and they became headless

Midnight cast its eerie silence over the Ravenhert estate. The world outside lay still beneath the pale glow of the moon, shadows stretching long and thin across the frost-kissed grass.

Inside Aurora's chamber—a grand yet delicate sanctuary—a soft candle flickered, casting warm hues on the embroidered silk curtains that framed the bed. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, blending with the crisp night breeze that slipped through the slightly open window.

Aurora lay wrapped in a thin nightgown of deep blue, the fabric clinging gently to her slender form. It was a gift from her mother—woven from the finest silk, decorated with silver-threaded patterns that shimmered under the moonlight. The peaceful rise and fall of her breathing matched the rhythmic crackle of the candlelight.

A sudden gust of wind howled through the room, forcing the windows wide open with a sharp bang. The chill seeped in instantly, biting at her skin. Aurora stirred, her brows furrowing as her eyes fluttered open.

The room was dark.

The faint light of the moon filtered through the window, illuminating the edges of a shadowy figure seated at the wooden table in front of her.

A man.

Aurora's breath hitched in her throat as the moonlight bathed his features.

Greyrat.

His black hair hung in damp strands over his sweat-drenched forehead, clinging to his pale skin. His bloodshot eyes gleamed unnervingly, reflecting the thin glow of the moon. He held a glass bottle of wine in one hand, tilting it lazily to his lips before letting out a slow, eerie chuckle.

His lips curled into a malicious smirk.

"Good evening, my lady," he slurred, his voice thick with alcohol. "Missed me?"

Aurora's pulse pounded violently against her ribs. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. Her gaze sharpened, sweeping the room in search of an escape. Her fingers instinctively reached for the bell rope to call the guards, but—

Her eyes landed on the floor.

Her breath stopped.

Her personal maid lay sprawled there, lifeless. Blood pooled beneath her, her once bright eyes now dull and empty.

Aurora's scream barely left her lips before Greyrat slammed the wine bottle onto the table. The glass didn't break, but the deep thud resonated through the room.

In the next instant, he lunged.

Aurora barely had time to roll off the bed as Greyrat's hand swiped through empty air where her wrist had been. The fabric of her nightgown tore with a sharp rip, exposing her bare shoulder to the cold air.

The chill cut into her skin, but the icy terror coursing through her veins was far worse.

She scrambled back, pressing against the headboard, clutching the torn fabric to her chest as her breath came in shallow gasps. Her wide violet eyes brimmed with terror as Greyrat crawled toward her with the single-minded determination of a predator closing in on his prey.

"Come now…" His voice was low, sickeningly sweet, yet dripping with malice. His dark eyes burned with twisted hunger as he leaned closer. His breath, reeking of wine, brushed against her exposed skin. "Let me see your beautiful body, my lady."

Aurora's trembling hand shot toward the drawer beside the bed—

But Greyrat's hand shot out, gripping her wrist hard enough to bruise. He pinned her down beneath his weight, his face inches from hers.

"You should be grateful, you know," he whispered darkly. "Most women would die to have me."

Aurora squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand struggling to push him away—

Aurora's hands trembled as she tried to push herself further into the headboard, but there was nowhere left to run.

Just then—

BANG!

The heavy wooden doors burst open.

A towering figure stepped inside.

sir Jaeger.

His expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to suck the air from the room. His sharp silver armor reflected the pale moonlight, and the cold intensity in his steel-gray eyes sent a chill down Greyrat's spine. Jaeger's gaze swept across the room—first to Aurora, then to the trembling figure of Greyrat—and his fingers flexed at his sides, barely restraining the rage simmering beneath his stoic exterior.

Greyrat froze. His drunken haze lifted slightly as a sense of unease curled in his gut.

"John should be outside," he thought, swallowing dryly. 'Did something happen?'

Before he could process the situation—

Another figure entered.

Zed.

Greyrat's breath hitched.

The young master stood in the doorway, his silhouette bathed in the moon's glow. His dark hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat and something darker. His once-pristine clothes were stained crimson, and in his left hand—

—he carried a severed head.

John's severed head.

With an effortless flick of his wrist, Zed tossed the head forward. It rolled across the polished marble floor, leaving a slick trail of blood behind it. The lifeless eyes of his former attendant stared up at him, frozen in shock. The torn flesh, the exposed veins, the ragged cut where the head had been severed—all illuminated in grotesque detail under the cold glow of the moonlight.

Greyrat's stomach churned violently.

He vomited.

He heaved out everything he had consumed that night—the alcohol, the food, the bile of his own fear. His hands shook as he wiped his mouth, his gaze snapping back to Zed.

But the boy did not speak.

Zed walked forward, the tip of his sword dragging against the marble floor, leaving a dark crimson trail behind him. The chilling screech of steel against stone made Greyrat's knees tremble.

"No… No, wait…!" Greyrat's instincts screamed at him to run, but fear had rooted him in place.

Desperately, he reached for the dagger at his belt, his fingers fumbling against the leather strap.

Zed didn't stop.

Didn't falter.

Didn't blink.

His gaze, void of emotion, remained locked onto Greyrat as he approached—unhurried, inevitable.

With a drunken, terrified yell, Greyrat lunged.

Zed sidestepped.

A cold whistle of air.

Then—

SCHLICK.

Greyrat stumbled.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.

Then his right arm fell.

A severed limb—his own—lay on the floor, fingers still curled around the dagger.

The pain didn't register immediately. Greyrat stared at the stump where his arm used to be, blood gushing out in violent spurts.

Then the agony hit.

A wretched scream tore from his throat as he staggered backward, clutching at the bleeding wound.

Zed didn't stop.

He stepped past Greyrat, past the severed hand, and made his way toward the bed.

Zed let out a slow breath as the blood-dripping sword in his hand tilted downward. The weight of the moment pressed upon him, but his focus remained sharp.

He turned to Aurora, who was still trembling in shock, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide with horror. The torn fabric of her nightgown barely covered her quivering form.

With a silent resolve, Zed shrugged off his bloodstained shirt and gently draped it over her shoulders. The warmth of the fabric brought her back to reality, her shaking fingers clutching at it as if it were a lifeline.

Zed's voice was calm yet filled with undeniable tenderness.

"You are safe now, sister. Your brother is here."

Aurora's breath hitched. Her little brother—the one who had once been weak, who had always run from responsibility, who had spent his days avoiding training—stood before her, his body battered yet unyielding.

Greyrat, writhing on the cold floor, clutched at the bleeding stump where his arm had once been. Pain contorted his face as he let out a strangled, agonized scream. His mind raced in desperation, grasping for anything—anyone—that could save him.

Through gritted teeth, he spat out his last gamble.

"Y-You brat… You'll pay for this…!" He gasped between labored breaths. "I am… a very good friend of Prince Frey! If he gets word of this—if he hears that you dared to cut off my arm—he will make you pay! You… You have no idea what you've done!"

The threat hung in the air.

And then—

The room changed.

The temperature dropped.

A pressure filled the space—dense, suffocating, unnatural.

The flickering candlelight trembled. The very air itself seemed to shudder.

This was no ordinary killing intent. This was power—a raw, primal force unlike anything Greyrat had ever encountered.

It did not belong to Jaeger.It did not belong to any knight.

It radiated from the young boy standing in the middle of the room—the same boy who had been bedridden for a year, the boy no one had taken seriously.

Zed.

Jaeger took an involuntary step back, his battle-hardened instincts screaming at him. His fingers twitched; his breath caught in his throat.

His voice barely escaped his lips.

"Rh-Rhu Core Manifestation…?"

A phenomenon that only occurs when a human reaches 15 or above—just happened inside a 9-year-old boy.

Greyrat's eyes widened in sheer disbelief.

"Impossible…! This can't be happening! He's just a kid—just nine years old!"

His voice cracked, terror finally settling in.

Zed, unaffected by the growing panic in the room, turned and lifted Aurora into his arms. She had stopped shivering—not out of comfort, but because she was already unconscious by the overwhelming force radiating from her little brother.

Zed's voice was quiet but held the weight of an unshakable command.

" sir Jaeger, take my sister out of this room. And send in Greyrat's companion."

Jaeger hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He scooped Aurora into his arms and swiftly left the room, his mind still reeling at what he had just witnessed.

The heavy doors creaked shut behind him.