Everest POV
He had to know.
Was Lord Lorcand telling the truth? Or was it just a dream—some twisted wicked thing of Lord Lorcand. Everest couldn't shake the feeling in his chest, what he have saw in this dream still haunted him. That is why he still have time he took his grey horse down to the Vila Kingdom what was now in remains.
He urged his grey stallion forward, faster, pushing through the forest trails with little care for rest. The sun was climbing—his wedding day was here—but none of that mattered if Willow wasn't safe.
Even if it was true...
Even if she bore black magic in her veins...
Even if Lord Lorcand's blood truly ran through her heart...
He would not leave her.
He loved her. She was his best friend and he have grew deep love inside him for her. Nothing could change that.
As they crossed the ridge, the ruins of the Vila Kingdom came into view. Once the most breathtaking place in the region—white towers, golden domes, and emerald gardens—it now lay in ruins. Shattered stone littered the earth, and scorched remnants of war stained every corner.
The high gray walls, once proud and impenetrable, had collapsed in jagged heaps. War debris was scattered across the ground—broken swords, fragments of armor, and forgotten banners tangled in the wind.
His horse slowed to a careful trot, weaving over the remains.
Everest's heart ached at the sight. He remembered this place—he remembered its peace. The gardens where he and Willow once walked. The sunlit balconies where her laughter used to echo. All gone. Dust and ash and broken dreams.
They came to what was once the castle's grand entrance. Now, it was just jagged stone and collapsed beams. His jaw tightened as he pulled gently on the reins, halting the horse.
He dismounted swiftly, his boots crunching over the remains of cracked marble. He found the nearest surviving tree, tying the horse to rest beneath it.
Then he turned toward the ruins, steel in his gaze.
The sword on his back shifted slightly in its leather sheath as he walked, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. Though the war had long since ended, this place still hummed with ancient sorrow—and danger.
The castle had been beautiful once. The gardens where his father used to visit Evelyn were now overgrown and scorched.
Roses and ivy had been replaced with ash and silence. The grand entrance—once a symbol of pride and heritage—was now a ghost, crushed under the weight of memory.
As Everest stepped through the threshold, his boots crunching against broken tile, he could still hear the screams.
The screams of that day. Of the fire.
The Ogres has destroyed everything in they path that day and some blood stains was still remain on the broken walls of the castle.
It was like scene out of horror movie.
He tried to remind himself why he was here—why he had come back to this ruined place. The memory of the door lingered in his mind, carved into his thoughts like a scar. He had seen it before. In the dream. In the vision. Somewhere between memory and myth.
So Everest pressed forward, walking slowly over the shattered remains of the castle, the sound of cracked glass crunching beneath his boots.
His eyes scanned every hallway, every shadow, his breath shallow with anticipation.
And then—he saw it.
A large, fallen tree lay across a section of stone wall, its splintered branches tangled with vines and rubble. Beneath it, partially hidden, was the door.
His heart nearly stopped.
It was the same door. The one from his vision.
Without hesitation, Everest rushed to it, grasping the thick trunk of the tree with both hands. It groaned under his grip, the weight pressing into his muscles, but he didn't care. Adrenaline surged through him. He pulled, heaved, and pushed with all the strength he had. Thank , he was dressed for this. It wasn't as heavy as he feared, and soon enough, the tree shifted—then rolled—revealing the wooden door, whole and untouched by time.
It was exactly the same.
With a deep, bracing breath, Everest reached for the rusted doorknob. The metal was cold under his fingers. He turned it.
Click.
The door creaked open.
He stepped inside.
A breath caught in his throat as the stale air of the sealed room filled his lungs. The scent of dust, decay, and old magic surrounded him—thick, suffocating. It was like the room had been frozen in time, untouched by the years or the war that destroyed everything around it.
The windows were tall and narrow, stained glass panes that still shimmered faintly with faded images of fae creatures and enchanted forests. Dust danced in the light beams, painting the room in quiet sorrow.
And then he saw it.
In the center of the room—just as it had appeared in the dream—stood the glass coffin.
A golden stand cradled it gently, the once-beautiful frame dulled with age. Around the base were the same flowers from his vision, dried and brittle, their color long since faded. The sight hit him like a blade through the ribs.
"No…" he choked out, his voice trembling.
Tears welled in his eyes and spilled freely as he stumbled forward, each step heavier than the last.
It wasn't a dream.
It was real.
He stood before the coffin, his hands shaking. And inside—just as he feared—lay a pink infant dress, perfectly preserved. The small knitted headband. The delicate ribbons. The same outfit Willow wore in the dream, when she lay cold and lifeless in this very room.
Everest's knees buckled. He fell to the ground beside the coffin, the weight of the truth crushing him like stone. His whole body went numb.
She had died.
Willow.
She had died here. And she had been brought back.
But not by divine light. Not by fate. She rose again, bound by the cursed blood of Lord Lorcand.
He couldn't breathe. The reality shattered every hope he had clung to. Willow—his best friend, the woman he loved, the woman he was supposed to marry today—was marked by a magic so dark, so ancient, it chilled his soul.
And yet...
He still loved her.
Even with this truth, even with the fire in the forest, even with the darkness in her veins—she was still the one. His light. His anchor. His home.
The tears came harder.
He leaned his head against the cold gold of the coffin stand, eyes closed, trying to steady himself.
He needed a moment.
Just one moment to breathe, to accept that everything had changed. But no matter what happened next… he wasn't walking away from her.
Not now. Not ever.
Evelyn POV
Today was the big day for her daughter.
A day Evelyn had waited for her entire life—when she would raise Willow to be the queen of her people. If her husband were still alive, he would be proud of Willow today—proud of how much she had grown into a strong and graceful woman.
Evelyn walked quickly through the castle hallway, the soft echo of her heels tapping against the white tiles.
In her hands, she carried Willow's wedding dress, wrapped carefully in a black plastic garment bag. Her heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of seeing her daughter in the dress for the final fitting.
But in a split second, everything changed.
A scream—sharp and agonizing—echoed through the hallway. Evelyn froze. Her smile vanished. Her blood turned cold.
She knew that voice. It was Willow. And she was in pain.
Without a second thought, Evelyn broke into a run, her feet pounding the tiled floor. She reached Willow's chamber, pushed the door open, and tossed the garment bag onto the bed. The screams were coming from the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar.
Then—suddenly—the screaming stopped.
And Evelyn's heart nearly stopped with it.
Tears welled in her eyes as she pushed the bathroom door open wider.
"Willow? Sweetheart?" she called, her voice trembling.
The sunlight seemed to have vanished, replaced by a gray, shadowy stillness. Evelyn's eyes scanned the room—until they fell on the bathtub.
And her world shattered.
Willow lay in the tub, unmoving, submerged in dark, murky water. Her skin was pale as snow, her head tilted lifelessly against the rim. Evelyn let out a cry and rushed to her, falling to her knees beside the bath.
"No… no, no, no…" she sobbed, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the scream building in her throat.
Her daughter's once-beautiful, pure white wings were gone—ripped from her back. All that remained were the raw, bleeding wounds, the torn flesh where they had once sprouted.
Evelyn reached out with shaking hands to brush the wet hair from Willow's face. Her daughter's lips were purple, her eyes closed, her body cold.
Tears streamed down Evelyn's cheeks as she pressed her hand to Willow's chest, trying to summon her magic—desperate to heal her, to bring her back. But nothing happened. Her power was useless.
She choked on her sobs and grasped Willow's hand tightly, pressing it to her own warm cheek. With her free hand, she placed her palm against the golden floor tiles and closed her eyes.
She sent out a cry—a Fairy Echo, a desperate, magical plea for help.
The effort nearly drained her. Her body shook with exhaustion, but she couldn't let go. She clung to Willow's hand like a lifeline.
"Help is coming, sweetheart," she whispered through her tears. "Hold on. Please… hold on."
Those few minutes felt like a lifetime as Evelyn knelt beside her daughter, holding tightly to Willow's cold hand. Time itself seemed to freeze. The world around her faded into stillness as she waited—desperately hoping someone would come through that door.
She gently stroked Willow's soft brown hair, her tears falling freely now, blurring her vision. And in that blurred haze of heartbreak, a memory surfaced—the secret she and the kingdom had kept hidden for so long.
Lorcand's warning.
His voice echoed in her mind like a ghost: "If I bring her back to life then there would be an cost "
And now, his words had come true. They was so desperate back then that she and her husband did not think about the cost to bring they baby daughter back.
The bathroom's silence was suddenly broken by the sound of footsteps—guards rushing in, followed closely by Lord Tyron.
"Evelyn, what happened?" Tyron asked urgently as he caught sight of Willow's lifeless body in the tub.
Evelyn wiped her tears with a trembling hand and turned to him, struggling to form words through her sobs. "I… I heard her scream. I was on my way with the dress… and when I got here—"
Her voice cracked again as fresh tears spilled. "I found her like this."
Tyron's face paled as he looked into the bathtub. The thick, dark substance coating Willow wasn't just mud—it pulsed with traces of dark magic.
He turned sharply to his guards. "Does anyone know where my son Everest is?" he barked.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. One finally answered, "No, sir."
Evelyn, still on the floor, tried to rise. Her limbs felt too heavy, her heart too broken. Tyron stepped forward to help her, steadying her as she stood.
"We have to get her out of this bathtub," Evelyn said urgently, her voice raw.
Tyron let out a heavy breath, his eyes not leaving Willow. "Who did this to her?" he asked, horrified.
Then Evelyn noticed it—the deep black color of the water, almost ink-like. It wasn't just water—it was the darkness within Willow, trying to consume her.
Lorcand's warning came back again, clearer this time.
"He warned us about this," she whispered, stepping back with a hand over her mouth.
"Who warned you?" Tyron demanded. "What's going on, Evelyn?"
She stared at her daughter's limp body, dread pooling in her stomach. Her lips trembled as she tried to answer. "It's the black magic what is inside her " she choked, "Lorcand told us—"
Before she could finish, a gasp tore through the room.
Everyone turned to the tub. Willow's body jerked and start to move —her head lifting from where it had rested lifelessly against the rim. Her eyes snapped open, her lips parting as she drew in a ragged breath.
"WILLOW!" Evelyn cried.
Tyron took a stunned step forward. " She is awake "
Everyone in the room stood frozen, their eyes locked on Willow. Mud and darkness still clung to her skin, but her chest now rose and fell with weak, shallow breaths.
She was alive.
Willow POV
The cold bit into Willow's spine as she moved closer to the towering, grey stone castle. Ancient and imposing, it loomed before her like something out of a nightmare. The large wooden doors were weathered with age, dark iron handles shaped like twisted vines. She stood before them, shivering, wrapping her arms around herself in a desperate attempt to stay warm.
Something about this place felt wrong. Deeply wrong. The dread sank all the way to her core.
Her trembling fingers grasped the cold, black metal door handle. With a deep breath, she pushed the heavy door open. It creaked loudly, the sound echoing in the stillness like a scream. The silence swallowed it whole.
It felt like she'd stepped into the opening scene of a horror movie.
Swallowing hard, she took a cautious step inside. The cold wrapped around her like a curse. Her lips trembled from the chill as she passed the threshold. Darkness engulfed the interior, with only dim candlelight along the stone walls guiding her forward.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice cracking.
It echoed.
There has to be someone here, she thought, hugging herself tighter. She stepped further in, her gaze drawn toward a grand fireplace nestled between two large staircases that wound upward. A fire blazed within, its crackling filling the silence.
"Hello?" she called again, turning her head, searching for movement. No response.
She moved toward the warmth, kneeling before the hearth and rubbing her hands together. The heat was soothing, and slowly, feeling began to return to her frozen fingers.
But then—suddenly—the flames leapt.
They caught her hand in an instant. She gasped, but before she could react, the fire surged, racing up her arm, engulfing her body and dress. The red gown she wore was swallowed by the blaze. Pain exploded through her as flames licked her skin. She screamed, trying desperately to smother the fire, slapping at the flames, the pain was to much making her to sunk on her knees to the cold floor. Her whole body was burning and she could almost see her whole life that moment flashed in front her . How she died at birth and how she was brought back until how she was so young and sat a whole forest on fire . Her life flashes of every moment in her life how she meet Everest the first time ,they first kiss every bit of her life.
A loud, thunderous crack split the air above.
Willow looked up—just in time to see the ceiling of the castle begin to open. The very walls trembled like an earthquake had struck. A swirling void of black sky stretched above her as the sounds of weeping shadows poured through the air.
Terror froze her in place. The pain was too much and she just wants this all to be over.
This is a nightmare, she thought.
"I want to die." She screamed at the top of her lungs with pain agony her body. She could not cried she was on fire and her skin was peeling of her of how it burn in to her body.
"Please I want to died" she cried out with terror.
Anything to escape this hell.
From the gaping roof, a swarm of black shadows descended—ghostly souls with hollow eyes and silent screams. They flew straight toward her. She left out her last breath of scream what eco the air. But instead of attacking, the souls began to circle around her. Round and round, faster and faster, the wind of their wings dousing the flames on her body.
As they continue and she could finally felt the relieve of the cold before she breath out her last breath and felt how her eyes shut heavy and her body want to sunk down to the floor.
Darkness full her and she was in complete void as her body crash down to the cold floor and she lay lifeless on the floor.
Suddenly something chance it was like shadows began to cried out .
Giving her life back to her .
The fire faded on her skin, all that remained were burns and raw wounds.
The wounds began to despaired one by on as the shadows the souls picked her up from the cold floor and left her body up . Replacing her burn skin with new glowing skin and form her body as they put on an a new dress for her.
She was drawn back out of the pitch black voice she was in , and no longer felt pain no longer felt anything as she open her eyes that moment and breath in air to her lungs.
The shadows continued to fly around her, but now their presence felt different. The wind they stirred turned warm, like a healing breeze. Slowly, she looked down at her hand—and gasped.
The burns were fading.
Her skin mended before her eyes, glowing faintly with golden light. Warmth surged through her veins, something powerful and ancient. Magic.
She was no longer in pain and burnt with wounds of the fire. Instead, she wore a flowing black gown with a sweetheart neckline and delicate lace sleeves draping off her shoulders. Her skin glowed faintly. Her body felt strong. Alive. Transformed.
A giggle escaped her lips.
The fear was gone. Her heart swelled with joy, her limbs light with strength. And then, as if from nowhere, music began to play—soft, enchanting, like the melodies of the Vila Fairies her mother once told her about.
She laughed and began to dance.
Her bare feet glided across the stone floor, guided by instinct and magic. She twirled with arms raised, laughter echoing in rhythm with the unseen music.
The shadows followed her, swirling in graceful harmony—no longer haunting, but celebrating her rebirth.
She danced through the castle's endless halls and out into the open, never stopping. The souls trailed behind her like a stream of light, dancing with her, honoring her transformation. When she reached the lava field beyond the castle, she did not pause.
The molten rock no longer burned her. She crossed it as if it were nothing more than a field of glowing flowers, weightless and invincible.
Gone was the fear. Gone was the pain. She danced like a Vila fairy—joyful, free, radiant.
Then she saw it.
A pool of pure darkness stretched before her, black and thick like tar. But she didn't stop dancing. She moved toward it with fearless curiosity. As her feet skimmed its edge, a hand—cold and wet—shot up from the inky surface and grabbed her ankle.
Before she could scream, more hands emerged, clawing at her legs, her waist, her arms.
She fought.
She kicked and twisted, trying to break free, but their grip was too strong. They dragged her into the dark, suffocating pool. Mud closed around her like a prison, thick and cold. Her body sank deeper, and her lungs began to burn. She gasped for air but inhaled nothing but blackness. Cold, muddy fingers gripped her face, covering her mouth, her eyes, her ears.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't scream.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
Just as the last bit of light slipped away, she felt a rush of air flood her lungs.
She gasped, choking on it.
Her eyelids fluttered open—heavy and wet. The castle, the lava, the pool... it was gone.
She was in the bathroom.
Gasping, she tried to make sense of the voices around her. They were muffled, distant. Her body felt weightless, like she was floating—but also sinking at the same time. She could barely register what was happening.
"Willow, sweetheart!" her mother's voice pierced through the fog.
Willow tried to stay awake. Her breath came in ragged bursts, but it was finally steadying. Her mother appeared beside her, face pale and full of fear. Willow tried to smile, but it barely touched her lips.
"M-Mom..." she whispered, her voice cracked and dry.
Her mother clutched her hand tightly, her worried eyes meeting Willow's. "We're going to get you out of this tub. Just stay with us, okay?"
Willow gave a faint nod. Speaking was too much.
She heard Tyron's voice next—firm, commanding. "Get towels. Now. Help me lift her."
Willow didn't care how vulnerable she looked. Her body was limp, exhausted. The castle staff moved quickly, gathering towels, wrapping her gently in warmth. Carefully, they lifted her from the water and carried her to the bed.
They laid her on her side, not her back.
"She needs to stay like this," Tyron said. "I'm going to heal her back."
She nodded again, barely conscious. Her body was wracked with pain and tingling numbness.
Her mother knelt beside the bed, holding her hand tightly, tears filling her blue eyes. She looked older now, worn by fear.
"It's okay, Willow," she said softly. "Everything's going to be okay now."
Willow looked into her mother's eyes, and tears slid silently down her own cheeks. Then she felt it—warmth on her back. A soft, golden light radiated from Tyron's hands as he began to heal her wounds.
Pain faded instantly.
In its place came a heaviness—a bone-deep tiredness that weighed her down, pulling her toward sleep. This time her heart was at rest and she fell in deep sleep of tiredness.