Chapter 14
1947words
I can no longer view all of this as "material" to be recorded and analyzed, as I once did. Fear is no longer a spectacle observed through a pane of safety glass, but rather a chill that has seeped into my very marrow. I dare not open the comment section of my novel anymore, nor even look in the mirror, terrified that in that false reflection, I might see a pair of eyes that are not my own.
Silas also seems to have noticed my change, as well as that increasingly dense, suffocating presence hovering over the manor. He no longer teases me with that elegant and haughty demeanor as before; he has become silent and agitated, like a caged beast sensing the approach of greater danger. He spends more and more time in the basement, and I suspect he is trying to restore his power, but we both know full well that against an entity that even makes him—who has lived for centuries—feel apprehensive, this small amount of power is utterly useless.
The turning point came on a rainy afternoon.
I was sitting by the window in my study, staring blankly at the rain washing over the glass, feeling completely lost. Silas appeared silently behind me. He didn't speak, just placed a folded letter sealed with wax on my desk.
"What is this?" I turned my head, looking at him with confusion.
"A ceasefire agreement." His voice was deep and hoarse, his crimson eyes flickering with a complex light I had never seen before, mixing humiliation and determination, "Written for that furry 'guardian' of yours."
I was stunned, hardly believing my ears. "You... contacted Finn?"
"That thing, that 'Gazer', its will is getting stronger." Silas didn't directly answer my question. He walked to the window, looking at the rain-shrouded forest outside, his gaze solemn. "I can feel it awakening. Its desire for you is becoming increasingly undisguised. With just my current power, if it truly decides to make a move on you, I... cannot protect you."
This was the first time I had heard such honest, almost vulnerable words from his proud mouth. I looked at his straight figure, that pride belonging to an ancient noble now appearing so fragile yet genuine.
"Finn... will he agree?" I voiced my concern, "Aren't you two... sworn enemies?"
"Old grudges are worthless in the face of absolute threat," Silas snorted coldly, his tone carrying that distinctive mockery of his. "Besides, we now have a common goal that's more important than tearing each other apart. That wild dog may not be bright, but at least its sense of smell is keen. It must have also caught the scent that's enough to make the entire forest tremble."
As he expected, Finn Grimm arrived that evening.
He didn't come through the front door, but appeared like a black shadow, silently materializing outside the floor-to-ceiling window of the study. The rain had stopped, and he carried the damp scent of soil and pine needles. The hostility that had been on his face before was gone, replaced by an unprecedented gravity. His amber eyes passed over Silas and fell directly on me, with concern almost overflowing from his gaze.
And so, two eternal archenemies, an elegant and deadly vampire and a wild and powerful werewolf, for the first time, in my small study, conducted an eerily atmospheric "strategic meeting" for the same goal.
"Its power is continuously growing stronger," Finn spoke first, his voice as deep as rolling thunder. "The animals in the forest are becoming restless and agitated. They can sense that the master of this land is being coveted by another, more powerful being." As he spoke, he glared at Silas without the slightest courtesy, as if saying "this is all trouble that you brought."
"Don't analyze this situation with your primitive jungle laws, wild dog." Silas leaned elegantly against the bookshelf, holding a glass of warm animal blood, his demeanor composed as if he were the master of this place. "What we're facing is not some beast that needs territory marked, but a kind of... rule. A kind of will. It has no physical form, yet it is everywhere."
"Then how do we deal with something we can't even see?" Finn irritably ran his fingers through his unruly black hair, clearly feeling at a loss about an enemy that couldn't be seen or touched.
They argued back and forth, analyzing any possible weaknesses and discussing various defensive strategies. Silas suggested reinforcing both the physical and magical barriers of the manor, while Finn proposed setting up ancient protective totems throughout the forest. They were like two experienced hunters preparing for an unprecedented hunt. Meanwhile, I—the "prey" they claimed to protect—was left on the sidelines the entire time.
I listened quietly, yet a growing sense of dissatisfaction welled up inside me. I am not a precious possession that needs protection, nor am I a "key" that can only passively accept fate. I am Eleanor Vince, a writer who constructs worlds with words. If there's one weapon in this world I excel at wielding, it's the story itself.
"Enough." I finally spoke up, interrupting their argument.
Two powerful non-human beings turned their heads simultaneously to look at me. There was a hint of inquiry in Silas's eyes, while Finn's were filled with confusion.
"I don't want to passively hide here anymore, waiting for that thing, whatever it is, to decide my fate." I stood up, walked between them, and looked at them with determination. "You're both right, we don't know what it is or what its weaknesses are. So let's find out. I want to know its true identity, what it really wants. Rather than defending passively, let's take the initiative to strike."
My words plunged the air into dead silence.
Finn looked at me in shock, those amber eyes showing for the first time an emotion other than vigilance and concern—it was a mixture of disbelief and deep, profound admiration. He seemed completely surprised that I, a human woman who appeared so fragile in his eyes, would speak such courageous words.
As for Silas, his reaction was more complex. He looked at me, and in his crimson eyes, the worry that arose from my "disobedience" fiercely intertwined with the secret pride he felt for my "adventurous spirit." He finally stepped forward and, with his cold, slender fingers, gently brushed away a strand of hair from my cheek, his movement carrying a tenderness that even he himself had not noticed.
"You're always like this," he said softly, his voice carrying a trace of indulgent helplessness, "always making decisions that are... both foolish and brave in a way that leaves others unable to argue."
That night, I lay exhausted in bed. The auras of two powerful beings still lingered in the room, one as cold as eternal night, the other as scorching as summer. I had become the center of their contention and protection, a feeling that gave me a vain satisfaction yet also an immense pressure. With this heaviness, I fell into sleep.
I saw Julian again. This time, we were no longer in a sea of flowers, nor in any specific setting. We were in a pure, endless dark void. The only source of light came from Julian's semi-transparent body that emitted a faint glow.
His face bore unprecedented sadness and gravity.
"You've finally come to this point, Eleanor," his voice echoed in the void. "You want to see its true face, so I'll let you see."
He extended his hand to me, and I took it without hesitation. He led me deeper into the darkness. There, a massive image composed of countless twisted rays of light and flowing shadows appeared before me. It wasn't a concrete image but rather a pure "concept" that transcended visual perception.
I "saw" it. I saw the essence of the entity known as the "Eternal Gazer."
It wasn't love, wasn't hatred, wasn't even loneliness. It was a kind of... cosmic-level, absolute desire for "belonging." It was like a vast universe with its own will, which had discovered within itself a particle of "dust" that didn't belong to it, possessing an independent will—that was the "key" with the Vince bloodline. Its instinct was to completely and thoroughly dissolve this particle of "dust," making it return to the "unified will" of the universe.
It doesn't need to possess, because it is everything in itself. It only needs the "key" to abandon self, to surrender soul, thoughts, emotions, and memories completely, to thoroughly merge into it, becoming its neural ending... extended into this tiny reality world, something that can be used to perceive and experience.
I saw the fates of all the previous mistresses of the manor. Some were crushed by that enormous will in their resistance, driven completely insane; others abandoned their resistance in despair, offering up everything they had, then withered and died quickly like flowers drained of nectar. Because the human soul simply cannot withstand that kind of complete "assimilation," which is nothing short of total annihilation on a spiritual level.
I woke up startled from my dream, my entire body soaked in cold sweat. That fear originating from the depths of my soul, facing an existence that cannot be defeated, or even understood, was ten thousand times more terrifying than any physical threat. I could no longer deceive myself that this was something I could "study" and "analyze."
What should I do? Wait to be "assimilated" by it, and then, like my predecessors, descend into madness or death?
No.
I sat up abruptly from my bed, rushed to my desk, and opened my laptop. The fear was still there, but a stronger, writer's almost insane obsession overcame everything.
If I cannot fight it with force, cannot persuade it with reason, then I will use the only weapon I excel at to communicate with it!
I opened my novel document and looked at the still-pinned ID in the comment section—"Visage." My fingers danced across the keyboard, deleting the commercial storyline I had prepared to update about how Mr. S and Mr. F joined forces to fight against the little monsters.
I took a deep breath, then typed a completely new chapter title.
《Chapter Twenty-Three: The Spirit of the Manor》
In this chapter, I no longer made Mr. S and Mr. F the protagonists. The true protagonist was the manor itself—ancient, lonely, and possessing its own will. I began using my words to depict its "feelings," its "loneliness," its "longing." I attempted to stand from its perspective to understand its obsessive desire to merge the "keys" into one.
This was no longer writing; it was a high-stakes gamble. I had turned myself and my story into chips on the gambling table, and my opponent was an invisible ancient god beyond human understanding.
Silas and Finn would surely think I had gone mad if they knew what I was doing.
But somehow, I could feel the long-lost air that belonged uniquely to Julian—gentle yet sorrowful—quietly enveloping me, carrying a subtle hint of... support and encouragement.
He seemed to be anticipating that I could, through this method, forge a path entirely different from all who came before.
