Darkness didn't take Zane.
He fell into something else.
When he opened his eyes, the world was crimson.
Not red—crimson, thick and suffocating, like the air itself had been soaked in blood long forgotten. The ground beneath his feet was solid but wrong, cracked like dried flesh. A scent hung everywhere… iron, rot, and something older.
Death.
Zane straightened slowly and began to walk.
Ahead of him stretched a garden.
Rows upon rows of black roses bloomed in unnatural perfection, their petals sharp and glossy, absorbing the red light around them. No wind stirred them. No insects buzzed. Everything was still, frozen in a moment that refused to pass.
He looked up.
The sky held no sun.
Instead, there was an eternal eclipse—an unmoving shadow devouring a pale, burning halo. It felt like the world was being watched, judged, endlessly.
"…Yeah," Zane muttered under his breath. "This can't be good."
He took another step.
Then he saw her.
At the center of the garden, beyond the roses, knelt a figure.
A girl—about his age.
Chains wrapped around her arms and torso, digging into her skin, stretching upward and outward, vanishing into towering, translucent barriers etched with symbols he didn't recognize. The chains pulsed faintly, as if feeding on her. Her posture was weak, shoulders slumped, head bowed like someone who had long stopped expecting mercy.
She looked… broken.
Tortured.
Zane's steps slowed.
Something about her made his chest tighten.
When he drew closer, the girl lifted her head.
Their eyes met.
Zane froze.
She was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at.
Silver eyes—just like his—reflecting the crimson sky. But her left pupil burned red, glowing faintly, like an ember that refused to die. Her hair was long, jet black with the same bluish sheen as his own, falling messily down her back.
And on her exposed shoulder—
A black rose tattoo.
Identical to the one now etched into his skin.
She felt familiar.
And completely unknown.
Her lips parted, cracked and dry.
She spoke only one word.
"Help… me."
The world shattered.
Zane gasped and lurched awake.
Cold stone. Damp air. Screeching echoes fading into silence.
His vision snapped into focus.
"Luna—!"
She was on the ground.
Blood streaked from her nose, staining the floor beneath her. Her breathing was shallow, her light completely gone.
Panic surged through him as he knelt beside her, lifting her gently.
Then he noticed the silence.
He looked up.
The owl—
—or what was left of it—
was suspended against the cavern wall, its massive body pierced through by enormous shadowy spears, each one pinning it in place. Dark ichor dripped down the stone as its eyes stared lifelessly into nothing.
Zane blinked.
"…Did you do that?" he asked quietly.
Luna's eyelids fluttered open just enough for her to see him.
She nodded. Weakly.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
Zane scooped her into his arms without another word, holding her carefully, as if she might shatter.
"You've done well," he said softly. "Really well."
His voice dropped, uncharacteristically sincere.
"I'm sorry for leaving like that. I'll make it up to you. I promise."
Luna smiled faintly.
Then she fell asleep in his arms.
Zane stood, shadows coiling protectively around them both.
Without looking back at the corpse of the beast, he turned and walked out of the tunnel—his expression calm, but his silver eyes darker than before.
And somewhere far away, in a crimson garden of black roses, chains rattled softly.