Beneath the prison of the Blood Keep, in its forgotten grand hall shrouded in silence and shadow, three figures stood cloaked in swirling mist near a row of towering stone pillars.
The first was a striking young woman, no older than her late teens. Her obsidian dagger, with its black handle, glinted faintly in the gloom as she held it poised and ready. Her wedding dress was woven not from silk or satin, but of white fog—weightless, ethereal. It clung to her like breath on glass, constantly shifting, reforming, alive with some strange enchantment.
Opposite her stood an old man in his late fifties, dressed in a robe the colour of ash and sorrow. In his hand, he too held a dagger—identical to the one the woman wielded.
Beside him, a second young man stood wrapped in silence. He was dressed in gothic white, layered beneath a heavy black cloak. Underneath the intricate folds, his presence pulsed quietly with power. His coat, cut from midnight velvet, shimmered as it caught fleeting slivers of light in its silver-threaded embroidery—ancient runes and house sigils dancing along his sleeves like faded enchantments. The crimson cravat at his throat deepened in the gloom, appearing less like fabric and more like an old bloodstain time had failed to wash away.
The mist thickened, wrapping around them and muffling sound like a death shroud. Jona's thoughts raced. Her mind churned in disbelief.
A Mind Walker.
One of the rarest—and most dangerous—types of Walkers in existence.
How the hell did someone like him end up helping Michael? The question refused to leave her mind. The man radiated mystery and raw power. His mere presence made her skin crawl. What was he doing here? Why was this old man—who looked more like a forgotten prisoner than a powerful mage—involved in any of this?
Her brother hadn't mentioned a Mind Walker being in the Keep. But then again, how could he have known? Someone like Tom would've been hidden away, even from the highest security.
But still—why a Mind Walker? That thought gnawed at her.
Why hadn't they brought the Luminath family's light-user instead? At least those were predictable. A Light Walker would've meant she only had to fear death. But this man? He could rip through her mind like parchment, make her confess anything—even her brother's name. The only person in this cursed world she actually cared about.
The mission? That meant nothing compared to him.
If Tom dug into her head, she'd break. She knew she would. That would be her greatest failure. Her worst fear.
But… maybe he didn't want everything. Maybe he only needed a few answers. Maybe if she played this right, she could survive.
Forget the mission.
Her life came first.
If the Goddess of Good and Fortune was merciful, maybe there was still a way out. She'd flee with her brother—go far, to some other continent. Become a maid to a minor lord or merchant. Disappear. Start again.
But then reality hit her like a blade through the ribs.
No. There was no escape. Not now.
Tom wouldn't let her live. Not after she'd already tried to kill Michael—twice. And the Centarious family… they weren't known for their forgiveness.
So, Jona made a choice.
She had to stall.
Keep Michael talking. Keep him distracted long enough to find an opening. A weakness. A path. If she could just make it to the edge of the Keep—beyond Tom's reach—maybe the fog could help. Maybe she could slip away before they even noticed.
Time. That's all she needed.
Just a little more time.
Then Tom laughed.
A deep, rumbling sound that echoed off the stone walls like a forgotten curse.
"I assume," he said, "you've never fought a Mind Walker before, have you?"
The words hit her like a lightning strike. Her thoughts scattered. Panic bloomed.
She quickly masked it behind a smirk. "I'll admit it—I'm a virgin when it comes to Mind Walkers. So… apologies for the inexperience."
Tom laughed again, genuinely amused. "You see, you and my little fang are made for each other. Ah, to be young again."
Michael leaned toward him, one eyebrow raised. "Did you just compare me to a hired killer?"
Tom shrugged. "Better taste than your last crush."
Michael scoffed. "Old man, that was years ago. So please—"
Tom turned to Jona, pointedly ignoring him.
"Anyway, I approve of your relationship. So let me give you some context about the situation you're in. Listen closely, kid."
Jona, still standing a few steps away near one of the massive stone pillars, slowly lowered her dagger. The fog-woven wedding dress shimmered softly around her as she did, a silent signal. Her body relaxed—not in surrender, but in interest.
She was ready to listen.
For now.
Tom lowered his dagger slowly, the obsidian blade catching a faint shimmer of light as the air between them grew thinner. The heavy fog began to lighten—less like a wall, more like a veil being gently pulled back.
"You've relaxed," Tom said calmly. "Good. That makes things easier."
He stepped forward, the mist parting around him like a curtain obeying its master.
"I am a Third-Stage Walker," he continued, voice smooth and disturbingly casual. "My walking technique is called Sleepwalking. I won't bother explaining it in full—it would be wasted on you. All you need to know is this: I can control, read, and edit minds at will."
Jona froze.
"If you're not a Bloodborne Walker," Tom went on, "then you are completely defenseless against me. Don't even try to resist. I can see every thought, trace every feeling, guide them, alter them."
He tapped the side of his head. "And yes, I already know your little plan to stall for time."
Her breath caught in her throat.
"And if your next question is how the half-blood vampire and I know each other…" His eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, that's none of your business, don't you think?"
Michael, who had been watching silently at Tom's side, was frozen in awe. He knew Tom. Had known him since he was a boy. But this—this was something else entirely.
He now understood how Tom had once held an entire cathedral hostage by himself.
A chill ran down his spine as he realized how terrifying the man truly was.
Tom turned and offered Michael a small, knowing smile, as if he could feel the awe radiating from him.
Michael exhaled slowly, under his breath. "You know, a little warning next time before the full eldritch grandpa routine would be appreciated."
Tom smirked. "But then I'd miss the look on your face."
But Jona—Jona was unraveling.
She hadn't realized just how hopeless her situation was. There was no escape. Not now. Not from this.
It all made sense now. Tom's strange ability to appear out of nowhere wasn't teleportation, or some advanced concealment spell—it was worse. She hadn't missed him—he'd made her miss him. He hadn't arrived. He'd simply let her remember him.
And the moment he saved Michael… the moment he caught her dagger—he allowed himself to be seen.
He answered her thought aloud, effortlessly.
"Exactly. You're right."
She staggered back a step.
"But," Tom added, his tone turning almost gentle, "you don't need to worry—if you cooperate. If you answer the boy," he gestured toward Michael, "and he doesn't want you dead… then you'll walk out of here. I have no quarrel with you."
The words hit her like cold water. Was he… offering her a way out?
For a heartbeat, hope flickered.
Then she remembered who he was.
And who Michael had become.
Jona slowly lifted her head, her gaze shifting toward the young man standing quietly beside Tom.
And her heart sank once more.
Michael, standing to Tom's left, looked different now.
Utterly changed.
His red eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. His lips curved into a smile—soft, amused, and utterly terrifying. There was something monstrous behind it. Something ancient. He looked… unrecognizable.
More terrifying, even, than the old man beside him.
Jona's knees buckled slightly. She had no idea what she was facing anymore.
Then, without warning, the grand hall echoed with laughter.
Sharp. Ragged. Cruel.
"Ha… hga… hga… ha…"
It came from Michael.
His head dipped forward slightly, shoulders twitching as he fought the noise crawling up his throat.
When he looked at her again, it was with something like pity—and hunger.
"Don't worry," he said with a grin. "I only hold grudges until the stars fall and the seas catch fire. So you're probably fine."
Tom sighed beside him, as if this wasn't even in the top ten weirdest things Michael had said since they'd met.
Michael tilted his head.
"Now. Be a dear and tell me what I want to know—before I have to get creative."