The night was too quiet.
The estate, normally alive with whispered movement of wards and watching demons, seemed hollow. Even the stones felt still, as if holding their breath in anticipation. That was never a good sign.
I moved through the halls, cloak brushing silently against the walls, fingers tracing the edges of wards I had set long before the Church or gods had taken notice. The seal beneath my chest pulsed in tandem with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of the vow I had sworn, the demonic core contained but impatient, and the growing tension in the threads of power surrounding Eron.
He was gone. Taken or rather, drawn by choice. By curiosity, by the unseen force that had lingered since, watching, waiting, and now moving.
The simulacrum lay in the inner sanctum, glowing faintly
