### Chapter 94: Shadows of the Past
Elsewhere in the expansive estate, away from the dust and broken stone of the secluded training grounds, Lady Aurora sat quietly in her private chambers.
The room was medium-sized, bathed in the soft, warm hues of the late afternoon light as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. The tall, arched windows stood wide open, allowing a gentle evening breeze to rustle the translucent curtains. Standing bookshelves lined the walls, filled to capacity with ancient, leather-bound tomes and dusty scrolls. In the far corner sat a dark mahogany study desk, beneath which lay a plush, light-blue rug that covered the floor.
Aurora rested her back against the headboard of her bed, her lower half draped in soft blue sheets. In her hands lay an ancient hardcover book. Her sky-blue eyes moved rhythmically across the yellowed pages, slowly drinking in the knowledge, completely immersed in the peaceful quietude of her room.
Then, the quiet was broken.
*KNOCK.*
*KNOCK.*
*KNOCK.*
"Come in," Aurora murmured softly, without lifting her head or shifting her gaze from the page.
The heavy wooden door glided open on silent hinges, revealing the young maid, Lucy. Entering with a fluid, impeccably practiced motion, Lucy offered a smooth, majestic bow before addressing her mistress.
"Dinner will be ready in a few moments, Madame Aurora," Lucy reported, her voice completely smooth, level, and entirely devoid of inflection.
"Hmmm," was all Aurora offered in reply, her eyes continuing to scroll down the final lines of the chapter.
"If you will excuse me, Madame," Lucy said in that same flat, stoic tone. She offered another precise bow and turned on her heel to leave the room.
Before her hand could reach the brass door handle, Aurora spoke up.
"Say what you have on your mind, Lucy."
Lucy stopped dead in her tracks. She turned around slowly to face Aurora, her expression remaining entirely unreadable, like polished marble.
"However do you mean, Lady Aurora?" Lucy replied smoothly, tilting her head by a fraction of an inch.
"You have been my personal maid for how long now?" Aurora asked, finally closing the book with a soft *thump* and setting it down on her lap.
"Six years, seven months, and twelve days, to be exact," Lucy answered without a single heartbeat of hesitation. Her voice carried the cold, precise, and stoic nature that made her seem so much like Silas—unbothered by emotion, completely detached from the superficialities of the world.
Aurora looked closely at the young woman before her. Lucy was one of the very few reasons Aurora had chosen a life of isolation, stepping away from the ruthless corridors of power following the end of the WAR. She had wanted Caspian, the rest of the children, and Lucy to have a normal, quiet life—far removed from the blood and political intrigue that had defined their pasts.
Yet, due to Aurora's fragile health, Lucy had been tethered to this house. She had spent her youth managing medications, schedules, and caretaking, never leaving her mistress's side. It was a reality that caused a quiet, persistent burn in Aurora's heart. Despite Lucy's stoic demeanor and unbothered exterior, Aurora knew that a growing child deserved a normal life—one filled with open roads, friends, and spontaneous adventure.
It was why Aurora couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pride seeing Caspian and the others finally stepping out into the world and building genuine bonds. It was also why, despite Silas's adamant and cold protests, she believed sending Lyra down his path might do both of them some good.
"The same way you know everything I need—my medications, my daily routines, the exact temperature of my tea—is the exact same way I know when something is weighing on your mind," Aurora said, her voice softening with maternal warmth. "I know when you have something to say."
Lucy went quiet. She remained still, her hands neatly folded beneath her apron, staring at the blue rug beneath her polished shoes.
Aurora let the silence linger for a few moments before letting out a soft, resigned sigh. "It's about Silas, isn't it?"
Lucy looked up, her stoic facade cracking just enough for her dark eyes to meet Aurora's.
"Madame Aurora," Lucy spoke, her tone respectful yet laced with a rare, underlying gravity. "I was never one to question your decisions or your judgment. But, with all due respect, sending the girl—Lyra—to Silas may not have been the wisest choice to make."
"Is that so?" Aurora asked gently, resting her hands over the cover of her book.
"Silas is unstable—both mentally and physically," Lucy explained, her words sharp and calculated. "He is extraordinarily dangerous, and his obsession is not merely a hazard to those around him; it is a danger to himself. Who knows what he would do when pushed?"
Lucy was not wrong to be concerned. Silas was an anomaly—someone living entirely on the edge of a razor, bound by a dark, volatile intellect that few could comprehend.
Aurora sighed deeply, leaning her head back against the wall. "I know how he is, Lucy. Better than most." She looked back at her maid with a faint, knowing smile. "He let you into his domain, didn't he? Which means, beneath all that darkness, he does want people around him."
"Why now, of all times?" Lucy countered, a subtle shade of skepticism finally painting her features.
*(FLASHBACK)*
Lucy's mind drifted back to earlier that day—standing before the grand, overgrown entrance of Silas's labyrinthine garden. It was his private sanctuary, the one place on the estate he went to escape the world and everyone in it.
When she had carried out Aurora's orders to lead Lyra there, Lucy hadn't known if Silas would grant them passage. But as a servant of the house, she couldn't show fear. She had stepped forward into the winding hedge maze, with the Valerius heir trailing closely behind her.
There was one detail Lucy was certain the young Valerius girl had failed to notice: as they walked, the tall, living grass walls of the labyrinth had shifted and reformed before her very eyes. The earth had reconfigured itself, actively parting to create a direct, unhindered path straight to the center where Silas waited.
It was something Lucy had never witnessed before. It was the first time in all her years at the estate that Silas had deliberately unlocked his sanctuary to allow anyone in.
To Lucy, it felt deeply suspicious. It felt like a trap.
*(END OF FLASHBACK)*
"I do not know the full extent of what he has planned," Aurora admitted, breaking the silence. "But believe me, Lucy, Silas is far from stupid. He would not try anything reckless with the girl. He knows better than anyone what her father is truly capable of."
Lucy listened quietly, processing her mistress's words. After a moment, she lowered her head in a slow, formal bow. "If you say so, Lady Aurora. I trust in your words completely."
"It's alright," Aurora replied gently, offering her a comforting look as Lucy straightened her posture. "You are entirely right to be suspicious. Everything will be fi—"
Aurora paused mid-sentence. Her jaw locked.
Without warning, an explosive, suffocating wave of pure bloodlust violently ripped through the air, tearing through the wards of the estate like paper.
The atmosphere in the room plummeted in temperature. The raw, violent aura—a sickening, concentrated release of pure Malice—struck the room with the force of a physical battering ram. Both Aurora and Lucy froze in place, their breathing instantly cut off as the sheer weight of the aura pressed down on their chests.
Lucy, trained to withstand pressure, was the first to snap out of the paralysis. She gasped for air, her eyes darting over to the bed, only to see Aurora completely pale, her pupils shrunken in absolute horror.
"Lady Aurora!" Lucy yelled, rushing to her side and grasping her trembling shoulders, shaking her in a frantic attempt to pull her back to reality.
Aurora remained motionless, her entire body trembling violently. Cold sweat broke out across her forehead, dripping down her pale cheeks, as a forgotten terror gripped her heart. The sheer intensity of the bloodlust carried a familiar, horrifying resonance—a darkness she had not felt since the darkest days of the conflict years ago.
Only one man in this world had ever inspired a terror this absolute.
"Just like... HIM," Aurora whispered, her voice shaking violently as tears of sheer, instinctual fright welled in her eyes. "It's... just like him..."
---
Outside, on the sun-drenched veranda near the main residential quarters, Zerav stood leaning lazily against the dark wooden doorframe.
He was watching the rest of the group—Caspian, Elisa, Alium, and Casel—who had grown bored of staying indoors and had decided to step outside for fresh air. Nearby, Edna was leaning back against the trunk of a grand oak tree, staring out at the vibrant orange and purple colors of the sunset with a serene, peaceful smile resting on her lips.
A few paces away, Alium and Casel were engaged in a quiet, analytical discussion, while Caspian periodically burst into boisterous laughter at something Casel said. Alium offered a rare, subtle smile, and even Elisa giggled, her usual reserved nature softening under the warmth of the evening.
Zerav let out a long, bored yawn, his mind drifting lazily to thoughts of when dinner would finally be served.
Then, his pupils instantly dilated into pinpricks.
Every combat instinct forged through years of survival screamed in unison. His body moved on pure reflex—his lazy posture vanishing instantly as he straightened up from the doorframe, his hand instinctively dropping toward the hilt of his weapon.
He spun around toward the source of the sensation, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes locked onto the far eastern perimeter of the estate. A menacing, suffocating aura was expanding into the sky, so heavy and dense that the ambient air seemed to distort around it.
"The... garden?" Zerav muttered, his voice barely a whisper, filled with uncharacteristic shock.
He wasn't the only one who felt it.
Beside the oak tree, Edna snapped straight up onto her feet. Her sleepy, relaxed demeanor vanished in a microsecond, replaced by a sharp, lethal focus. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she stared toward the distant maze, watching in disbelief as flocks of wild birds exploded out of the distant canopy, shrieking in sheer terror as they fled the airspace.
Caspian felt the wave hit an instant later. The sudden, overwhelming weight of the Malice made his stomach turn, but his eyes darted quickly toward Alium, Casel, and Elisa. Realizing that the three of them—lacking the specialized sensory perception required to feel raw Malice at this distance—remained completely unaware, Caspian forced a nervous, awkward laugh to cover his sudden stiffness.
He slowly turned his head toward the eastern horizon, watching the panicked birds scatter across the burning orange sky. The forced smile faded from his face, replaced by a look of deep, agonizing concern.
"Lyra..." he whispered quietly to himself, his fist clenching tightly at his side.