The human world breathed differently now—quieter, heavier, as if the air itself knew that something had crossed over from another realm. Morning light spilled pale through the family's windows, tracing slow golden lines across dust and memory.
In Nyx's absence, Nia had turned into a shadow—half warmth, half worry. She sat at the study table where Nyx once worked, staring at the Book of Blood. Its pages shimmered faintly, as though the ink itself were alive. When she opened it, the words began rearranging themselves, forming sentences she had never seen before.
"The Blood Jewels—seven hearts of ancient creation. Each holds the power to shape existence."
Her eyes widened.
The book continued.
"The Practical Jewel—the soul-gate, capable of summoning what is lost or distant. Hidden beneath the Eye Palace of the Frostlands."
Nia's fingers trembled.
"If I find it," she whispered, "I can bring Nyx back."
Her heart raced with resolve. She took Nyx's coat—the same one he had worn the night he fought the mud witch—and left before dawn, her breath turning white in the cold morning air.
Meanwhile, two men disguised in grey worker uniforms stood at the gates of the Gald house.
Marko adjusted his cap, muttering, "You sure this will work?"
Anthony smirked. "If we don't find evidence today, we may never get another chance."
Both carried toolboxes filled not with hammers or wrenches, but cameras, scanners, and coded notes. Their mission was simple—to expose Nyx as the murderer of Bob Linton. But the task was far from simple inside this house of quiet watchfulness.
Old Gald, frail but sharp-eyed, sat near the fireplace, pretending to read while his ears caught every whisper.
"Fix the ceiling pipes, is it?" he asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.
Marko smiled politely. "Yes, sir. Just routine inspection."
Every creak of the floorboard felt like an accusation. The two split up—Anthony remained in the living room, while Marko headed toward Nyx's room. As they moved, their gloved hands brushed over papers, diaries, loose floorboards.
Beneath the dust, they found something far darker—a rune carved into the wood, pulsing faintly red.
"What the hell…" Anthony whispered.
"He's been doing rituals here."
Far away from warmth and hearth, Nia trudged through the frost-bitten mountains.
The Frostlands were not made for the living—or even the undead. The wind howled like a thousand voices, biting through her skin, freezing the blood that was already cold. Her steps left faint crimson marks in the snow as she wrapped her arms tighter, shivering.
"Vampires weren't meant for ice," she muttered.
The cold gnawed at her fangs, her eyes dimming in the white glare. Ahead, buried between glacier spires, lay the Eye Palace—a dome of frozen glass that shimmered under moonlight.
Nia stood at its gates, exhausted, staring into glacial corridors that seemed to stretch into eternity.
"Nyx… this is for you," she whispered, pressing her palm to the icy surface.
But before she could enter, the frost rejected her, forcing her back with a surge of freezing energy. Her strength faltered. Her knees buckled. The wind's scream drowned her voice.
She knew she would die here unless she found another way.
"The Ural Jewel," she remembered suddenly. "The one that grants endurance against any pain."
Her breath came shallow, her mind spinning. She turned away from the palace and began her journey toward the deadly Alpano Mountains—where legends said the Ural Jewel was guarded by a beast older than the world itself.
Back at the Gald house, Marko found a hidden compartment behind Nyx's wardrobe.
Inside lay scattered parchment pages—pieces of an ancient script. Anthony joined him, his breath hitching as he recognized a name written repeatedly in blood-red ink.
Jamie.
The pages contained diagrams of the Blood Jewels, the two worlds, and incantations linking life and death. Then Anthony noticed something strange—at the bottom of one page, Nyx's handwriting twisted into an unfamiliar language.
"That's not English," Marko said. "It's a code."
They scanned it quickly, deciphering only fragments.
Vampire heir… mirror gate… crimson prophecy.
Anthony's face paled. "He's not human," he whispered.
Before they could speak further, Old Gald's voice thundered behind them.
"Enough!"
Both men froze.
The old man's eyes glowed faintly silver—not human at all.
"You think you can deceive me?" he hissed.
In one swift motion, he snatched the papers from Anthony's hands and threw them into the fireplace.
"Get out! Before I burn more than this."
His trembling voice carried both power and sorrow. They had no choice but to leave—though Anthony managed to slip a half-burned note into his coat.
The surviving words read:
"When blood of vampire meets blood of witch, the mirror will fall."
Nia reached the Alpano Mountains at twilight, where the air shimmered with poison and mist.
She smelled death before she saw it—piles of bones frozen into the slopes, hollow eyes staring endlessly. The entrance to the mountain temple yawned wide, guarded by serpentine carvings.
The moment she stepped inside, the ground trembled. A low, thunderous growl echoed from the abyss.
From the shadows rose Masaka, the Demon King of the Seven Serpents. Each head hissed venom, tongues flicking the air.
"Another vampire dares steal my jewel," the central head roared.
Nia's hand went to her sword. Her breath steadied despite her fear.
"I don't steal," she said. "I earn."
Masaka laughed—a sound like cracking stone.
The battle erupted in fire and fangs. Nia fought bravely, her blade slicing through scales, her body weaving between deadly strikes. But Masaka was too strong. His serpents were too many.
One head bit her arm. Another coiled around her waist, dragging her upward. Pain tore through her as venom surged through her veins.
"You will make a fine statue," Masaka sneered, hurling her into an obsidian cage suspended above the pit.
Her body trembled—not just with pain, but with rage. Rage at her weakness. Rage at the thought that she might never see Nyx again.
When consciousness returned, she found a small figure sitting near the cage.
"You're awake!" the little girl said brightly. "I'm Kamara."
Nia blinked. "Masaka's daughter?"
Kamara nodded eagerly, holding up a crystal doll. "Father doesn't like it when I talk to prisoners, but you don't look bad."
Nia forced a weak smile. "Maybe I'm not."
They played a simple guessing game—one Kamara loved. Laughter echoed strangely through the stone halls. But beneath it all, Nia's mind was already working.
After hours had passed, she spoke softly. "Kamara… can you help me open this cage? I promise I'll show you the stars outside. You've never seen them, have you?"
The little demon's eyes widened.
She touched the lock. With a faint sparkle, it clicked open.
Nia stepped out, whispering, "Thank you…"
Guilt tightened her chest when Kamara smiled, proud of herself.
Before Nia could decide what to do, a deafening roar shook the mountain.
Masaka had awakened.
The Demon King's seven heads rose again, filling the cavern with flame and fury.
"Kamara! What have you done!" he thundered.
"I—I just wanted to help—" Kamara stammered.
Masaka's tail slammed into the ground.
Nia seized her chance.
She grabbed the Ural Blood Jewel, glowing gold upon its pedestal, and sprinted toward the exit.
"Wait! Don't go!" Kamara cried.
Nia turned, her eyes cold. "You shouldn't have told him."
Anger and guilt tangled in her voice.
The mountain began collapsing as Masaka's rage tore through stone and fire. Snow and smoke chased her into the night. She collapsed outside, clutching the jewel to her chest.
Golden light seeped into her skin—healing wounds, strengthening bone.
For a moment, she felt unstoppable.
But Kamara's face lingered in her mind.
"Forgive me," Nia whispered, her tears freezing before they could fall.
She lifted her gaze toward the distant Frostlands.
"Now… I'll bring you back, Nyx. No matter what it takes."