DARIAN
I woke up to a knock, three measured, soft, and deliberate taps, like the person on the other side already knew I had barely slept.
“Who’s there?” My voice was hoarse, heavy from late hours.
“It’s your uncle, Lord Vyxen,” came the guard’s reply.
For a moment, I thought of pretending not to hear, but I exhaled and rubbed my temples. “Let him in.”
The door opened, creaking as though it was too tired. Uncle Vyxen walked in, tall and broad, dressed in his usual dark cloak, carrying with him that air of amusement he always wore. He stopped, looked at me still lying flat on the bed, and raised a brow.
“Why’s it so hot in here?” he asked, his voice sharp yet teasing. Without waiting for an answer, he went to the window and flung the curtains open.
The world outside was still dark,
