Specter of Perfection

Charlotte's silence stretched too long, thickening the air in the room. Mira stared at her, waiting, her arms tight around me. Her fingers curled into the blanket like it could stop the weight of Charlotte's unspoken words. I could feel her frustration—a sharp, buzzing thing that tangled with the fear she wouldn't let herself show.

Before either of them could break the tension, the door creaked open. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to send a jolt through all of us. Mira turned sharply, shielding me instinctively, her body coiled tight. Charlotte's hand dropped to the hilt of her blade, her posture stiffening.

Lucien stood in the doorway.

At first, he looked like he always did—tall, composed, with his sharp blue eyes scanning the room. But something was off. His shoulders sagged just slightly, and his coat was torn at the edges, streaked with something too dark to be just dirt. His hand gripped the doorframe, his knuckles pale, and his breathing was steady but too deliberate, like every inhale cost him.

Mira froze, her body taut with tension. "Lucien." Her voice was low, careful.

He didn't answer immediately. His eyes flicked to her, then to me, and for a moment, something softened in his gaze—something that almost looked like regret. He straightened, pushing off the doorframe, but the movement was stiff, too controlled.

"Close the door," he said, his voice quiet but carrying enough weight to make it feel like an order.

Charlotte hesitated, her hand still on her blade. "What happened?"

Lucien didn't answer. He stepped inside, his movements slow, deliberate, and glanced over his shoulder as the door clicked shut behind him. The room felt smaller now, heavier, like his presence had brought the shadows with him.

"Lucien," Mira said again, her voice sharper this time. "What happened?"

He finally looked at her, his expression hardening into something unreadable. "It's contained," he said simply.

"That's not an answer." Mira's tone was tight, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. "You said you'd handle it, and now you look like—like it nearly killed you."

Lucien didn't flinch, but his jaw tightened, and his hand twitched at his side. "It didn't nearly kill me," he said, his voice clipped. "It wasn't trying to."

Mira blinked, her confusion cutting through her anger for a moment. "What does that mean?"

Lucien didn't answer right away. Instead, he crossed the room, his steps slower than usual, and sat heavily in the chair near the window. The light caught on his coat, and for the first time, I saw the stains clearly—deep, dark streaks of red that clung to the fabric like they didn't want to let go.

Mira's grip on me tightened, and I felt her pulse quicken, a rapid drumbeat against my back.

"It wasn't random," Lucien said finally, his voice low and even. "The figure, the summoning—it wasn't a coincidence."

Charlotte stepped closer, her hand falling away from her blade. "What are you saying?"

Lucien leaned back, his head tilting slightly as he stared at the ceiling. His expression didn't change, but his hands clenched into fists against the armrests. "The wards didn't fail," he said. "They worked exactly as they were supposed to. The figure didn't come from outside the estate. It was already here."

Mira's breath hitched, and she took a step back, her arms tightening around me. "That's not possible," she said, but her voice wavered.

"It is," Lucien said, his gaze shifting to her. "Because this estate isn't just a house. It's a vessel. And the figure—the energy tied to it—has been here since the beginning."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Mira didn't respond immediately, her face pale as she stared at him. "You mean the Redthorns," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lucien nodded. "Their bloodline. Their rituals. They tied the estate to something far older than any of us." His gaze flicked to me again, lingering for a moment. "And that tie didn't break when the family died. It's been dormant, waiting."

"For what?" Mira asked, her voice sharp and cold.

Lucien's jaw tightened, and he hesitated for just a moment before answering. "For him."

Mira froze, and I could feel the air shift around her, her emotions crashing against each other like waves in a storm. "You don't know that," she said, her voice trembling just slightly. "You're guessing."

"No," Lucien said, his tone hard. "I'm not guessing. The wards responded to his birth. The figure appeared in his room. The mark is tied to his energy. It's not a coincidence, Mira."

Her grip on me was almost too tight now, her body rigid as she stared at him. "Then we leave," she said, her words coming out in a rush. "We take him and leave this place."

Lucien shook his head, slow and deliberate. "You can't."

Mira's eyes flashed, anger and fear twisting together in her expression. "Watch me."

"You don't understand," Lucien said, his voice sharp enough to cut through her anger. "The connection isn't to the house. It's to him. If you leave, it won't stop. It'll follow. And without the estate's wards, you'll have no way to control it."

Mira's breathing quickened, and I could feel her resolve cracking, her fear seeping through the cracks. "So what?" she asked, her voice trembling. "We just stay here and wait for it to take him?"

"No," Lucien said, his tone firm but quiet. "We figure out how to stop it."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Mira shot back, her voice rising.

Lucien didn't answer immediately. He stood slowly, his movements stiff, and crossed the room to stand in front of her. His gaze was steady, unflinching. "We start with the truth," he said.

Mira stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of her breathing.

Charlotte stepped forward, her expression unreadable. "What truth?"

Lucien's gaze flicked to her, then back to Mira. "The curse. The bloodline. Everything the Redthorns tied to this estate—it didn't end with them. It passed on, through the Alarics. Through us." His eyes shifted to me again, his expression darkening. "And now, it's in him."

Mira didn't move, didn't speak. Her grip on me loosened slightly, but her body remained tense, her face pale and blank.

"This isn't just about the house," Lucien continued. "It's about the blood. The energy that ties him to it. It's not going to stop because we want it to. We have to break it at the source."

"And what if we can't?" Mira asked, her voice barely audible.

Lucien's expression didn't change, but his silence spoke volumes.

Mira's breathing grew shallow, each exhale trembling like it might shatter. I could feel the fear spiraling inside her, a raw and desperate thing that clawed at her resolve. Her grip on me loosened just enough for her hands to tremble against the blanket, but she didn't let go.

"You're telling me," she said finally, her voice low and tight, "that my son is tied to this curse. That this thing—this thing—is in him. And you have no plan? No answer?"

Lucien's gaze didn't waver. "Not yet."

Mira let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the heavy air. "Not yet. That's your answer?" She shook her head, her golden hair catching the faint light. "You've known this was coming, haven't you? Since the day he was born, you've been watching and waiting for this."

"Yes," Lucien admitted, his tone flat, almost clinical.

Mira flinched, like the word was a physical blow. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

"What would you have done?" Lucien asked, his voice calm but pointed. "Run? Fought the house? Do you think ignorance would've kept him safe?"

Mira's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. "You don't get to decide what I would've done."

Their words slammed into each other like clashing blades, each one heavier and sharper than the last. I could feel the tension radiating off both of them, their emotions rippling through the resonance like shockwaves. Mira's anger was hot and brittle, barely contained, while Lucien's was cold and steady, an unyielding wall against her fury.

Charlotte stepped forward, her movements cautious but deliberate. "We can't afford this right now," she said, her tone measured. "If what Lucien's saying is true, then arguing won't change anything. We need to focus on what's next."

Mira turned on her, her eyes blazing. "And what is that, exactly? Huh? What's next, Charlotte? You think we can just… just fix this?"

"We have to try," Charlotte said, her voice calm but firm.

"Try," Mira repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. She looked back at Lucien, her expression a mix of anger and desperation. "You brought this to my family. You let this curse touch my son. You knew, and you let it happen."

Lucien's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "I didn't let it happen," he said quietly. "It was already here. This isn't something I control, Mira. It's something I'm trying to contain."

"Not good enough," Mira snapped.

Her anger flared, sharp and relentless, but I could feel the undercurrent beneath it—a deep, aching fear that wrapped around her like a vice. It wasn't just anger at Lucien; it was anger at herself, at the house, at everything she couldn't fight or protect me from.

"I don't care about your containment," she said, her voice shaking. "I care about him."

Lucien's eyes softened, just for a moment, and he glanced at me. "So do I," he said simply.

The silence that followed was heavier than the argument had been. Mira didn't respond, but her grip on me tightened again, a silent declaration that she wouldn't let me go—not to Lucien, not to the house, not to the curse.

Charlotte cleared her throat, breaking the tension. "If the bloodline is the source, then the key is understanding it," she said. "We need to go back to the beginning. To the Redthorns."

Lucien nodded, his expression hardening again. "The ritual. The pact. We need to know what they did—and how to undo it."

"And what if it can't be undone?" Mira asked, her voice quieter now but no less sharp.

Lucien didn't answer right away. His gaze shifted to the window, his expression unreadable. "Then we contain it," he said finally.

Mira let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Contain it. You make it sound so simple."

"It's not," Lucien said. "But it's the only option if breaking it isn't possible."

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over all of us like a heavy fog. I could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken fears and doubts that none of them wanted to voice.

The system flickered in my vision, a brief and intrusive light in the darkness.

[New Quest: Trace the Bloodline.]

Objective: Uncover the origins of the Redthorn curse.

Reward: Knowledge Fragment – Crimson Echo.

The words burned into my mind, and I clenched my tiny fists, frustration boiling beneath my skin. The house, the curse, the bloodline—it all tied back to me, to a legacy I hadn't asked for and didn't want.

Mira sighed, her breath trembling as she looked down at me. Her fingers brushed against my cheek, and her expression softened just slightly. "You're not a curse," she whispered, more to herself than to me. "You're not."

---

Lucien's movements were slower than usual as he stepped toward the desk in the corner of the room. He leaned on it heavily, his hand gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. "We'll start with the archives," he said, his voice quieter now.

"The archives?" Charlotte asked, her tone skeptical.

Lucien nodded. "There are records there—old ones, from before the Alarics took over the estate. They might have what we need."

"And if they don't?" Mira asked, her voice sharp.

"Then we look elsewhere," Lucien said simply.

Charlotte frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. "Elsewhere isn't exactly an option right now. If we're going to do this, we need to be smart about it. The house isn't going to make it easy."

Lucien's lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't argue. "We'll start in the morning," he said. "After I've had time to go through what I brought back from the sigils."

"And what exactly did you bring back?" Mira asked, her eyes narrowing.

Lucien hesitated, just for a moment, before answering. "Fragments. Energy signatures. Enough to confirm the connection to the mark."

Mira's expression darkened, but she didn't push further. She looked down at me again, her fingers brushing through my hair. "We'll figure this out," she said softly, her voice trembling but determined.

Mira's hand stayed on my head as she stared at Lucien, her fingers trembling just slightly. I could feel the conflict boiling inside her—a raw mix of frustration, fear, and something sharp enough to cut. Her breath hitched once before she steadied it, but I could feel the effort it took.

"And what are you planning to do with those… fragments?" Her voice was quieter now, but no less pointed.

Lucien's shoulders tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. "I'll analyze them. Compare them to the sigils we've already studied and the energy from the mark. If there's a pattern, I'll find it."

"And if there isn't?" she pressed, her tone sharper this time.

Lucien didn't flinch. "There will be."

Mira shook her head, letting out a hollow laugh that didn't match the look in her eyes. "That's not good enough, Lucien. You keep talking about containment and analysis, but none of that gets us closer to protecting him."

"I am protecting him," Lucien said, his voice low but firm.

"By what? Playing scientist?" she shot back. "By poking at things you barely understand until they tear through this house?"

Lucien's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "And what's your solution, Mira? Run? Hide? You think you can outrun this? That you can just carry him away from what's in his blood?"

Her grip on me tightened, the tension in her arms radiating through my small frame. "Don't you dare act like this is his fault," she said, her voice shaking. "He's a baby, Lucien. He didn't ask for this. He didn't choose this."

"And neither did I," Lucien said quietly, his tone colder now. "Neither did any of us. But here we are."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over us like a thick, suffocating fog. Mira's breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling too quickly, but she didn't say anything.

I watched her, felt her emotions bleeding into me through the resonance. Anger. Guilt. Fear. It was overwhelming, and I wanted to reach out to her, to tell her I was okay, even if I wasn't. But my body was too small, too useless, and all I could do was stare up at her, my fists clenched tightly against the blanket.

Charlotte cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "If the bloodline is the source," she said carefully, "then we need to understand it. The estate, the curse, the Redthorns—it all ties back to them. If we want to break it, we start there."

Mira turned sharply to face her, her expression dark. "And how do you suggest we do that?"

"The archives," Charlotte said, her tone even. "Lucien's right about that. If the Redthorns left any record of what they did, it'll be there."

"And if they didn't?" Mira asked, her voice cold.

"Then we'll figure out the next step when we get to it," Charlotte said simply.

Mira didn't respond immediately. She turned back to me, her fingers brushing against my cheek as she sighed heavily. "This isn't enough," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It has to be," Lucien said, his tone softening slightly. "For now."

---

The rest of the night passed in a tense, uneasy quiet. Mira stayed close to me, her presence a steady warmth against the cold weight of the house. She didn't speak much, but I could feel her thoughts spiraling, pulling her deeper into a place she didn't want to be.

Lucien didn't stay in the room. He left shortly after their argument, muttering something about needing to sort through his findings. Charlotte stayed, her posture stiff as she leaned against the wall, her eyes scanning the shadows like she expected something to crawl out of them at any moment.

The system flickered in my vision again, its interface sharper now, more insistent.

[New Quest Progression: Trace the Bloodline.]

Next Step: Investigate the Redthorn Records in the Archives.

The words felt heavier than they should have, their weight pressing down on me like a second skin. I didn't know how I was supposed to do anything. I couldn't even lift my head without help, let alone unravel an ancient curse. But the system didn't care about that. It never did.

Mira's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "He's wrong, you know," she said softly, her words directed more at herself than at Charlotte.

Charlotte didn't respond right away. When she finally spoke, her tone was cautious. "About what?"

"About leaving," Mira said, her eyes focused on me. "If we leave, we could—"

"You'd be running blind," Charlotte interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. "And you know it."

Mira's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. Instead, she exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing through my hair as she whispered, "I just want him to be safe."

Charlotte's expression softened just slightly, but her voice remained steady. "So do I. So does Lucien. But running won't fix this. Whatever's tied to him—it's not going to let go just because we leave."

Mira's silence was heavy, her eyes distant as she held me closer.

---

When morning came, the tension in the air hadn't lifted. If anything, it had grown heavier, settling into the cracks of the house like a living thing.

Lucien returned, looking more composed than he had the night before, but there was still a shadow in his expression, something cold and hard that hadn't been there before.

"The archives are ready," he said, his voice clipped. "We start now."

Mira frowned, her grip on me tightening instinctively. "And what exactly are you expecting to find?"

"Answers," Lucien said simply.

She shook her head, letting out a bitter laugh. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not," Lucien admitted. "But it's the only way forward."

Mira didn't respond. She just looked down at me, her expression softening as she sighed heavily. "I hope you're right," she said quietly.

Lucien didn't say anything. He just turned and walked toward the door, his movements brisk but deliberate. Charlotte followed, her posture tense but focused.

Mira stayed where she was for a moment longer, her fingers brushing against my cheek. "We'll figure this out," she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly.