Eliza sat quietly at the long dining table, trying to come to terms with her new reality. For the first time since arriving in this strange world, the enormity of it all hit her. She wasn’t home. She didn’t even know if she’d ever see her world again.

She stared down at her meal—what even was it? Was it cow? Did this world even have cows? Her eyes darted to Lady Aura, the centaur, her sleek body and muscular frame unmistakably equine, though her human features were impossibly elegant. Eliza hesitated. Is it rude to ask? Would it offend her?

Her gaze shifted to the doll, who moved with eerie grace despite the noticeable limp. Her stitched features somehow managed to be breathtaking, her glassy eyes catching the light like twin jewels. Every seam of her body seemed to have been made with care, giving her a timeless, haunting beauty.

And then there was Zanac, the butler. His tin frame was bulky and broad, with a stocky build reminiscent of an oversized toy. He looked as though he’d been built to intimidate but now carried himself with a quiet reserve. His once-polished metal exterior was dull, dented in places, and his oversized hands clinked softly as he moved.

Eliza glanced back down at her plate, swallowing hard. She felt out of place, painfully ordinary among these strange, otherworldly beings. They seemed to radiate an aura of magic, of purpose, while she was just… her. Plain, human, unremarkable.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to break the awkward silence. She introduced herself, her voice wavering slightly. “I’m Eliza Brownlee,” she said, her words filling the still air. “It’s… nice to meet you all.”

The doll was the first to respond, her stitched lips curving into a delicate smile. “I am Lady Mirabella,” she said in a voice as soft as silk, her head tilting slightly as she spoke. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Eliza.”

“I am Lady Aura,” the centaur added, her voice melodic but steady. She dipped her head politely, her mane flowing over her shoulders like liquid silver. “You are a guest of Prince Tenebrae. Please, let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable.”

“And I,” rumbled the tin butler, his deep voice echoing faintly in his metallic chest, “am Zanac. Butler to the royal family of Goodnight.” He gave a stiff bow, his frame creaking slightly as he moved.

Eliza introduced herself again, more out of politeness than necessity, before they began conversing. As they talked, she began to notice something strange—an almost reverent way they treated her. Their eyes lingered on her, their words careful and deferential. At first, she dismissed it, but the more they spoke, the more apparent it became. They idolized her, or at least, they seemed to.

It didn’t make sense. She felt so plain next to them. Lady Mirabella’s ethereal beauty was like something out of a storybook, and Lady Aura exuded strength and grace with every step. Even Zanac, though mechanical, had a certain presence that made him seem larger than life. In contrast, Eliza felt small, insignificant.

As the conversation continued, she began to understand more about this realm. Humans, she learned, were not regarded as equals here. Many were slaves or simply fodder for the more powerful races. The realization sent a chill down her spine, but it also sparked her curiosity.

“So, if I needed medicine or… something, I could just… create it? With magic?” she asked, trying to wrap her mind around the possibilities.

Lady Mirabella’s stitched face brightened, and she nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! You can make a great deal with creation magic. You just need the right ingredients. You could craft medicines, tools, even food if you wished!” Her glassy eyes gleamed as she continued. “There are so many spells you could use, too—like Light, Create Fire, Tune and Spark, and—”

“Lady Mirabella,” Zanac interjected gently, raising a hand. “Perhaps you should allow Miss Eliza some time to adjust. You may overwhelm her.”

Eliza smiled awkwardly, grateful for the intervention. She was fascinated by the magical capabilities of this realm, but the sheer scope of it was dizzying. Their magic seemed to offset the need for much of the technology her world relied on. They didn’t need electricity when they had spells like Spark and Light. It was as if the entire realm had built itself around magic as its foundation.

“It’s almost like… a game,” Eliza muttered under her breath, forcing a faint smile. But curiosity gnawed at her, and before she could stop herself, the question slipped out. “One thing I can’t understand, though… what happened to get him sent to my world?”

The moment the words left her lips, the room grew cold. Lady Mirabella and Lady Aura exchanged uneasy glances, their faces unreadable. Even Zanac, who had been the most composed of them all, shifted uncomfortably, his tin frame creaking as he turned to face her.

After a heavy silence, it was Zanac who spoke, his voice low and reverent, carrying the same eerie cadence of a man delivering a eulogy. “When the young prince was last here,” he began, “there was… a disagreement. An issue with inheritance.” He paused, the faint sound of his joints groaning as he shifted again. “You see, the former king, the great Undead King, was the prince’s adopted father.

Eliza frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Adopted?”

“Yes,” Zanac confirmed, his glowing eyes dimming slightly. “The prince was chosen, raised, and trained as the heir. But the former king also had other children—siblings to the prince—who did not agree with granting him the opportunity to take the crown. They believed his bloodline made him unworthy.”

“The young prince,” Zanac continued, his tone growing heavier, “took the crown against their wishes. He placed it upon his head and began the trials of kingship—the trials which the crown bestows upon those who dare wear it. But…” He hesitated, his tin frame creaking as he adjusted himself. “One of his siblings, resentful and envious, conspired with someone close to the prince to undo what he had begun. They removed the crown… before the trials were complete.”

Zanac’s voice dropped lower, a tremor of sorrow shaking his words. “Removing the crown without completing the trials… it is said to be worse than death itself. It is as if your very flesh is being ripped from your bones, inch by inch, multiplied a thousandfold. The agony… is unimaginable.”

Eliza froze, her mind racing as she processed his words. She could hardly breathe. Her thoughts immediately went to the facility—the doctors, the experiments, the moment they forced the crown off his head. The image of Tenebrae in chains, screaming in agony, flashed in her mind. Her throat tightened, and she barely heard the rest of Zanac’s explanation.

He continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “The prince was banished, cast out by his sibling’s betrayal. None of us know where he went, or even how he survived. But the trials were incomplete, the crown left in limbo… and the kingdom suffered for it.”

Eliza remained silent, her heart heavy with guilt. She had been so focused on what Arkanium Net had labeled as “specimens”—unique creatures to be contained and studied—that she had never considered them as anything more. But these people weren’t just creatures. They had lives. Homes. Families. Dreams. And their world, their realm, was more than she could have ever imagined.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Eliza kept to herself, too lost in her thoughts to engage further. When Lady Mirabella led her to her room, she apologized softly. “I am sorry we do not have many… human accommodations.”

The room itself was a strange blend of familiarity and alien design. The bed was comfortable, the furnishings practical, but the decor was an unmistakable reminder of where she was. The walls were adorned with draconian statues and portraits of vampiric nobility, their eyes following her every movement. The air was heavy with a faint, sweet scent she couldn’t place.

As she lay down, her mind refused to settle. The guilt churned in her chest like a storm, and she felt the weight of everything she had learned pressing down on her.

But while Eliza wrestled with her thoughts, Tenebrae found no such peace.

She didn’t know what had stirred her from her restless half-sleep—the sound, distant and rhythmic, reached her ears like a whisper through the heavy silence of the castle. It was low at first, barely perceptible, but as it grew louder, it became distinct: a steady, drum-like beat reverberating through the halls.

Curiosity compelled her, even as unease gripped her heart. Wrapping herself in the thin cloak Lady Mirabella had left for her, Eliza followed the sound, her bare feet silent against the cold stone floor. The rhythm became clearer, fuller, as though it were coming to life with every step she took. It wasn’t chaotic; it was deliberate, almost mournful. She moved toward a balcony, her breath catching as she peered out into the moonlit expanse beyond the castle walls.

There, bathed in the pale glow of the Forever Moon, was a drum set unlike anything she had ever seen. It was massive, towering, and impossibly complex. The drums themselves were fashioned from bleached bone, their surfaces stretched with what she could only assume were hides of some kind. The frame of the instrument was equally macabre—skulls, ribcages, and twisted femurs interwoven into a structure that seemed both grotesque and beautiful.

It looked impossible for one person to play, yet the sound it produced was cohesive, melodic even. The music resonated through the air, carrying with it an otherworldly weight that settled deep in her chest. Eliza leaned closer, pressing herself between the cracks of the stone railing for a better view. Her senses were immediately overwhelmed.

She expected the acrid stench of death, of decay, but instead, she smelled roses and lemons—a sweet, almost intoxicating scent that felt out of place amidst the castle’s ruin. She expected the music to carry the morbid cries of the dead, but what reached her ears was something entirely different: heartbreak, raw and unfiltered.

The realization struck her like a blow. She recognized this music. She didn’t want to, but she did. It wasn’t a good memory.

Eliza’s chest tightened as her mind dragged her back to the facility, to the sterile halls of Arkanium Net. She remembered this song playing as the doctors tortured him. They had subjected him to every imaginable cruelty—fire, knives, electricity—all to test his pain thresholds. The music had been a part of the experiment, a sick variable to see if his suffering could be altered by sound.

Her hands trembled, her nails digging into the railing as she forced herself to stay in place. The sorrow in the melody now was undeniable, and it made her wonder: Who is he singing to?

She remained there, hidden in the shadows, unable to move, as the music washed over her like a tide of grief.

The drums began to thunder, their macabre rhythm shaking the very foundation of the castle. Bones moved unnaturally, animated by necromantic magic as they struck the massive drum set with precision and power. The eerie green glow of Tenebrae’s aura pulsed with the beat, casting jagged shadows across the broken walls and filling the air with a tension so thick it was suffocating. The scent of roses and lemons grew stronger, mixing with the raw power of his presence. His glowing green eyes fixed on the Forever Moon, their intensity radiating across the realm as his voice erupted into the night.

The sound was unlike anything Eliza had ever heard—dark, raw, and laced with a rage that felt ancient. It wasn’t just music; it was a declaration, a message that carried the weight of betrayal, pain, and vengeance. The lyrics spilled out of him like poison from an open wound, his voice harsh and unrelenting as the necromantic bones struck the drums in perfect synchrony.

“I don’t know where you are, but I know where you’ll no longer be,

You left me in the dark, but I’ll make sure you see.

You’ll feel the weight of my wrath, every lie, every plea,

When the fire consumes your kingdom, you’ll be thinking about me.”

The green aura surrounding him flared, sending waves of energy rippling through the air. Somewhere far off, in a kingdom of forbidden pleasures, his voice reached the ears of those who had betrayed him.

In a realm where lust and desire reigned supreme, a grand castle stood as its center. The halls were filled with indulgence—wine flowed like rivers, flesh intertwined in every corner, and laughter mingled with moans of pleasure. On the throne, surrounded by sycophants and servants desperate to please, sat a woman of otherworldly beauty. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her bare shoulders, her eyes gleaming with mischief and satisfaction.

Beside her lounged the king, a man bloated with indulgence, his grin fading as the music pierced the hedonistic air. The green aura seemed to slice through the revelry, silencing the room as all eyes turned toward the strange light emanating from the distance.

The king sat up, his face twisting with annoyance. “Looks like your problem has come home, Lilith,” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain.

Lilith, unbothered, leaned back in her throne, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Our problem,” she corrected smoothly, her tone betraying the smallest flicker of satisfaction. Her gaze lingered on the aura, her smile widening as she turned back to the party.

“When you’re trying to enjoy your life, you better expect me,

Every time you’re in his arms, tell me—who do you see?

When you watch your world burn away, you’ll be thinking about me.

I’ll find you in the night, I’ll destroy all you love and hold dear,

When you’re up in his bed, I’ll be up in your head,

Taking every last drop of your sanity, my dear until all that's left is me.”

Tenebrae’s voice roared as his aura flared brighter, the sound rattling the castle and echoing through the empty halls. His emotions radiated outward, filling the air with a dark, electric energy that seemed to pull the very life from the stones around him.

“I will find you in the shadows, I’ll be the ghost in your dreams,

Every time you close your eyes, I’ll tear apart your schemes.

You thought you’d escape me, thought you’d be free,

But your every breath, every thought, will still belong to me.”

The raw anger in his voice reverberated through her, shaking her to her core. She realized then that this wasn’t just a song—this was pain turned into sound, vengeance given life through music. He wasn’t just singing to the moon. He was singing to her. To Lilith. To everyone who had ever betrayed him.

Eliza’s fingers gripped the stone floor beneath her as she watched him, trembling. She didn’t know how to feel, what to think, or even how to breathe. She only knew that this moment—this man, this creature—was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

And she wasn’t sure if she would ever recover.