Deep in the lower dungeons of Goodnight, where moonlight never reached and the scent of old parchment mixed with rare alchemical herbs, the Lich Prince worked tirelessly.

This place was no prison—it was a sanctuary of knowledge.

A dreamscape for an alchemist, a scholar, a necromancer.

The chamber was lined with towering bookshelves, their spines covered in languages long forgotten. Glass jars held strange, pulsating plants, their bioluminescent roots curling like the fingers of spirits. Animals, caged and contained, stirred restlessly—some were creatures unknown to any human realm.

But none of these things held Ten’s attention.

His focus was entirely on the woman on the stone table.

An Undine.

Her skin, once kissed by the glow of deep-sea moons, had dulled to an unnatural stillness. She lay in stasis, her body perfectly preserved, but unmoving.

And Ten was struggling.

With a sigh, he ground a fresh mixture in his mortar and pestle, his clawed hands precise and delicate—until he wasn’t.

With a growl, he slipped, the contents spilling across the obsidian counter.

He cursed under his breath.

Zanac, ever patient, stepped forward.

“Allow me, my prince.”

Ten slumped onto a nearby chair, pressing his clawed fingers into his temples, frustration weighing on him. His emotions had become more volatile ever since their visit to Nevermore.

And that wasn’t even his greatest concern.

“Zanac… will you mix that for me?” His voice was measured, but tired.

“I cannot risk ruining another batch for the fourth time…”

He exhaled sharply, dragging his claws down his face, his green eyes dark with thought.

“It was fortunate you were even able to collect the flowers in Nevermore without being noticed.”

Zanac hummed in amusement as he began mixing the crushed petals with a careful, practiced motion.

“Everyone was too focused on you, young master. No one bothers to watch an old, fat tin butler.”

Despite his mood, Ten smirked.

“That makes you the most dangerous of us all, now.”

Zanac paused for the briefest moment before resuming.

“Especially now that…”

Ten sighed, leaning back against his chair, his skeletal hand twitching involuntarily.

“Now that the Crown has started its trials. And with it… the punishment it has chosen to endure.”

Silence settled between them.

Zanac’s grip on the mortar tightened. He hated this.

Hated that his prince was suffering.

And now, he knew the truth—that the humans in the previous world had forced the Crown from Ten’s head.

No one could have imagined what kind of agony that entailed.

No one but Ten.

Zanac didn’t blame Lady Eliza, but his heart burned with quiet, suppressed fury at those who had imprisoned and tortured his master.

And now—

Now, the Crown had retaliated.

Locked away ninety percent of his mana.

Even the simplest spells drained him.

Even his mind was beginning to fray at the edges, his once-cold rationality now plagued by the resurfacing of human emotions he had long since discarded.

This was why Zanac had taken it upon himself to intervene.

He had spoken with Lady Aura.

A plan had been formed.

And whether Tenebrae liked it or not—he would have his reprieve.

The garden of Goodnight was the only part of the kingdom untouched by time, decay, and ruin.

A sanctuary where the Nighttime Realm’s eternal moons bathed the world in pale silver light, where the air was soft and cool, carrying the faint scent of blooming nightshade and ghost orchids.

Bioluminescent vines curled around marble pillars, their leaves shimmering with hues of violet and deep cerulean. The flowers here were not of any mortal realm—they pulsed faintly as if breathing.

The garden paths were lined with black roses, their petals catching the moonlight in an eerie, almost metallic sheen. Every step upon the stone walkways echoed softly, as if even the ground itself was enchanted, absorbing the weight of those who walked it.

At the center of it all was a small lake, its waters black as ink but shimmering with ripples of deep blue when disturbed. The air smelled of fresh rain and damp earth, mingled with the faintest traces of something unnatural, something ancient—magic woven into every blade of grass, every petal, every breath.

The night was still.

The silence wasn’t oppressive—it was soft, expectant.

This place was special.

And tonight, it belonged to them.

Eliza stood in the garden, a basket clutched in her hands, a soft breeze rustling through her sundress.

And Tenebrae was unprepared.

The dress was silk, light as moonlight, draping over her frame with effortless grace. It was modest but betrayed nothing of its ability to highlight the curve of her waist, the subtle swell of her hips.

It was the kind of dress meant to be felt as much as worn.

It clung where it should, whispered where it shouldn’t.

She looked… comfortable.

At peace.

And somehow, that unsettled him more than anything else.

The gentle fabric shifted with her movements, swaying like a liquid shadow as she adjusted the basket in her hands. The soft glow of the moon traced along her skin, catching at the delicate lines of her collarbones, and the subtle arch of her throat.

Her hair was unbound, falling in loose waves, touched faintly by silver moonlight.

For a moment, he couldn’t look away.

He had seen her in battle. In fear. In defiance.

But never like this.

Never… happy.

And then—

“Wait…”

Her voice broke the quiet.

She looked around, realization dawning.

“Where’s the blanket?”

A pause.

Tenebrae, still lost in thought, blinked.

Eliza sighed, shaking her head, a small smile curling her lips.

“I guess we’ll have to sit on the grass—”

A crackle of necrotic energy.

She flinched as green sigils pulsed at his feet.

The air around them hummed, thick with magic.

Eliza’s breath caught in her throat.

A summoning circle expanded, glowing faintly against the ground. The energy twisted, the sigils rotating like the gears of an unseen machine.

Then—

Bone.

A deep, eerie click.

Snap.

Click.

A small unit of skeletons burst from the ground, their forms crawling forth like puppets waiting for command.

Their empty sockets stared ahead, silent, unmoving.

Then—

With synchronized precision, they ripped themselves apart.

Their limbs twisted into the legs of chairs.

Their ribcages expanded, forming the foundation of a table.

A single skull remained, its hollow sockets gazing before clamping into the center, securing the structure in place.

And then—

Silence.

The magic faded.

Eliza’s heartbeat thundered in her chest.

“Did you just…”

“Summon skeletons and have them...Become...Turn into... furniture?”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.

“Yes.”

Eliza slowly approached the eerie bone-crafted table.

Hesitantly, she reached out, her fingers tracing along the smooth ridges of a curved rib.

It was shockingly sturdy.

Despite its unnatural design, it felt… oddly comfortable.

A chair made of spines shifted, adjusting itself as if welcoming her presence.

It should have been horrifying.

But it wasn’t.

Not here.

Not in this kingdom.

Not with him.

He helped her sit like a gentleman after they set up a spread.

“Zanac, will you sit next to me?” she asked, her voice carrying a quiet plea.

He paused for a moment, then nodded, bringing his chair next to hers before sitting down. Together, they laid out their feast—a variety of exotic foods spilling forth from the seemingly bottomless basket.

Tootsie Roots, Snickrooms, Kat Kat Mushrooms, Kit Kit Meat—the rich, savory aroma of the latter reminded her of fresh-baked brisket. She marveled at the sheer quantity of food packed inside such a modest-looking container.

“This basket...” she began, curiosity glimmering in her eyes.

Ten leaned back, stretching. “Enchanted. Dimensional and space magic.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s smaller outside the bag than inside the bag.”

She smiled, watching as they continued setting out the spread. A fleeting thought crossed her mind—was it possible to get lost inside the basket? But she decided against checking. Some mysteries were better left unexplored.

Zanac sat there, awkwardly quiet, hands resting on his knees. She studied him, then simply smiled, shifting closer. “Are you hungry?”

He hesitated before replying. “Despite being a lich, yes. I’ve been feeling hunger lately.” He glanced at the food before them, fingers brushing against a Kat Kat Mushroom. “Though I do not need food to sustain me...”

She tilted her head. “Is that normal?”

“I believe it’s a side effect of becoming human-like again.” His gaze dropped to his hands, flexing them slightly. “My previous body before I ended up in your realm was mainly bone, with little skin left on my face. No organs, other than a heart—beating alone in a fleshless chest cavity.”

She gasped softly, fascinated rather than horrified. “Amazing. You were able to live... like that?”

“No,” he corrected. “I did not live. I am technically not alive now.”

To prove his point, he whispered an incantation and a status window materialized before her, hovering like a parchment suspended in midair. She leaned forward to read it.

“Undead... Lich,” she murmured.

Her gaze flickered lower, catching something that made her uneasy. “Your mana... is it normally this low?”

His expression darkened, lips pressing into a thin line. He hadn’t meant for her to see that. But the moment had already passed—he couldn’t take it back now.

“No,” he admitted. “It’s a punishment by the Crown. I have to pass a trial with a certain amount of my mana sealed away.”

Her heart clenched. “What does that mean?”

He exhaled slowly, searching for an explanation she would understand. “Imagine a lake of water, vast and endless. All of it belongs to you. Now, imagine waking up one day to find an impenetrable wall around that lake. And in your hands... you hold a bucket. A bucket that will always refill, but only halfway.”

A pang of guilt washed over her, creeping up her spine like an unwelcome chill. He noticed her shift in demeanor and tried to change the subject, but she spoke over him.

“I know I never said it but... I am sorry.”

His fingers twitched, but he remained silent.

“I’ve wanted to say sorry for a long time. About that... all of this... really.”

She thought back to everything—her role in his fate, the choices that led to this moment. Regret coiled around her like thorned vines, constricting, suffocating. Guilt was an old ghost, whispering from the corners of her mind. If only she had seen the signs sooner. If only she had acted differently.

A bony hand rested on her shoulder, its touch surprisingly gentle.

“Trusting the wrong person with my black heart is what led me to be a prisoner in your world,” he said, his voice devoid of anger, only acceptance. “If you have anything to apologize for, let it be that you ate the last Kat Kat Mushroom.”

She blinked, glancing down in shock. Only now did she realize that her right hand had been absently reaching for more mushrooms—only to find the plate empty.

“Damn... those were good.”

His chuckle was low, amused. She felt a flush creep up her neck, embarrassment settling in, but slowly, she opened up, laughing softly. “Well, I can honestly say I haven’t had mushrooms that taste earthy and sweet like chocolate before.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Your realm also has chocolate? So do we—but it mainly comes from the human realm.”

Curious, she leaned in. “How do all these realms work, exactly? Earth only has one realm.”

He arched a brow. “According to whom?” He smirked, arranging some of their food into a makeshift diagram. “Imagine Earth here, in its little universe. Now, imagine countless other universes existing in different dimensions—right next to Earth, just... a dimension over.”

“Dimensions and universes...” she echoed.

“A dimension can contain many universes. But a universe can only contain three dimensions maybe four. Just like that basket.” He gestured to it. “Inside that one basket is enough room for a small cabin. If my father created it, you could fit a castle in there. And when I master this crown, I’ll be able to put entire kingdoms inside.”

She watched him take a bottle of RK Muscadine Wine.

“RK?” she asked.

“Raven King’s private stash. Compliments of the King. Glad Zanac packed it for us.” He poured them both a glass.

She took a sip, savoring the mellow sweetness, the little kick at the end. “That was a unique conversation you all had.”

He smirked, swirling the wine. “Yes. I learned quite a bit more has transpired than I originally thought."

Her throat felt dry. It wasn’t the wine.

“So the entire time… you were sharing friendly information,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly as a knowing smile ghosted across her lips.

Ten exhaled, rubbing his temple with two clawed fingers. “Like I said, we are best friends…” The words were light, but the weight in his voice was anything but. His crimson gaze, normally sharp and piercing, turned distant, lost in some place she couldn’t follow.

Then, with a sigh, his expression hardened.

“Other than yourself and Zanac, he’s the only other person who knows I’m weaker.” His voice dropped lower, a quiet admission that felt almost foreign coming from him. “He detected it instantly. Warned me not to stay. And he confirmed some things Zanac and the others were keeping from me.”

The air between them felt heavier now, thick with unspoken grief and lingering anger.

She watched as his fingers flexed and curled into a loose fist against the table.

“I was under the impression my followers left,” he continued, his voice unnervingly calm. “But they were all slaughtered. By Lilith.”

A sharp pang lanced through her chest.

She had never seen him like this—his emotions so raw, his exhaustion laid bare. The Lich Prince, the cold and calculating ruler, the tactician who commanded death itself, now sat before her… simply a man burdened by grief.

He lifted his wine glass and downed the remaining liquid in a single motion, the ruby-red drink vanishing past his lips like it was water.

“I understand why Zanac kept it from me,” he murmured, placing the empty glass onto the table with a soft clink. His fingers lingered on the rim. “If I had known, I would have run off for revenge, died, and lost the crown.”

A bitter chuckle escaped his throat, though there was no humor in it. His eyes met hers, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, but the pain behind it was unmistakable.