บท 173: Chapter 173 - Wrong Doings
Within the halls of the dwarf lord's manor—a home unassuming to most, its wealth hidden behind plain stone walls—a shadow slipped through the quiet, melding seamlessly with the darkness of night.
The lanterns were dark, extinguished for the evening, as the dwarf lord and their family lay deeply asleep.
Beyond the manor, the tunnels of the mined city were dimmed; in the night's stillness, no honest business could thrive, only mischief and malice.
Something stirred the dwarf lord from sleep—a faint sound, or perhaps the whisper of something heavier in the air. Groggy, they blinked into the darkness. Their spouse remained motionless beside them, undisturbed by the faint disturbance.
Shaking off the unease as if waking from a bad dream, the dwarf lord rose. They fumbled for a candle, lighting it so that its soft glow barely guided their steps.
In the kitchen, they fetched a jug of water and drank deeply, the cold liquid settling the fog in their mind. From there, they wandered to the living room.
But as their feet crossed the threshold, they struck something hard—round and solid. They stopped, staring into the shadows, the candlelight trembling in their hand. Another step, and their foot nudged a second object, then a third.
Then came the wetness.
A dark liquid coated the stone floor, clinging to their bare feet.
Lowering the candle, their breath caught in their throat. The faint flicker revealed severed heads strewn across the floor, their lifeless gazes frozen in terror
Even in death, the unmistakable features of the Lamina were clear—their scaled snouts and reptilian eyes stared unblinking. The dwarf lord knew these assassins. Only yesterday they had seen them, talked with them, and now their heads were in their home.
Horror gripped them, robbing them of breath. Their trembling hand tipped the candle's flame, and long, flickering shadows danced across the room.
And then they felt it.
A presence.
It sat in the armchair by the unlit fireplace. Darkness cloaked it entirely, save for two glowing orbs of crimson that pierced through the void. No matter how close they held the candle, the light refused to touch the figure. It was as though the very essence of illumination dared not reveal what sat there.
The dwarf lord froze, their heart pounding. They stared into the eyes of the abyss made flesh. Their breath fogged in the air as the room grew icy.
"I will not ask why," the figure said, "For the answer is obvious."
Swallowing hard, the dwarf lord opened their mouth, but no words came.
"It all could have gone so differently," the figure continued, eerily calm. "If she had died… If she, the girl, had been killed…" It leaned forward slightly, and the crimson eyes flared brighter. "I do not know what I would have done. But the Lamina didn't know what she is, did they? Undead. A little girl who shrugs off a blow meant to be excruciating, meant to be fatal—can you imagine the confusion after the blow?"
The dwarf lord stumbled back a step, the severed heads crunching underfoot.
"Please…" they whispered, their voice hoarse with fear. "I have a family. Children who rely on me."
The figure's silence stretched unbearably. When it spoke again, there was a chilling softness to its voice.
"I, too, know the struggles of parenthood—the sacrifices, the fears, the desperate choices. What wouldn't we do for our children?" It paused, and the air seemed to thicken. "And yet, what is the difference between us? Is it merely the fact that we both have children? Shared experience?"
The figure rose slowly, the darkness around it seeming to shift and writhe.
"No," the figure said, its voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "The difference is this: you only believe you hold power, while I wield it. True power."
The darkness surged forward, swallowing the candle's flickering light—and the dwarf lord with it.
Only silence remained. Not even the void carried their screams.
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