Eternal Night Symbiosis

Chapter 2: A Fateful Reunion

Under a leaden sky, the remnants of the group trudged through the deathly silence. Vivian led the way, each step she took on the charred, cracked earth producing a dull, crunching sound. Behind her were the thirty-seven remaining survivors, dragging their exhausted bodies and carrying meager bundles, silent as a funeral procession. Aje’s blood seemed to still cling to her fingertips; with every gust of wind came a faint, lingering scent of rust, reminding her of the blood-soaked land behind them. The wilderness wind, carrying ice crystals and dust, cut like countless tiny blades across bare skin—and across the heavy despair weighing on everyone’s hearts.

The legend of “Misty Manor,” as told by the wanderers of the wasteland, is a f*******n place where fear and hope intertwine. Some say it is a fortress left behind by the nobles of the Old World, hiding an endless supply of clean water and food; others say it is a den of monsters more terrifying than the Bloodline, a hellhole that devours life. Vivian chose to believe the former—or rather, she had to believe it. The settlement was lost; there was no way out but death. To the southwest, the sky was perpetually shrouded in a thick, grayish-white mist that seemed almost alive, appearing eerily sinister even under the constant, dim light of the eternal night. That was their destination—and their final gamble.

The journey proved far more perilous than anticipated. Within the withered, twisted grove of monstrous trees, mutated predators lay in wait, their eyes glowing an eerie green in the shadows. A single ambush claimed the lives of two elderly people who were already frail beyond measure. Even more terrifying was the sharp, stabbing pain that occasionally shot through Vivian’s temples—a dangerous omen warning that they might have been spotted by the Blood Clan’s scouts. Each warning plunged the group into brief panic, forcing them to change course and wind their way through jagged boulders and bottomless chasms, sapping what little strength they had left. Their rations were quickly running out, and even the last drops of murky muddy water had been shared until there was none left. When the massive silhouette, which had been faintly visible through the thick fog, finally appeared on the horizon, the group was left with nothing but stifled gasps and a numbness bordering on collapse.

The estate was even larger—and even more dilapidated—than they had imagined. Towering black stone walls were overgrown with withered vines; in many places, they had collapsed, revealing the equally gloomy main structure behind them. Spire-topped towers pierced the thick fog, like silent giants. The massive iron gates, rusted and half-open, revealed a deeper, ceaselessly swirling gray mist within—like a giant maw ready to devour its prey. A deathly silence hung over the estate; even the wind seemed to bypass the area, leaving only the mist to flow silently.

Vivian signaled the group to take cover behind a pile of boulders a hundred meters from the gate. She took a deep breath; the mist carried a peculiar scent—a mixture of mold and some kind of cold metal—that pierced straight to her lungs. Alone, she gripped the short dagger at her waist and stepped cautiously toward the wide-open gate, which looked as though it led straight to hell. With every step, her feet sank into the soft, damp ground covered in eerie black moss; the silence was amplified to the extreme, leaving only the drumbeat of her own heart.

She passed through the gate and stepped into the estate. Here, the mist thinned slightly, revealing the view of the front courtyard. In the desolate garden, only the withered, twisted remains of plants remained. Shattered stone sculptures lay scattered around the dried-up fountain basin in the center. Directly ahead stood a grand yet equally dilapidated main building, its massive arched doors tightly shut. The entire space was suffused with a heavy, deathly silence, as if time itself had come to a standstill.

Suddenly, a cold, emotionless voice sounded behind her, mere inches away:

“Intruders die.”

Vivian’s hair stood on end; she spun around abruptly, her dagger instantly drawn across her chest. A figure had appeared a few steps behind her, seemingly out of nowhere. It was a man dressed in a black tailcoat, his face as pale as a marble statue. His hair was meticulously combed back, his eyes hollow, devoid of any emotion characteristic of a living being. He stood there, silent, as if he were simply part of the manor’s shadows.

“We are not enemies!” Vivian forced herself to remain calm, her voice slightly hoarse with tension. “We are survivors from the eastern settlement! We were attacked by the Blood Clan and have nowhere else to go! We heard… we heard that Mist Manor offers shelter!” She spoke rapidly, her gaze fixed firmly on him as she strained to sense his presence. There was no malice, but no goodwill either—only a cold, mechanical void. He didn’t seem like a living person, but more like… some kind of programmed sentinel.

The pale man showed no change in expression; he merely scanned her from head to toe with those vacant eyes, as if verifying something. After a few seconds of suffocating silence, he shifted slightly to the side, raised a hand clad in a white glove, and pointed toward the massive, closed doors of the main building.

“The Master wishes to see you,” his voice remained flat and emotionless. “You alone.”

Vivian’s heart sank. She glanced back toward the pile of rubble, where dozens of eyes—filled with fear and anticipation—glimmered faintly through the mist. She had no choice. She sheathed her dagger, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the door, which seemed to lead to an unknown fate.

The door slid silently inward, revealing a deep, dark hall beyond. A wave of air, mingling the scent of aged dust, rotting wood, and some indescribable odor reminiscent of cold-blooded creatures, washed over her. The hall was eerily empty, its high vaulted ceiling lost in the shadows. Huge, thickly dusted tapestries hung on the walls, their patterns long since blurred beyond recognition. The floor was made of cold, smooth black stone. The only source of light came from the far end of the hall, where several high-hanging sconces burned with ghostly blue flames, casting the area in an otherworldly glow.

Beneath the sconces stood a massive black high-backed chair, intricately carved with elaborate patterns. Seated upon it was a figure.

The moment Vivian stepped into the hall, her feet seemed to be nailed to the spot. Her pupils contracted sharply, her breath caught in her throat, and the blood in her veins seemed to freeze in an instant.

The figure in the chair rose slowly, her movements possessing a superhuman grace and strength. She wore a form-fitting dark red gown, its hem resembling congealed blood. Her skin was a lifeless, cold white, glowing with a porcelain-like sheen under the* blue light. Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down like a waterfall, accentuating the exquisite features of her face—yet making them all the more… inhuman. The contours of her features faintly echoed a shadow from the depths of Vivian’s memory, but those eyes—those eyes that had once been filled with sunlight and laughter—now resembled two bottomless pools of ice, their pupils a pure, ominous dark red.

Time seemed to stretch and warp endlessly in that moment. Vivian’s mind went blank, leaving only a single name screaming and crashing wildly, nearly tearing her sanity apart.

“…Se… Selena?” Her voice trembled uncontrollably, laced with a shattering sense of disbelief. “Yan… Selena Yan?”

The woman seated in the high-backed chair—Selena Yan—tilted her head slightly. Her dark red pupils showed no ripples of reunion, only a cold, scrutinizing gaze. The corners of her mouth seemed to lift ever so slightly, but there was not a shred of warmth in that curve; instead, it radiated a chilling, unnerving strangeness.

“Vivian Bai.” Selena spoke. Her voice was low and melodious, yet it cut through the air like an ice pick scraping against glass, carrying a metallic edge. Every syllable struck at Vivian’s taut nerves. “It’s been… a long time.”

Vivian stumbled back a step, her stomach churning violently. Disappeared? Dead? She had imagined countless possible fates for her childhood friend Selena, but never this! The Selena before her was pale, beautiful, and powerful, yet she exuded an inhuman, icy aura—the coldness of a top predator. Those dark red pupils, that faint yet unmistakable, unique oppressive aura of the Blood Clan… Everything silently proclaimed a cruel truth: she was no longer human.

“You… how could you…” Vivian’s voice caught in her throat; the immense shock and the fear that followed left her almost unable to form coherent words. She instinctively reached for her ability, attempting to sense Selena’s current thoughts. Yet, as she tried to focus, an unprecedented, excruciating pain—like countless steel needles piercing her brain simultaneously—surged through her! It was a hundred times more intense than any previous encounter with malevolence! She groaned, her vision darkening in waves; her body swayed, and she could barely stay on her feet. Selena’s mental barrier was as impenetrable as the Wall of Sighs; her attempt to peer inside was not only futile but also met with a fierce backlash.

Selena seemed to sense her attempt, and a faint, almost mocking glint flashed in her dark red eyes. She took a few steps forward. Her high heels struck the cold floor, producing a crisp, rhythmic “click, click” that echoed through the vast, deathly silent hall like a countdown to death. She stopped a few paces in front of Vivian, looking down at her from above. Her gaze was as if she were appraising a long-lost, yet now dusty, relic.

“It seems your little tricks are still working,” Selena’s voice remained flat, devoid of emotion. “Too bad they won’t work on me.”

Vivian fought back a headache and dizziness, lifting her head and forcing herself to meet those inhuman eyes. After the initial shock came a surge of rage and the pain of betrayal: “Selena! What on earth is going on? “Why have you become… become like this? Where have you been all these years? The settlement! My settlement is out there! They need help! For the sake of… for the sake of the past…”

“The past?” Selena repeated the word softly. Something seemed to flash by with blinding speed deep within her dark red pupils—too fast to catch—before being instantly overshadowed by an even deeper chill. She lifted her chin slightly; her elegantly sculpted neck appeared both fragile and deadly in the dim light. “Vivian, you led a swarm of ants into my territory and begged me for shelter,” she said with an air of unquestionable authority. “Therefore, you must abide by my rules.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over Vivian’s cheeks, caked in dust and blood, over her body trembling slightly from exhaustion and shock, and finally settling on those deep brown eyes, now filled with confusion and defiance.

“I can offer them shelter,” Selena’s voice was clear and cold, each word like an icicle shattering against stone. “In exchange, you must pay a price.”

Vivian’s heart lurched, and a sense of foreboding gripped her: “What price?”

The corners of Selena’s lips finally curved into a distinct, cruelly beautiful smile. She leaned forward slightly, her dark red pupils locked onto Vivian, speaking slowly and deliberately, as if delivering a verdict:

“You, Vivian Bai, must become my Contract Bride.”