Chapter 90: The Path That Does Not Turn Back
{IRIS}
I touched the cold metal instinctively, my fingers lingering against its edge as if I could anchor myself to its chill.
"Thank you, Zephyros," I said softly. "It seems my debt to you only grows."
A rare smile crossed his face—brief, sharp, and altogether unsettling. "Good," he replied. "Let it grow. One day, you won’t be able to refuse what I ask in return."
My heart stuttered—not with fear, but with something far more dangerous. Dread, perhaps, sharpened by curiosity.
Why did it feel as though whatever he intended to ask would be outrageous enough to ruin me?
The pentagram beneath my feet began to glow.
Light devoured the world.
When my vision returned, I was standing in the heart of an ancient forest—airless, oppressive, and unnervingly still, as though the land itself had learned to hold its breath.
Towering trees crowded in from every side, their bark twisted and scarred, their branches clawing overhead like skeletal hands.
They raked at a sky choked with storm clouds, the moon hidden behind roiling black masses that pulsed with distant light. The forest did not whisper or rustle. It simply watched.
Before me rose a mansion.
Not merely large—wrong.
It loomed vast and monolithic, as though it had been wrenched from another world and forced to exist here against its will.
Its jagged silhouette cut into the sky, revealed only in violent flashes of lightning that tore the darkness open. Each glimpse exposed spires like broken teeth, windows black and unlit, stone walls slick with rain and age.
Thunder followed without mercy. Low. Endless. It rolled through the forest floor and into my bones, vibrating beneath my bare feet until it felt as though the earth itself were growling a warning.
Rain fell in merciless sheets, soaking my nightgown within seconds, plastering thin fabric to skin that prickled with cold.
The narrow stone path before me glistened treacherously, winding through the trees toward the mansion’s massive doors like an invitation I was already regretting.
Darkness clung to the structure like a living thing—thick, and sentient. It pressed close, heavy with intent, as though the mansion were aware of me.
As though it had been waiting.
I swallowed hard.
The sight dredged up an unwelcome memory—Lord Val’s estate, all towering stone and silent menace, where shadows clung too closely and every corridor seemed to lead somewhere you didn’t want to go.
Were vampire lords issued the same architectural handbook, or was brooding excess simply a requirement?
Now what? I thought.
I had come here alone. No plan. No backup. No dramatic strategy involving clever traps or last-minute miracles.
And only now—standing before the nightmare itself—did it fully register that I might have been... just a little too hasty.
Zephyros couldn’t leave the Coven of Midnight. And I couldn’t ask anyone else for help because, apparently, freshman welcoming parties were sacred events not to be interrupted by minor inconveniences like potential death.
They weren’t against the rulebook—hosting parties, that is. And anything that happened outside the Covens didn’t violate a single regulation. If it took place beyond the academy grounds, the Coven of Midnight simply did not interfere.
In other words, once you stepped outside, whatever happened to you was entirely your own problem.
And so here I was—abandoned by common sense, soaked to the bone, staring down a vampire mansion like this was perfectly reasonable behavior.
It finally sank in.
I had no wolf.
None.
No arcane.
Zero.
Just me—armed with a pocketful of salt, a miserly jar of garlic powder, and an obsidian dagger strapped to my thigh like that alone could compensate for everything else I lacked.
I looked down at myself.
A thin nightgown. Bare feet sinking into wet earth. A blood moon bleeding faintly through the clouds overhead.
...Fantastic.
Just fantastic, Iris.
At the very least, I should have armed myself properly. A weapon. A charm. Anything beyond wishful thinking and stubbornness.
But it was far too late to turn back now.
Thankfully—miraculously—the goddess hadn’t forsaken me just yet.
Movement caught my eye near the side of the mansion.
A figure emerged from a narrow servant’s entrance, hunched beneath the rain.
A young woman dressed in a black-and-white maid’s uniform stepped into the storm, dragging a metal bin behind her. The lid rattled softly as she tipped its contents into a waiting cart.
A servant.
A vampire servant.
My pulse quickened.
She moved with an awkwardness that set my instincts buzzing—not graceful or predatory like the others I’d seen. No effortless glide. No inhuman confidence. Her steps were uneven, her posture tense, as though she hadn’t yet learned how to exist in her new body.
Her smell told me of what I needed to know.
A fledgling.
Recently turned. Probably human not long ago.
I exhaled slowly, steadying myself.
I might be able to handle her.
Sebastian’s training flashed through my mind—aching muscles, bruised ribs, relentless drills that had left me cursing his name and secretly grateful for his cruelty.
My advantage was simple but critical.
I had no scent. I could easily slip in the crowd without being notice.
If I was careful, I could slip close before she even realized she wasn’t alone.
I waited.
The rain masked my movements as I crept forward, each step careful despite the cold stone biting into my feet. Mud clung between my toes, but I ignored it.
The maid hummed softly to herself, oblivious. Human habits clinging stubbornly to an undead existence.
When she turned back toward the mansion, bin empty, I moved.
I lunged from the shadows, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
She sensed me at the last second—eyes widening, mouth opening to scream—but my hand clamped over her lips as I drove her backward into the trees.
The moment I closed the distance, instinct overruled hesitation.
The obsidian dagger flashed up and plunged forward in a single, ruthless motion, its black edge sinking cleanly into her chest before she could fully turn—the impact jolting through my arm, sharp and absolute, a finality that left no room for doubt that I had killed her.
