5 Years Ago, Duvane Duchy, Neix Keep

  The dressing room was bustling with activity. Ciaran was tugged this way and that as everyone helped him get ready for the celebration tonight.

  Penelope held up a silver chain in one hand a sapphire brooch in another. She sighed and said, “Lord Ciaran, which one should I choose? They both suit you so well.” She held them up against his suit jacket before choosing the sapphire brooch, pairing them with matching sapphire cuff links. It was the first time Ciaran was getting dressed in such a formal outfit. Although he was the heir to the duchy, their family was rather private and rarely invited outsiders over. Today, his first coming of age, was a rare exception.

  Martha, standing behind Ciaran and fixing his long, waist-length black hair, said, “Lord Ciaran, I can’t believe you’re finally turning 15. I swear it was just yesterday that your mother came back to the keep and announced her pregnancy. It’s not long now before you become an adult, and yet you are already starting to resemble His Grace Astraphos.”

  Ciaran didn’t pay any mind to their nostalgia, as it was commonplace for the people of the keep to celebrate the first coming of age. The second coming of age for a Duvane had a somber tone full of mourning, reminiscent of funerals, so the first coming of age was celebrated with twice the joy and laughter. He had been wondering something since he saw her earlier, so he turned his head back to say, “Martha, have you died your hair?”

  “I have! It’s a lovely blonde now.” She pointed to a bottle in a pink-tinted glass jar. The label said “Terianne’s Dye” in elegant, scripted font. Ciaran picked it up and turned it around in his hand as he felt a tug from his hair being pulled and woven with accessories.

  “This is a dye to change the color of your hair, but it’s different from regular cheap dye. This one is more expensive and took a lot of my savings, but I don’t regret buying it! Just a few drops can change your hair color, and thanks to some sort of mana plant they added into the formula, it takes effect quickly and lasts a long time.”

  Ciaran watched her reflection in the mirror as Martha spun around, twirling, showing off her long, curly blond hair. “How is? Doesn’t it look like I was born with this hair color? My roots won’t grow in for at least another 3 months, and then I just have to add a drop or two to update the color again.”

  Her brown eyes twinkled with mirth before grabbing a mirror from the side and taking Ciaran to a full-length mirror. She positioned the small mirror behind Ciaran, and he saw the accessories his hair was decorated with. It was a set of jewelry their ancestor Astraphos Duvane crafted from the rare and beautiful Alzer gems. They were a glittering silver, formed only when the fiery breath of a dragon met the sand and waves of a beach. It was a gift given to Astraphos by the dragon he befriended on the day it bestowed a great blessing to him and his lineage.

  Ciaran looked at the intricate silver metalwork that encased the gems, highlighting their rarity and beauty. It was a tradition in their family for a Duvane to wear these accessories on their first coming of age, to honor their ancestor and the blessing he brought to their line, so every Duvane, regardless of gender, grew their hair out to the same length as Astraphos to prepare for this day. Ciaran sighed as he looked at it, wondering what the point in keeping up with this tradition was when it had already been 200 years since the blessing backlashed into a curse.

  Penelope came over and looked at the accessories, her aged face creasing with sadness as she said, “Lord Ciaran, I’m sure that one day you or your descendants will wear these accessories proudly, with the curse gone and the blessing restored. By then, keeping up with this tradition will surely be worth it.”

  Ciaran sighed. He didn’t really believe that would happen, but he still said, “I’m sure that day will come, Penelope.”

  As they were adjusting the last bits of his outfit, the door opened and his mother, the current Duchess Octavia, walked in. She was wearing a silver gown and keilin accessories. The jewelry set with vermilion gems was passed down from another ancestor that lived three centuries ago, who had received them as a gift from an allied nation.

  Ciaran was only 15, but he had already grown to be as tall as his mother. She walked over and looked at him with a smile and said, “Are you ready? Everyone has gathered downstairs.”

  He followed his mother out of the room, leaving Martha and Penelope, who had different tasks from the staff who would help to serve the guests at the banquet, alone in the room. As he walked down the hallway, the old dark stone was lit up by a warm magelight. The magic spell inscribed inside them sensed the presence of living beings and lit up whenever someone was 3 meters away, lighting up and then dimming as the two moved through the keep, leaving a dark hallway behind them as they left.

  ~|(+)|~

  Octavia stopped before the doors to the common room, her hand tracing the long, flowing hair of Astraphos. She didn’t turn her head as she said, “Ciaran, now that it’s your first coming of age, you should prepare yourself. From now on, You’ll partake in the responsibilities and duties that every Duvane has helped with. Until now, we have trained your body and senses, and allowed you some time to learn more about your talents.”

  She turned to look at Ciaran, her characteristic gentleness not present, but instead replaced with a seriousness he rarely saw in her. “Our family had once been hailed as the greatest in the land because of the blessing that allowed our strengths and talents to flourish. But it has been a long time since that era ended, and every Duvane since then has lived their life devoted to ending the curse that has plagued us.” She paused for a moment before hugging him and saying, “Ciaran, please help us. We need to end this curse. It has taken so many of our lives. You probably won’t even be 30 when I die. I’ve been lucky that your grandfather has held on for long. I’m 33, and he’s 54, but he hasn’t completely lost his mind yet. I promise, I will try my best to hold on as long as I can, but—”

  Ciaran interrupted her, hugging her back. “Mom. You don’t need to ask. All I’ve ever wanted is for our family to not have this curse hanging over our head like an executioner’s blade. I’ll make a promise to you, too, Mom. I promise I will get rid of this curse in my lifetime. I will.”

  Ciaran gritted his teeth. He remembered how the symptoms of the curse progressed in his great uncle. His nails turned a course black, then sharpened and elongated. The whites of his eyes developed trails of shadow, the black eventually overtaking every part, with the silver iris being the last to disappear into darkness. He began to hallucinate. First he noticed smells that didn’t exist, and then he began hearing things. Before his vision disappeared completely, he’d have fits of madness from seeing things that didn’t exist. After he went blind, his mind was consumed by the curse’s corruption, with his body following suit. At times he would experience fits of violent madness, the frequency increasing until he had to be locked away. The last time Ciaran saw him alive, he was ten years old, and it was through a small window in the door of a fortified dungeon deep underground, locked away for everyone else’s safety until the curse corrupted both his brain and his heart, and he passed away.

  It would happen soon to his grandfather, who held on remarkably well, but has already gone blind. His fits of madness were getting more and more frequent, and it wouldn’t be long before Ciaran would see his grandfather locked up in that horrid room.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Octavia took a step back and put her hands on his shoulders, saying, “Remember one thing, Ciaran. Tonight is a new moon, and you never know what sort of dangers we may encounter. Our starsight won’t work tonight, so be extra careful.”

  Before heading inside, she kissed his forehead and said, “Happy birthday, Ciaran.”

  As the doors opened, the chatter of conversation and clinking of glasses leaked out of the door. Heat from the fireplace seeped out and warmed the chilly hallway, before disappearing as Ciaran stepped inside and closed the door. He made his way to the table everyone was sitting around, then sat down two seats away from his mother, who was sitting at the head of the table, his grandfather in between them.

  Across from him was his uncle and his twin sons, about 11 years old, and further down the table were some friends of the family invited to celebrate the first coming of age of the future heir. The food had been brought out not long before Ciaran arrived, and everyone was busy pouring wine into their glasses. Servants stood around the edges of the room, with the butler of the castle standing a few steps behind his grandfather.

  As everyone was talking, Viscount Nelton stood up and clinked his spoon against his glass, the sound resonating through the room as everyone stopped talking and looked at him, waiting for him to speak.

  The Viscount, a portly middle-aged man with a kind face, said, “12 years ago, I had the fortune of meeting Lord Altair Duvane. At the time, I was traveling through my territory for an inspection of all the towns and cities, when the wheel of my carriage broke in the middle of a long stretch of forest. Some of my guards set off to find help, but the sun set and they never returned. Right when I thought I would have to walk through the dangerous wilderness alone, Lord Altair, who happened to be traveling down the same road but in the opposite direction, saw me and helped me get to my destination. I later found my guards, who were still walking through the forest, and formed an everlasting bond with Lord Altair and the Duvane family. I am still grateful for what he’s done that day, and today, his nephew and the future heir of the Duvane Duchy, is having his first coming of age. To celebrate his 15th birthday, I want to have a toast in his honor! To Ciaran Duvane, and the wonderful future he will build!”

  Everyone stood up and took their glasses, toasting each other. Ciaran and his two cousins were the only people at the table that hadn’t had their second coming of age and weren’t considered adults yet, so they drank juice instead. Ciaran stood up alongside everyone else, clinked his glasses with all of his family members, and took a sip of juice. The sweet taste coated his tongue and slid down his throat. After he swallowed, he turned to look at his mother, pausing when he noticed her odd state. Her eyes were completely black, and her face had distorted with the same madness he saw in his great-uncle and occasionally, his grandfather.

  Ciaran thought he was seeing things.

  Despite the training he’d had since he was a child, when his mother lunged at him with long claws as sharp as an assassin’s dagger, he hadn’t reacted or moved an inch. Before she had a chance to tear his face and kill him, someone beside him grabbed him and threw him in another direction, but not before one of her claws tore a long, thin line from his forehead down to the cheek below his left eye. He didn’t notice the searing pain at all. He looked in the direction he was grabbed from, only to see his grandfather, who was accustomed to fighting back madness, fail to win against the curse. The last remnants of his sanity slipped away, and his claws grew. He spotted the frightened Viscount from across the table and lunged at him, his claws stabbing through his heart quicker than Ciaran could understand the situation.

  The person that was holding him had been dragging him to a corner of the room, then threw him inside of a cabinet. Ciaran tore his gaze away long enough to see that it was the butler, who had been standing behind his grandfather. The butler gave him a smile, his eyes tinged with sorrow, before closing the doors of the cabinet and binding it with chains.

  These chains were made by one of their ancestors not long after the curse erupted. They were inscribed with sealing magic designed to bind an adult Duvane who had gone mad from the curse, and were hidden in all of the common areas of the keep for use in an emergency.

  If the chains were bound around an object instead, it would escape the senses of the Duvanes. This failsafe measure had been designed for situations like this — to allow young Duvanes or other innocent personnel to hide from the violent madness. Ciaran understood this, but as he watched through the gap in the closed cabinet doors as his mother found the butler and, with a swipe of her hand, cut his head off, he realized that he never expected for him to be the one that was hidden away from danger. Nor had anyone else predicted that three Duvanes would go mad at the same time, while sitting next to a table full of unarmed people. There was only one chain, and the butler had just used it to trap him. He had no way of breaking out from inside.

  He watched as his uncle killed his sons that were sitting next to him, as his mother found a merchant they had a long, friendly collaboration with and tore his arm off before stabbing him through the throat. He watched as his grandfather found Countess Lamprey, the widowed noble that helped them source research materials they otherwise couldn’t get their hands on, and brutally killed her. Her cries and pleas for mercy went unanswered. As the other guests screamed and ran away, the three adult Duvanes used their speed and agility to find and slaughter them. Some of the servants at the farthest reaches of the room had time to escape through hidden doors that they used to move throughout the keep, while others failed to get away, and their dying voices were strangled in their throats, their blood decorating the windows.

  He watched as the people he grew up with, people he smiled and laughed and talked with, people that had expectations of him and people that were indifferent to him, died at the hands of the people he loved most. He watched as limbs were torn and thrown across the room, as the dying were dragged back by their ankles and had their skulls crushed. He watched as the madness consumed the last Duvanes, the dark corruption spreading through their veins and arteries, showing through the skin, as it infected them and corrupted their heart and brain.

  He watched as the last innocent died, and the three Duvanes turned their sights on each other. Their bodies had been corrupting at an exponential pace, and none of them had the energy to tear each other up anymore. They used their claws to wound each other, their sharp, pointed teeth to bite each other. Their blood splattered on the carpet and the shattered plates of the table, it pooled on the floor and covered some of the bloody footprints. He watched as they collapsed to the ground, still searching for the other living beings in the room, then died, the curse having finally corroded their heart.

  Everything was over before even half an hour passed, but Ciaran couldn’t move. Long since the last person breathed their final breath, Ciaran sat in the same position the butler left him in, staring through the gap in the door as the scenes he witnessed kept replaying in his mind. The smell of blood was so thick he thought he could taste it. He wondered if he was also dead, and was just imagining everything from the afterlife. He wondered why he was the only one left alive, and how everything went so wrong, so quickly. He kept seeing his mother lunging at him, ready to kill him. He couldn’t feel the wound on his face or the dryness of his unblinking eyes. He couldn’t move his stiff body, and just stared at the corpses on the floor until, after what seemed to be years, dawn arrived.

  The sun peaked over the horizon, and the first traces of light shone in through the windows. As the sun rose, so did the distant sound of footsteps. They drew closer before stopping in front of the closed door of the room. The creak of a door opening, the gasp of shock and cry of grief. Somewhere in the back of Ciaran’s mind he registered this, but at the moment, all he could see, all he could smell, was blood. The pair of footsteps slowly made their way through the room. After a minute, they paused and wandered in his direction. The chains binding the cabinet were undone, though it took a lot of time and effort, and then the cabinet doors opened, revealing Martha and Penelope. Martha collapsed as she sobbed harder than she already was, and Penelope cried as she gently hugged Ciaran, breaking down into heaving sobs. Her shaking hands lay on his back, her body trembling.

  Ciaran blinked for the first time in a long while, then moved his gaze from the sight of scattered corpses to the woman hugging him. Martha stood up and hugged him from the side, whispering something. The warm embrace brought him back to the present. Tears sprung in his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. He couldn’t think. His mind was as cold and stiff as his body. His couldn’t tell if his heart was in turmoil or numb. As the tears flowed down his cheeks, silent as a spring drizzle, he could only think a single thing.

  This was not an accident.