Specter of Perfection

The nursery didn't feel like mine anymore. Not after that thing had appeared. Even as it vanished, dissipating into something too unnatural to call mist and too real to call a trick of the light, it left something behind. The air was colder now, sharper. I could feel it, even in this tiny body that couldn't yet hold a spoon, let alone fight off the suffocating weight pressing down on us.

Mira—my mother—held me close, her warmth a soft barrier against the chill that seeped into every corner of the room. I could feel her trembling, though her voice stayed steady as she whispered, "You're safe, my little warrior. You're safe with me."

Safe? I didn't know what safe even meant anymore. The figure's presence had clung to me, burned into my mind like a scar. It hadn't looked at me—it didn't have eyes—but I'd felt it. Felt it notice me, as if I was more than just an infant in a crib.

And yet, somehow, she was calming down. Mira's breathing, ragged a moment ago, evened out as she pressed her cheek against my forehead. She pulled the blanket tighter around me, her hands smoothing out the edges in repetitive motions like she was trying to find order in chaos. Her trembling stopped. I didn't know if it was because of her or me—or the strange, unseen power I seemed to carry now. The system had given me so much but told me so little. I hated it for that.

The door creaked open, and Charlotte entered, her steps sharp and purposeful, but her face betrayed her. Usually, Charlotte moved like she knew she was in control of every situation. Tonight, her eyes darted to the corners of the room like she expected the shadows to come alive.

"Lady Mira," she began, her voice tight. "The perimeter is secured. No further signs of... intrusion." She said the last word with a weight that told me she didn't believe it. I didn't either. That thing wasn't gone. Not really.

Mira didn't respond immediately. She just kept rocking me, her motions deliberate but slower now, like the exhaustion was catching up to her. Her golden hair fell over my face as she leaned down, the strands tickling my cheeks. I blinked up at her, trying to focus my still-developing vision on her expression. Her lips pressed together tightly, her eyes clouded with thoughts she wasn't voicing.

"What did you see?" she asked finally, her voice softer than I'd expected. It wasn't a demand—it was the voice of someone who didn't want the answer but needed it anyway.

Charlotte hesitated. For her, hesitation was rare. It was one of the first things I'd noticed about her. She always seemed ready for anything, even in this strange, impossible world. But now, her shoulders shifted, her weight moving from one foot to the other, like she was bracing herself.

"I don't know," she admitted, and the words felt heavy in the air. "It wasn't... human. Not entirely. It left no physical traces, but—" Her eyes flicked toward the spot where the Crimson Figure had stood, her gaze narrowing like she was daring it to come back. "—it was here. And it was real."

Mira tightened her hold on me, her movements less steady now. I felt her heartbeat quicken, the rhythm pounding through her chest and into mine. Her fear was a quiet thing, wrapped in the softness of her lullabies and the gentle sway of the rocking chair, but it was there. And I felt it, deeply.

"You should've called Lucien," Mira said, her voice firmer now, but not angry. Just... strained. "He needs to know about this."

Charlotte's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the way she stood. "He knows," she said. "He's on his way."

The words hung in the air, weighted and final. "He's on his way." It wasn't a comfort—not really. If anything, it made the tension worse. Lucien's presence meant something larger than just concern. He wasn't the kind of man who came running at shadows. If he was coming, it was because this wasn't just a fluke or a haunting presence. It was a threat.

I felt Mira's grip on me tighten. Not too much to hurt, just enough for me to feel how real her fear was. Her warmth usually surrounded me like a protective cocoon, but now it felt more fragile, like she was clinging to me as much for her own reassurance as mine.

Charlotte crossed the room with measured steps, each one deliberate, as if she were pacing out the exact perimeter of her control over the situation. Her hands rested at her sides, but I could see the way her fingers twitched, like they wanted to reach for the hilt of her sword. The long shadow she cast from the moonlight spilling through the tall windows stretched across the floor, flickering as if the light couldn't fully hold its shape.

"What about the wards?" Mira asked, breaking the silence. "The estate should be impenetrable. You said it yourself."

Charlotte's gaze snapped to Mira, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "They were intact," she said. "I checked them myself yesterday, and again after..." Her voice trailed off, and she glanced again at the corner where the figure had stood. "After it appeared."

"Then how?" Mira's voice wavered just slightly, but it was there. "How could something get through them? It shouldn't be possible."

Charlotte hesitated again. "If it was an ordinary intrusion, I'd agree," she said finally, each word deliberate. "But this isn't ordinary, my lady. Whatever that thing was, it didn't break through the wards. It bypassed them completely."

Mira looked at her sharply, and I could feel the shift in her body as she adjusted her hold on me. "What are you saying?"

Charlotte didn't answer immediately. She turned, her boots making the faintest sound on the polished stone floor as she faced the window. Her silhouette, framed against the glass, looked smaller than usual. Not weaker—Charlotte didn't do weakness—but more human, like the weight of the moment was pressing down on her shoulders. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, almost reluctant.

"I'm saying it didn't come from outside," she said. "It came from here."

The words hit harder than the chill in the room. Mira flinched—just slightly, but enough for me to feel it. She looked down at me, her golden hair falling over her face like a curtain, and I could see the doubt flicker in her eyes. The kind of doubt that comes when you realize you don't know the rules of your own home anymore.

"What are you implying?" she asked, and her tone was sharper now, cutting through the thick silence like a blade.

Before Charlotte could answer, the door swung open. The motion was smooth, silent, but it might as well have been a thunderclap. Lucien stepped inside, and with him came the kind of presence that made you straighten up instinctively, even if you weren't sure why. His tall frame filled the room, his dark, sharp features carved from stone, and his piercing blue eyes swept across us like a cold wind.

"Explain," he said, his voice low but carrying enough weight to make it feel like a command.

Charlotte turned to him, her posture stiffening slightly. She didn't hesitate now—not with him. "There was an intruder," she said, her tone clipped and professional. "It appeared in the nursery, left no physical trace, and bypassed the wards entirely."

Lucien's gaze moved to me then, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto mine. For a moment, I thought he might see through me—see me, the real me, trapped in this helpless body. His expression didn't change, but there was something there, something calculating and cold, like he was piecing together a puzzle he hadn't even known existed.

"And the child?" he asked, his tone as steady as ever, but there was an edge to it, something sharp beneath the surface.

Mira straightened, holding me closer as if shielding me from his scrutiny. "He's fine," she said quickly. "Whatever that thing was, it didn't touch him."

Lucien didn't respond right away. He stepped further into the room, his boots echoing faintly against the floor. He stopped in the middle of the nursery, his gaze moving to the corner where the figure had stood, and for a moment, he just... stared. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he turned back to Charlotte.

"Details," he said. "I want everything."

Charlotte nodded. "I was stationed outside the nursery when I noticed an energy disturbance," she began, her voice brisk and precise. "It wasn't like anything I've felt before. The wards didn't react, but the air itself... shifted. When I entered the room, the figure was already here. It didn't move, didn't speak, but it was—" She paused, searching for the right word. "—watching."

"Watching what?" Lucien asked, his tone still even, but his eyes flicked to me again.

Charlotte hesitated, just for a moment, and I could feel the tension ripple through her. "Him," she said finally. "It was watching the boy."

Mira's arms tightened around me, and I could feel the way her body tensed as she looked from Charlotte to Lucien. "And you didn't call for backup?" she asked, her voice edged with disbelief. "You let it stay here with my son?"

Charlotte met her gaze evenly, her expression unreadable. "I didn't have time," she said. "It disappeared before I could act."

"Disappeared," Lucien repeated, his voice flat.

"Yes," Charlotte said. "It didn't leave through any physical means. It simply... dissolved. But the presence it left behind—" She broke off, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked back at the corner. "It's still here. Faint, but there."

Lucien didn't respond immediately. He crossed the room to stand beside Mira, his presence looming over both of us as he studied me again. I stared back at him, trying to keep my expression as neutral as an infant's face could manage, but I could feel his gaze probing, searching.

"What about the boy?" he asked again. "Did he react?"

I felt Mira shift slightly, her hesitation almost imperceptible, but it was there. "He cried," she said finally. "But only for a moment. Then he..." She trailed off, and I could feel her gaze on me, as if she was trying to make sense of what she'd seen. "He calmed down. Almost instantly."

Lucien's eyes narrowed. "That's unusual," he said, more to himself than to anyone else.

Mira straightened, her grip on me firm but not harsh. "He's a baby, Lucien," she said, her voice steady now. "Babies cry. They calm down. It doesn't mean anything."

Lucien didn't respond, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. He wasn't convinced, and honestly, neither was I. Something had happened. Something I couldn't explain yet, but it was real. I could feel it, thrumming beneath my skin like a quiet, distant heartbeat. And then, as if on cue, the system activated.

The familiar glow of the system interface flickered into my vision, intrusive and sharp against the lingering tension in the room. It always appeared when I least expected, dropping cryptic messages that I had no choice but to unravel, no matter how little context it provided.

[New Quest: Uncover the Nature of the Intrusion]

Objective: Analyze the remnants left behind by the entity.

Reward: Knowledge Fragment – The Forgotten Pact.

The words were stark, deliberate, and deeply unhelpful. I couldn't exactly "analyze" anything when I couldn't even crawl yet. The system always had this maddening way of presenting tasks as though I were fully equipped to handle them, completely ignoring the fact that my body was practically useless. But the word remnants stood out to me. There was something still here, lingering like a stain, and the system wanted me to figure it out.

"Lucien," Mira's voice broke the silence, drawing me back to the room. Her tone was steadier now, though I could still feel the undercurrent of worry beneath it. "We need to know what this was. If it can bypass the wards—"

"It won't happen again," Lucien interrupted, his voice calm but cold. He didn't look at her when he spoke. His gaze was fixed on the corner of the room, where the figure had stood. The shadows seemed thicker there, darker somehow, even though the moonlight filtered through the window just the same as everywhere else.

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place," Mira countered, her grip tightening on me. "This is our son's room, Lucien. If the wards aren't enough to keep him safe—"

"They are," Lucien snapped, his eyes flashing as he finally turned to face her. For a moment, the tension in the room thickened, a palpable weight pressing down on all of us. Then, as if realizing how his tone had shifted, Lucien took a step back and exhaled slowly. "They are," he repeated, softer this time.

Mira didn't reply. She just looked at him, her expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Her hands moved almost unconsciously, adjusting the blanket around me again, her fingers brushing against my cheek in a way that felt both protective and uncertain.

Charlotte cleared her throat, breaking the silence that had stretched too long. "The wards need to be inspected," she said, her voice calm but firm. "If something bypassed them, we need to know how."

Lucien nodded curtly, his sharp blue eyes flicking to her. "Do it," he said. "Start with the nursery."

Charlotte didn't hesitate. She moved to the corner of the room where the figure had been, her steps measured and deliberate. She knelt, her gloved fingers brushing over the floorboards, and I watched as her eyes narrowed in concentration.

I focused on her movements, trying to pick up anything I could. There was a faint energy there, a lingering pulse that seemed to vibrate just beneath the surface. I couldn't see it with my normal vision, but when I concentrated—when I let the Kairoptic Vision settle over me—I could just barely make out the faintest shimmer of red, like the echo of a flame that had long since gone out.

"Charlotte," Lucien said, his tone sharper now. "What do you see?"

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the spot. "There's a residue," she said finally. "It's faint, but it's there. Whatever this was, it left a mark."

"What kind of mark?" Mira asked, her voice quieter now, but no less insistent.

Charlotte straightened, turning to face them. "It's not physical," she said. "It's... arcane. Old. Too old to trace without further analysis."

"Old?" Lucien's voice hardened. "How old?"

Charlotte hesitated again, her eyes flicking to me for just a fraction of a second before she answered. "Older than the wards," she said finally. "Possibly older than the estate itself."

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Mira's grip on me tightened again, and I felt her heartbeat quicken, a subtle rhythm that mirrored the tension in the room.

"That's impossible," Lucien said, though his voice lacked the conviction it usually carried.

"Apparently not," Charlotte replied, her tone careful but unyielding. "Whatever this was, it didn't just bypass the wards. It predates them. It's connected to something deeper, something tied to the foundation of this place."

Lucien's jaw tightened, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. He didn't like uncertainty. He thrived on control, on knowing exactly what he was dealing with, and this? This was something he couldn't quantify, couldn't command into submission.

"We'll deal with it," he said finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Whatever it takes."

Mira didn't look convinced. She glanced down at me, her expression softening for a moment, and I could feel the weight of her worry pressing against me like a heavy blanket. "And what about him?" she asked quietly. "What if it comes back for him?"

"It won't," Lucien said, but even he didn't sound sure.

Mira's grip tightened, and I could feel the frustration building in her. "That's not good enough," she said, her voice firmer now. "We can't just hope it doesn't happen again, Lucien. We have to know why it happened in the first place."

Lucien didn't respond immediately. He just looked at her, his sharp blue eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the room felt colder than ever. Then, finally, he turned to Charlotte.

"Do whatever you need to," he said. "Find out what this is. Find out why it's here."

Charlotte nodded, her expression as sharp and focused as ever. "I'll start immediately," she said.

She left the room without another word, her steps fading into the silence of the hallway.

Lucien stayed for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on me. I stared back at him, trying to keep my expression as blank as possible, but I could feel his eyes searching me, probing for something he couldn't quite name.

Finally, he turned to Mira. "Keep him close," he said quietly. "Until we know more, don't let him out of your sight."

Mira didn't reply. She just nodded, her arms tightening around me as Lucien left the room.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Mira rocked me gently, her hands smoothing over the blanket again and again, but I could feel the tension in her movements. She was trying to calm herself, to create a sense of normalcy that didn't exist anymore.

"You're safe," she whispered, though the words felt more like a prayer than a promise.

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But the system's quest lingered in my mind, the words etched into my vision like a brand: Uncover the Nature of the Intrusion.

Something was still here. Something bigger than any of us understood. And somehow, I knew it wasn't done with me yet.

The nursery remained quiet, too quiet, save for Mira's gentle rocking. The silence wasn't comforting; it was the kind that stretched on, making the world feel like it was holding its breath. I could feel Mira's unease as clearly as if it were my own. Her hand brushed across my forehead, her fingers trembling slightly despite the soothing rhythm of her movements.

"You're too quiet, my little warrior," she murmured, her voice barely louder than a breath. "Babies are supposed to cry. Laugh. Do something." Her laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating, and I could feel the faint hitch in her voice. She was trying to hold herself together, but cracks were forming in her composure.

I wanted to do something—anything—to reassure her. But even as I wriggled in her arms, the limitations of this body mocked me. A soft gurgle escaped my lips, the closest I could get to speech, and Mira's gaze snapped down to me. For a moment, her eyes softened, the storm of worry dimming slightly as a small, tired smile crept onto her face.

"There you are," she whispered, cradling me closer. "My Caelum. My bright little star."

She leaned down, her forehead resting gently against mine, and for a moment, the warmth of her touch drowned out the lingering chill from the figure's presence. It wasn't enough to banish the darkness entirely, but it was enough to remind me that I wasn't alone in this.

But even as Mira tried to find comfort in the quiet, I couldn't shake the sense that something was still wrong. The faint shimmer I'd seen with my Kairoptic Vision was still there, pulsing faintly in the corner of the room where the Crimson Figure had stood. The system's words echoed in my mind: Analyze the remnants left behind by the entity.

I concentrated again, letting my vision shift, and the shimmer grew clearer, more defined. It wasn't just a lingering presence—it was a mark, etched into the air itself. Lines and shapes twisted together in a pattern that felt ancient, too intricate to be natural. It pulsed faintly, almost like it was alive, and I could feel the hum of its energy vibrating through me.

But I wasn't the only one who noticed. Mira's grip on me tightened slightly, her eyes narrowing as she looked toward the same corner. "What is that?" she murmured, her voice barely audible.

I didn't know how she could see it—or if she could truly see it at all. Maybe it was just a feeling, an instinct honed by years of living in a world where magic and danger went hand in hand. Either way, the unease in her voice was unmistakable.

Before either of us could dwell on it further, the door creaked open again, and Charlotte stepped back inside. Her face was as composed as ever, but there was a tension in her movements, a sharpness in the way her eyes darted around the room before settling on Mira.

"The initial inspection is complete," she said, her tone clipped and professional. "There's no breach in the wards, but there's... something else."

Mira straightened, her arms tightening protectively around me. "Something else?" she repeated, her voice sharp.

Charlotte nodded. "The wards are intact, but their integrity has been compromised. Whatever that thing was, it didn't just bypass them—it left a trace. A disruption."

Mira's expression darkened, and I could feel her pulse quicken again. "What kind of disruption?" she demanded.

Charlotte hesitated, her gaze flicking to me for just a moment before returning to Mira. "It's tied to him," she said finally. "The energy it left behind... it's resonating with the boy."

The room felt colder again, the weight of her words pressing down on all of us. Mira's grip on me tightened even further, and I could feel the faint tremor in her hands as she looked down at me.

"That's impossible," she said quietly, but the doubt in her voice was clear.

"It's not harmful," Charlotte said quickly, as if to reassure her. "At least, not yet. But it's there. And it's strong."

Mira's eyes darted to the corner of the room again, her gaze narrowing. "Is it still here?"

Charlotte hesitated. "Not... fully," she said finally. "The entity itself is gone, but its presence remains. It's faint, but it's connected to the boy. I don't know how, but—"

"Enough," Mira interrupted, her voice sharper than I'd ever heard it. "He's just a baby. He has nothing to do with this."

Charlotte didn't respond, but the look in her eyes said otherwise.

I wanted to speak, to explain, but all I could do was watch as the two women stood in tense silence. The system's quest pulsed in the back of my mind, a constant reminder that there was more to this than any of them realized.

Finally, Charlotte broke the silence. "I'll continue the inspection," she said, her tone measured. "There may be more traces elsewhere in the estate."

Mira didn't respond, but she gave a small, curt nod. Charlotte turned and left the room again, her steps fading into the distance.

As the door closed behind her, Mira let out a shaky breath, her head bowing slightly as she pressed me closer to her chest. Her hair fell around us like a golden curtain, blocking out the rest of the world for a moment.

"It's not you," she whispered, more to herself than to me. "It can't be you". She kept rocking me, her movements almost mechanical, as if the repetition alone could shield her from what Charlotte had implied. But I could feel it—that quiet tension tightening like a string pulled too taut, ready to snap.

I shifted in her arms, a small gesture meant to remind her I was here, alive, and very much aware. She looked down at me, her golden hair framing her face like a halo, and her expression softened just slightly. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, she brushed her fingers against my cheek, her touch lingering, warm but trembling.

"It's not you," she whispered again, her voice firmer this time, as though repeating it could make it true.

The door creaked open again, and this time, Lucien stepped inside. The room seemed to darken in his presence, not because of malice, but because he carried a weight that was impossible to ignore. His sharp blue eyes scanned the room, taking in Mira's protective stance and the faint tension still lingering in the air like an invisible fog.

"Report," he said, his tone cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Mira didn't answer immediately. Her body stiffened, her arms tightening around me instinctively, as if she was shielding me from him. But Lucien wasn't looking at her—he was looking at the corner of the room where the figure had stood, his gaze narrowed and calculating.

"It's connected to him," Mira said finally, her voice steady but strained. "That's what Charlotte believes."

Lucien's eyes flicked to her, then down to me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, and I could feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on me.

"And what do you believe?" he asked, his voice low but sharp.

Mira hesitated, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket that wrapped me. "I believe he's just a child," she said, her tone firm but laced with something softer, almost pleading. "Whatever this is, it's not his fault."

Lucien's jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his shadow falling over both of us. He reached out, his hand hovering just above me, and I could feel the faintest chill radiating from him. He didn't touch me—he never did—but his presence alone was enough to make my small body tense.

"There's more to him than you understand," Lucien said, his voice quieter now, almost a murmur. "More than any of us understand."

Mira's eyes flashed, her protective instincts flaring. "He's a baby, Lucien. He's our son."

"And that's exactly why we can't ignore this," Lucien snapped, his tone hardening. "If that thing came for him, then he's already a target. Pretending otherwise will only make us blind to the danger."

The tension between them crackled like a storm about to break. Mira's gaze was fierce, her grip on me unyielding, but Lucien's presence was equally immovable. They were two forces colliding, and I was caught in the middle.

"I won't let you treat him like a weapon," Mira said finally, her voice low but filled with steel. "Not now. Not ever."

Lucien didn't respond immediately. His eyes lingered on me, his expression dark and unreadable, before he finally turned away. "The wards are being inspected," he said, his tone clipped. "If there's a weakness, we'll find it."

Mira didn't reply. She just watched him leave, her body still tense even after the door clicked shut behind him.

For a moment, the room was quiet again, save for the faint hum of the system still lingering in my mind. The quest hadn't changed—it was still there, waiting, insistent.

Analyze the remnants left behind by the entity.

I glanced toward the corner again, letting my Kairoptic Vision settle over me. The shimmering mark was still there, its faint red glow pulsing rhythmically, almost like a heartbeat. It was weaker now, but not gone. Whatever it was, it wasn't natural—and it wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Mira shifted, pulling me closer as she stood. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if she were carrying something far more fragile than a baby. She crossed the room to the window, the soft glow of moonlight spilling over both of us as she gazed out at the estate grounds.

"I don't care what they say," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "You're my son, Caelum. And I'll protect you, no matter what."

Her words were a promise, quiet but unshakable, and I could feel the strength in them like a shield wrapping around me.

But even as she spoke, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The Crimson Figure was gone, but its shadow remained, stretching far beyond this room, this night. And somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, I knew it wasn't finished with me yet.

----

Mira's whispered promise wrapped around me like a protective veil, but the lingering presence of the Crimson Figure refused to let go. The shimmer in the corner of the room pulsed faintly, its rhythm slow but deliberate, like the last embers of a dying fire refusing to be snuffed out.

I focused on it again, letting the Kairoptic Vision guide me. The lines and shapes twisted together in intricate, almost hypnotic patterns. They didn't feel random—there was an order to them, a purpose I couldn't yet grasp. And then, just for a moment, the pulse quickened, like it had sensed my attention.

A jolt of energy shot through me, faint but undeniable. It wasn't painful—if anything, it felt warm, almost familiar. But it was wrong. It wasn't my energy, and it didn't belong here. The system's interface flickered again, sharper this time, cutting into my vision with an intensity that made me flinch internally.

[New Update: Analyzing anomaly...]

The words faded as quickly as they appeared, leaving me with nothing but the faint hum of the mark and the sound of Mira's breathing. She hadn't noticed. Her gaze was still fixed on the window, her arms cradling me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded.

But the mark wasn't done. The pulsing light grew brighter, more insistent, and I could feel it drawing me in, pulling at something deep inside me. It was like a whisper at the edge of my mind, too faint to understand but impossible to ignore.

Mira shifted suddenly, breaking my focus. Her fingers brushed against my cheek, her touch gentle but firm. "You're safe," she murmured again, but this time, the words felt hollow. She wasn't convincing me—she was convincing herself.

The door opened for the third time that night, and Charlotte stepped inside again. Her movements were quicker now, more precise, and her expression was tighter than before. She carried something in her hand—a small, silver device that glowed faintly in the dim light.

"I found something," she said, her voice brisk. "In the eastern wing."

Mira turned sharply, her arms tightening around me protectively. "What is it?"

Charlotte stepped closer, holding out the device. The glow intensified as she approached, casting strange, twisting shadows across the room. "Residual energy," she explained. "Similar to what's here, but stronger. Concentrated."

Mira's eyes narrowed, her grip on me unyielding. "What does that mean?"

Charlotte hesitated, her gaze flicking to the corner of the room where the mark pulsed faintly. "It means this isn't isolated," she said finally. "Whatever this is, it's spreading."

The words sent a chill through the room, colder than anything the Crimson Figure had left behind. Mira's expression hardened, her fear twisting into something sharper, more determined.

"Where is Lucien?" she demanded, her voice steady but laced with urgency.

"He's in the archives," Charlotte replied. "Searching the old records for anything that might explain this."

Mira nodded, her jaw tightening. "Take me to him."

Charlotte hesitated, her gaze flicking to me again. "And the boy?"

"He stays with me," Mira said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Charlotte didn't push the issue. She simply nodded, her posture stiffening as she stepped aside to let Mira pass. Mira moved quickly, her steps deliberate but careful as she carried me out of the nursery.

The hallway was dark, the faint light of the moon barely illuminating the ornate carvings that lined the walls. Shadows danced across the stone floor, their shapes twisting and stretching like they were alive. Mira's pace quickened, her breathing steady but tense, and I could feel her heartbeat thundering against my back.

Charlotte led the way, her movements precise and controlled, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. She wasn't immune to the unease that clung to the estate like a shroud.

As we approached the archives, the air grew heavier, charged with a faint energy that made my skin prickle. The ornate double doors were already open, and Lucien stood in the center of the room, surrounded by ancient tomes and glowing sigils that hovered in the air around him.

He didn't look up as we entered. His focus was entirely on the sigils, his sharp blue eyes scanning the symbols with a precision that bordered on obsession.

"Lucien," Mira said, her voice cutting through the silence.

He didn't respond immediately. His hand moved, tracing one of the sigils, and the glowing lines shifted, rearranging themselves into a new pattern. Finally, he turned, his gaze locking onto Mira with an intensity that made the air feel colder.

"I found it," he said, his voice low but weighted.

"Found what?" Mira asked, her tone sharp.

Lucien's gaze flicked to me, and for a moment, his expression softened—not with kindness, but with something closer to regret. Then he turned back to the sigils, gesturing for Mira to come closer.

"This," he said, pointing to the glowing patterns. "It's not just an intrusion. It's a summoning."

The words hit harder than I expected, and I could feel Mira's body tense, her grip on me tightening as she stepped closer to Lucien.

"A summoning for what?" she asked, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

Lucien's eyes darkened, his expression grim. "Something that predates the Alarics. Something tied to the estate's foundations." He hesitated, his jaw tightening. "And to him."

His gaze fell on me again, and I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me, heavier than before.

Mira's breath hitched, but she didn't falter. "What does it want with him?"

Lucien didn't answer immediately. He turned back to the sigils, his hand moving to trace another glowing line. "That's what we need to find out," he said finally.

But even as he spoke, the mark in the nursery pulsed again, a faint tremor that echoed in the back of my mind like a distant drumbeat. The system flickered, its words sharp and deliberate:

[Update Complete: Anomaly Analysis Pending...]

The Crimson Figure might have vanished, but its shadow was far from gone.