Aurora's POV
I gasped, my eyes snapping open.
Dark.
Cold.
Silent — except for the ragged breathing around me.
Oh… it's a dream.
No… a memory.
Reality came crashing in.
I wasn't in my room at the estate.
I wasn't under that old, worn blanket with Lucien.
I was here.
In this place.
I looked down — my wrists ached, tied tightly with rough rope. My ankles too. The skin was raw.
At least they didn't blindfold me.
Not that it mattered. The room was so dark it made no difference.
Three days.
I counted.
Three days since I was taken.
One small piece of stale bread. One cup of water a day.
Enough to keep me breathing.
Barely.
And I wasn't alone.
The other kids… maybe eight of them. All of us small. Weak. Frail.
All taken the same night.
Some too young to even speak properly.
Some already sick.
Some already silent.
The bruises on my skin, the cut on my lip… they didn't even sting anymore. It was like my body had given up on pain.
Lucien…
I miss you.
I kept whispering his name in my head.
Ariel…
Please… find me.
Please…
I want to go home.
(Flashback: Three days ago)
It had started like any other cold night in the estate.
Rain again — it always rained before something bad happened.
Lucien was sick. Feverish.
I stayed beside him in our small, shared room, pressing a cold cloth to his forehead. He kept asking for Ariel.
But Aurelius was busy. He always was these days.
I left for only a minute.
The maid — Mira, the one with the long braid and soft voice — told me Father was calling for me.
Strange.
He never did.
But… what if it was about Lucien?
What if he was finally going to see us? Maybe even help?
I followed her.
Down the servants' hall.
Past the old storage rooms.
Further than I'd ever gone.
Then — the cold.
The strong hands.
The sack over my head.
The voice that wasn't Mira's anymore.
Men. Rough, cruel.
No names. No faces.
I screamed.
I fought.
I bit and kicked.
But I'm six.
I'm small.
I'm weak.
They tied my hands. Threw me into a cart.
I remember the muddy road, the bouncing wheels.
The sound of other kids crying.
I remember one man saying, "That's the Valemont brat? She won't last a week."
I remember the fear.
The darkness.
The betrayal.
The last thing I saw before the sack covered my face was Mira… watching.
Not helping.
Just standing there.
(Back to Present)
A drop of water hit my face.
A leak from the ceiling, or maybe just my imagination.
I glanced at the other kids.
Their hollow eyes, sunken cheeks.
Some had stopped crying days ago.
I wasn't going to stop.
Even if my throat burned, I'd keep calling them in my mind.
Lucien… Ariel… please…
The air shifted.
I knew what that meant.
The heavy door creaked open.
Faint, sickly light spilled into the room, making the shadows crawl.
I froze.
We all did.
Him.
The tall man.
The one who came once a day.
Maybe more — it was hard to tell without sunlight or days to count.
Tall, sharp-edged.
Black hair slicked back like some old movie villain.
Eyes… blood red.
Not like Aurelius' storm-deep blue, or Lucien's soft blue.
Red. Like a curse.
There was something inhuman about him.
Not in the way he moved — slow, calculated.
But in the way the air felt wrong when he stepped into the room.
He walked past the others.
Some flinched. Some stared blankly.
I didn't look away.
I was done cowering.
He always started with the same thing.
Checking.
As if we were livestock.
Touching bruises, shoving kids over, kicking weak bodies just to see if they made a sound.
Then his hand would grab my face.
Forcing me to look up.
And again, tonight —
"Daughter of Victor Valemont…"
His voice was a low, cruel hum.
"…and the youngest daughter of one of the last Royal bloodlines."
The same words. Every time.
He smirked.
He always smirked.
The other kids watched — not with pity, but with the kind of rage you learn too early when you realize no one's coming.
I glared at him.
If my hands were free…
If my body wasn't so weak…
I'd rip that smirk off his face.
But what shattered me more than his touch, his kicks, his words —
Was what came next.
What he always muttered, just before leaving.
He crouched down, lips close to my ear.
His breath cold as ice, even in this suffocating heat.
"You look just like your mother… Luciana."
And then he left.
Like he always did.
The door shut.
The light vanished.
I kept staring into the dark where he'd stood, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I didn't cry.
Not anymore.
But the fury stayed.
Lucien… Ariel… please…
The next day.
Or maybe it was afternoon.
Or night.
I couldn't tell anymore.
It was always dark in here — the kind of darkness that felt heavy, thick, like it had weight.
And then — footsteps.
That same steady, unhurried rhythm.
Like he owned the world, and we were nothing but broken dolls left in a box.
The door creaked open.
The same sickening beam of light sliced through the room.
It was him again.
The tall man.
Black hair, blood-red eyes.
His presence made the air turn cold, even in this suffocating heat.
We all stiffened.
We knew the routine.
His boots scraped against the floor as he passed each kid, making little mental notes in his head, checking who was breathing and who wasn't.
Then he stopped in front of me.
Same as always.
His hand gripped my face, forcing me to look up.
"Daughter of Victor Valemont… youngest of the last Royal bloodline."
His words rolled out like poison — practiced, bitter.
But then —
he added something new.
"You're important, kid. Stay alive."
And just like that, he was gone.
Door shut.
Darkness swallowed us whole again.
I sat there, frozen.
What…?
Stay alive?
Why now? Why tell me that?
The room murmured.
Soft, broken voices, trading whispers like little scraps of hope.
It had been silent for so long.
"What… what did he mean?"
A small voice beside me.
It was a girl — maybe seven, maybe younger.
Filthy, bruised.
Eyes wide, desperate.
"Why are you so important?" she asked.
I swallowed hard.
"I… I don't know."
But the truth was —
A part of me did.
Because I wasn't just any kid in here.
I was Aurora Valemont.
Daughter of a monster.
Tied to something bigger, darker.
And now — it wasn't just about surviving.
It was about finding out why.
Then, out of the heavy silence, a trembling voice spoke.
"There are other girls… who were forced to be like you…"
I turned toward him — a boy, maybe eight. Gaunt face, hollow eyes. His lips quivered as he spoke, his small hands clenched tight around his knees.
"What…?" I managed, my throat dry and raw.
The other kids shifted, some leaning in, their bruised faces pale in the dim light.
He swallowed hard, his voice shaking.
"The big bad guys… they're taking girls and making them… like you. Dressing them up all clean, brushing their hair, teaching them how to walk, talk… all formal and proper… like you."
His words made my skin crawl. I felt a lump rise in my throat, but I couldn't look away.
"My little sister… they took her. When they grabbed us, they separated us. They threw me in here… but they said she was 'special.'"
His voice cracked, tears brimming in his eyes.
"I thought you were her at first… but then I saw you weren't. And I… I hated you…"
He wiped at his face, shaking.
"The way that man looks at you. The way he calls you important… like you're the reason we're all here."
The room suddenly filled with sobs, small voices calling out.
"My sister too!"
"My best fwend's gone too!"
"They took my cousin…"
Soft cries, broken names.
The room filled with grief, and for the first time in these four endless, suffocating days — it wasn't silent.
It was loud.
So loud it hurt.
It wasn't just me.
It never was.
I felt my stomach twist, bile rising in my throat.
"No… no, I didn't… I didn't mean for this…" I whispered, voice barely audible.
But none of us had a say in this place.
And out of all the days I'd been locked in this room, starved, beaten, broken — this was the loudest.
And maybe the loneliest.
It felt like a week already.
The man — the one with the black hair, red eyes, the one who used to come in, kick us, mock us, throw a piece of stale bread and a cup of water just to keep us alive — stopped coming.
No footsteps. No cruel words. Nothing.
The shackles on my wrists had rubbed my skin raw. My ankles too. Red, bruised, bleeding in places. My whole body ached. I could no longer tell if it was day or night. No light ever came here.
Ariel…
I remembered what he used to tell me.
"You're smart, Rory. You got this from Father… and your mother."
I hated that. I didn't want to be like Father. I didn't want to belong to him. But Ariel… he also said I was mature. "You're stronger than you think."
Maybe I was. Or maybe I just pretended to be.
The other kids… some were barely breathing. Some had stopped moving altogether. Their faces pale, lips dry, eyes hollow. A few still tried to stay hopeful, calling out softly, encouraging us.
"He'll come back… with food… he has to…"
But it was too late.
My stomach grumbled weakly, but even hunger felt distant now. Everything was distant. The world was blurry. The pain was dull. My head felt heavy, my breath shallow. I could feel myself slipping.
Lucien…
Ariel… no… Big brother… Aurelius…
I smiled weakly, as if just thinking of them could save me.
Then — a voice.
Distant, muffled, but desperate.
Calling my name.
Shaking me.
I fought to open my eyes. Everything was dark… no, light — a faint, blurry light.
And in that light… a face.
Tears.
Aurelius.
He was crying.
Ariel… you're crying…?
I wanted to say it out loud but my lips barely moved.
Then the world faded again.
Everything went black.
End of Chapter 9.