lost in heat and desire. Now, every feature of her face was absolute control, every breath measured, every thought aligned with surgical precision. The light from the chandeliers reflected softly on her skin, highlighting her presence even in the shadows, as if the environment itself recognized her importance in that silent game.

Her fingers rested lightly on the marble railing, but there was no visible tension in them. Only… intention.

She had already analyzed the hall dozens of times.

Every guest.

Every position.

Every possible variable.

But then—

She saw him.

Damon.

Moving through the crowd as if he had always belonged there, with a naturalness bordering on the absurd. He wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t forcing himself. He simply existed there, and that alone made him invisible.

Morgana’s eyes narrowed slightly.

A near-smile appeared at the corner of her lips.

“Of course you could walk in like that…”

She murmured softly, almost inaudibly.

There was something dangerously satisfying about seeing him there, exactly where he should be.

Exactly as she had hoped.

But this was no moment of distraction.

It was the beginning.

Her eyes moved again, leaving Damon for a brief moment as they scanned the hall with renewed attention.

And then they found…

Him.

Her father.

Standing near one of the central pillars, surrounded by some important figures, conversing, smiling… but not fully present. Something was wrong there. Something subtle, but glaring to someone who knew him as she did.

Slightly mechanical movements.

A blank stare for fractions of a second that were far too long.

Out-of-rhythm breathing at specific moments.

Morgana felt her jaw tighten slightly.

“You really went too far…”

Her fingers gripped the handrail lightly.

Then her gaze shifted once more.

And found another figure.

Further away.

More hidden.

But impossible to ignore.

Her stepmother.

Elegant.

Impeccable.

Watching.

Always watching.

A soft smile on her lips, conversing with other guests, but with an attentiveness that clearly extended beyond what she pretended to show.

Morgana stared at her for a few seconds.

Silence.

Cold.

Calculated.

Then she took a deep breath.

Slowly.

And her eyes returned to Damon.

He was closer now to the group where his father was.

Perfect.

Exactly where he needed to be.

Morgana tilted her head slightly, as if adjusting an invisible detail.

But in truth…

It was a decision.

“It’s time…”

She murmured, almost like a whisper laden with intention.

“…to begin.”

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