Chapter 16: Shadows Behind The Curtain

Her choice was made before she could think.

Ilaria spun on her heel and ran. Her heels clacked against the cold floor, skirts tangled at her ankles, breath tearing through her throat as the shadows seemed to chase at her heels. The lanterns along the wall flickered violently, then guttered out one by one, as if something unseen has followed her to swallow the light.

She reached the door and wrenched it open, nearly stumbling into the corridor. Her hand trembled on the handle as she shoved it shut again as her lungs strained for air. Through the narrow crack of the door, she could still see her chamber beyond. The balcony curtains swayed though no wind should reach them, and darkness writhed inside, thick and alive, shifting in ways her mind refused to name.

She backed away slowly, pulse deafening in her ears. It felt less like she had fled her own room, and more like she had abandoned it to something else. This is why Ilaria does not like sleeping alone. You never know if you are truly alone until the darkness consumed you, especially now that she was in Noctharis, a land people regard as the Land of Darkness itself.

…I need to get out.

Ilaria’s chest heaved as she forced her trembling legs to move. Step by step, she made her way toward the main hall, telling herself she was safe…at least, safer than in that darkened chamber. But then she noticed something odd. The corridors were silent. There was no echo of boots, no distant voices.

And the guards, Sir Roderic and Sir Alaric, who should have been stationed outside her chamber? Gone. The servants and staff that usually still roam the hallway at this time were not there too. Her stomach twisted into knots. Something was not right.

Not a single shadow stirred in the wide hall, and the distant clatter of the kitchens was absent too, as if the palace itself had been swallowed by a sudden, unnatural stillness. Ilaria’s pulse thundered in her ears. Every instinct screamed for her to bolt, but where could she run if the place meant to keep her safe was…empty?

Ilaria’s voice trembled as she called for her maids, “Mel…! Darya…!” She stumbled. “Liana…!” But there was silence, only the echo of her own panic returned.

She moved quickly down the hall. “Rocky! Ricky!” Another silence.

She passed the main doors, which were sealed tight. No Obsidian Guards standing there. Are they stationed outside then? She rapped on the wood, hoping someone would answer, but only her own footsteps echoed back.

With no other choice, she turned and started down the corridor her husband had gone earlier, clinging to the hope of at least finding him there. The air felt heavier here, but she pressed forward, careful not to run else she fall, every step measured as she tried to follow the path he had taken.

The corridor where Levan had gone stretched longer than she remembered, as if the stone itself was shifting beneath her gaze. Her vision swam, dizzying, until she was forced to blink once, twice…

When her eyes cleared, she nearly stumbled as she reached the courtyard. She sighed in relief, exhaling the breath she did not know she had been holding when she saw a tall figure stood at the far end.

“…Husband?” The word left her in a gasp, half a sob. But the figure did not move.

Her chest tightened as she took a step closer. The air felt heavier the nearer she drew, the corridor stretching impossibly still. Then the torches lining the wall sputtered, their flames dimming to smears of ember light, revealing what she had mistaken for her husband.

It was no man.

Its body was a roiling mass of shadow, shifting as though it was made of smoke and ink, the edges dissolving into the darkness of the hall. From the haze, long skeletal hands unfurled, claws dragging along the stone with a deliberate, grating hiss. And in the centre of its shifting face, a single golden orb burned like an open wound in the dark.

It fixed that eye on her, if it was an eye at all, and then it spoke. The sound was not a voice but a rasp, like stone grinding against stone; like sharp taloons grating an armour, words tumbling out in a language older than kingdoms, perhaps even older than the dragons themselves.

Ilaria could not understand it, but something sipped into her mind the moment it happened, and then she knew. The way one knows fire will burn or the sea will drown. The meaning coiled unbidden in her chest: “Daughter of Light…you do not belong here.”

What…what is this?

The torches around her shrieked and died, leaving her in the pitch black glow of that single golden eye. Ilaria’s breath shuddered, every muscle locked as though the shadows themselves had rooted her to the floor. She pressed her palms to her ears, willing the pounding inside her skull to stop.

No. Stop…

Behind the shadowy figure, she saw a hazy figure of a man marching with a long sword in hand. His steps were deliberate. His face was calm, almost serene, yet every motion screamed death, like he was out to kill something to the point that she could not even feel relief at seeing him.

His composure was terrifying, the kind that spoke louder than rage. Every measured breath; every controlled angle of his jaw turned him into something carved from inevitability. Even his eyes, slit in a fleeting motion like that of a dragon, carried the silence of a predator in need to strike.

The shadow writhed and shimmered in grotesque mockery. Her pulse slammed against her ribs violently, a sickening lurch in her chest as if her own body wanted to flee before she could.

Is…Is he going to kill me?

Panic clawed up her throat she could not even gulp. Before she could react, the blade screamed through the air, so fast the sound of it sliced into her bones; so sharp it felt as though the world itself might split apart. And she crumpled to the ground, hands clutching her head, certain her life had ended in that single stroke.

But nothing came. Only the blade remained, motionless in the dim light, its cold steel catching the faint light like a breath held too long as the shadowy figure disappeared along its trail, like it was never there.

Levan’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and unnervingly calm. “What are you doing out here?”

Ilaria’s chest heaved. A high, hollow ringing filled her ears, drowning out everything else, as though the world itself had gone mute, and for a heartbeat her mind refused to work.

I’m…I’m not dead…

And then she realized…his sword had not struck her, only severed the phantom web that had entwined her senses, dragging her back to reality. Ilaria slowly looked up, as if to make sure the man in front of him was not a mere illusion. “H-husband…”

She shakily pushed herself to her knees, then to her feet, her legs trembling under her as she stumble to stand on her own.

“No one…no one is here. T-the guards, the maids…they…they are all gone,” she spoke breathlessly, tears prickling on the corner of her eyes.

Levan scanned her complexion as he would a woman reporting crime to him. Then he spoke, “They were called away. Nothing unusual happened, just routine patrols shifted tonight. The palace is not abandoned, only reallocated. It should be fine now.”

“H-huh?”

Levan did not have a patience to re-explain. “Earlier, what you saw wasn’t real, it’s The Blithe trying to reach you.”

“The…The what?”

“The Blithe,” he repeated, reclining his posture as he regard her carefully. “The shadows you see and the whispers you hear, they’re its way of attempting to communicate with you. Since it can’t fully touch the world yet, it will manipulate what your mind perceives. You weren’t seeing me. You weren’t seeing the palace. You were seeing what it wanted you to see.”

Ilaria blinked, trying to digest the sudden load of information from him. Levan dipped his head, closing the distance with a deliberate slowness that made her flinch. His golden eyes flickered beneath the moonlight, causing her breath to hitch.

“Did you turn off the lantern in your room?” He asked slowly, his voice was low, carrying the weight of someone who already doubted her.

Ilaria’s head jerked in a shaky denial. “It…it went off on its own— because…because of the wind.” Her words stumbled out unevenly, her breath still caught between fear and the echo of what had just happened.

Levan frowned.

“You left the balcony open,” he said with a heavy sigh, his tone flat with disappointment, as though the conclusion was already beyond question. “In Noctharis that is no small matter, I thought you understood. If something had happened tonight, it would have been a disaster.”

Ilaria shook her head quickly, her voice breaking. “N-no I didn’t…I don’t know why the balcony was open. I-I was sure it was closed—”

“You must have forgotten,” his reply came out fast as he reclined himself, giving her a once-over.

Ilaria’s mouth slowly closed upon hearing his response. It is not that she did not want to defend herself, but saying more would just make this back-and-forth go on forever.

“Go back inside,” he said firmly. “And this time, make sure everything is closed.”

Levan was about to turn and leave, but Ilaria’s hand moved before she realized it. She clutched his sleeve, her fingers curling tight into the fabric like a frightened child afraid to be left alone in the dark.

“I-I don’t want to go back alone,” she shook her head frantically. “There’s no one i-in there!”

Levan’s lips twitched in sheer exasperation. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Please…just for a moment until…until I fall asleep,” she quickly plead.

Levan furrowed his brows, looking at her in disbelief. “…You think I have time to waste on such nonsense?”

Ilaria gulped, her grip on his sleeve tightened, almost desperately. “I’m not lying…It feels wrong in there, like…like someone’s watching me.”

“Then call your guards,” he tugged his hand back and wrenched her fingers off his sleeve, the movement curt and unyielding. He veered his head somewhere beyond the courtyard, already looking for someone to escort his wife inside.

Ilaria’s breath hitched. The sudden loss of contact made her panic, her hand half-lifting as if to reach for him again, but she froze mid-motion, afraid he would snap at her. Instead, she only edged a step closer, as if proximity alone might keep her safe.

That made Levan pause. His eyes flicked down, taking in the way her shoulders quivered, her fingers curled into her skirt, and her gaze lowered like a chastised child. For the briefest moment, his jaw tightened, as though some thought wavered in him, then it was gone, shuttered behind his usual severity.

“Stay close if you must,” he said at last, “but stop clinging to me like a child. Do you think shadows will scatter because you hide behind my sleeve?”

“I…I only thought…” Ilaria began hesitantly, but when she saw ther sterness of his face, she faltered. A small sniffle escaped, and she bowed her head, nodding as though guilty of some harmless crime.

“Then think better,” he sighed, the words sharp but wearied. “A princess like you should not tremble at mere things like this. If you cannot manage your own fear, at least do not parade it in the open.”

He stepped toward her in a curt and deliberate motion, his shadow folding over hers like a shield. “If you insist on following, then keep to my side. And do not fall behind.”

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