The silence Marcus left behind pressed against Liana's chest like a boulder. She stood frozen in the middle of the black marble corridor, surrounded by pale blue flames that danced endlessly along the walls. The middle-aged man's disappearance without a trace made Liana's common sense scream at her to turn around and run.
But there was nowhere to run. The massive iron gates in the outer courtyard had been locked tight, isolating her from the human world she knew.
Liana clenched the bronze key in her hand until its rough metal edges dug painfully into her palm. The key's coldness spread quickly, creeping up to her shoulder. She swallowed, steeled herself, then headed toward the west tower according to the last instructions she had received.
Every step of her shoes against the stone floor echoed loudly, reverberating between the enormous pillars supporting the ceiling. She passed through corridor after corridor beneath the eerie blue light. The atmosphere inside this castle was utterly dead. There were no footsteps from other students, no whispers from beyond the windows, not even a breath of wind passing through.
A winding stone staircase greeted Liana at the end of the west tower corridor. Its steps were steep, bordered by a wrought-iron handrail carved with winged dragons that felt slick beneath her palm. Liana climbed one step at a time, panting for breath.
At last, a massive teakwood door stood imposing at the top of the staircase. Above its doorframe, covered in intricate carvings, was a small copper plate engraved with the number 104.
Liana drew a deep breath, calming her heart as it pounded like a war drum. She inserted the bronze key into the dusty keyhole.
Click.
The sound of the old iron mechanism shifting rang out sharply in the silence. Liana pushed the door open slowly. The wooden hinges creaked loudly, revealing a room hidden behind the darkness.
Liana stepped inside, searching for a light switch near the door. But her fingers touched only the rough, cold surface of the stone wall. Instead, a candleholder made of heavy silver lit up automatically on a thick wooden table when Liana stepped into the center of the room.
The room was remarkably spacious for a personal servant's quarters. In the left corner, a black wooden canopy bed was covered with clean, dark-red silk sheets. A massive wardrobe, a vanity with a dusty mirror, and a thick rug bearing the emblem of a mysterious clan covered the wooden floor.
It was luxurious, but the place felt lifeless. It seemed more like an exhibit room in an old museum that no human had touched for hundreds of years. The air inside carried a musty scent mixed with wood oil and the heavy fragrance of dried flowers.
Liana set her shabby cloth bag on the table, then immediately turned the bronze key to lock the door from the inside. The sound of the iron latch clicking firmly into place gave her chest a small measure of security.
She approached the ceramic pitcher on the vanity, hoping it contained some water to soothe her suddenly parched throat. The pitcher turned out to be filled with fresh, cold water. Liana quickly poured it into a small glass and drained it in one gulp.
But something strange happened. Instead of easing, the thirst in her throat only burned more fiercely. Her throat felt as though it had been scraped by coarse sandpaper, impossibly itchy and dry.
"Why does it feel even worse?" Liana whispered, clutching her own throat.
She drank a second glass, then a third. The cold water flowed into her stomach, but the burning sensation in her throat remained, as if the cells inside her body were demanding another kind of liquid that ordinary water could not provide.
Liana clicked her tongue in frustration. She leaned against the edge of the soft silk bed, trying to close her eyes and ignore the tormenting thirst. The exhaustion from her long journey from the city slowly began pulling her consciousness toward sleep.
Creak ... creak ...
Liana suddenly opened her eyes. Her gaze widened as she stared at the canopy above her.
The sound was coming from behind the stone wall to her right. It wasn't a rat or the ordinary scrape of wood. It was the sound of something sharp being dragged slowly across the stone's surface.
Liana held her breath, tilting her head to sharpen her hearing.
Whisper ... whisper ...
Now the sound had changed into a soft whisper. It was faint and layered, like dozens of people whispering hoarsely in unison behind a thick layer of cement. The words were unclear, like a foreign language that had gone extinct hundreds of years ago, yet the tone sounded desperately thirsty—and beckoning.
Liana shuddered violently. The hairs on the back of her neck rose all at once. She pressed herself against the headboard, pulling the thick silk blanket up over her chest.