CHAPTER 44: ANOTHER REALM

The moment the Duke placed the blindfold over Ahce’s eyes, the air itself seemed to recoil.

"Remember, Ahce," the Duke’s tone was calm, but there was a certain gravity beneath it, ancient, immovable, like stone pressed against her chest. "The test is not meant to measure strength, but survival. Every heir of the Pentecase family faces the same path, alone. You either return with the blood awakened... or not at all."

Those words clung to her, heavy and final, long after the ground beneath her feet dissolved into nothingness.

When the blindfold was removed, the world had changed.

Is this a secret realm?

She stood in a place that looked alive and wrong. A forest stretched endlessly before her, vast and silent, its trees towering so high they seemed to pierce the heavens. The trunks were wide and gnarled, their roots twisting through the soil like coiled serpents. The air was damp, thick with the scent of moss and something ancient, something that did not belong to the world of the living.

Above her, there was no moon, yet the night glowed faintly with light from strange fruits that hung from the vines. They pulsed softly, veins of gold running through translucent skins. When Ahce reached out to touch one, warmth thrummed through her fingertips, as though she had pressed her hand against a living heart.

She exhaled shakily. "Is this... some kind of illusion?"

But even as she spoke, her voice didn’t echo. The air swallowed the sound, as though the forest itself was listening, and choosing whether to respond.

She began to walk. Every step crunched through the carpet of dead leaves, but no matter how carefully she moved, the sound was too loud, too intrusive. Shadows shifted in her peripheral vision, but when she turned, there was nothing there. Only the faint pulse of those glowing fruits above, casting eerie halos of gold upon the ground.

The teleportation magic still lingered beneath her skin, a faint static hum. It told her she was far from the Pentecase estate, sealed inside a realm created for one purpose, to test. The Duke had called it a rite, but Ahce could feel what it really was. A cage.

She searched for shelter, any place to rest, to think, but the deeper she walked, the stranger everything became. The flowers sang soft, wordless notes when brushed. Streams glimmered with silver light, reflecting constellations she had never seen before.

Wisps of mist curled around her boots, thickening the air until it clung to her like a second skin. And yet, beneath the beauty, there was unease.

When she stopped to catch her breath, she noticed the ground. Uneven. Cracked. At first, she thought it was just the roots. Then she crouched, brushed the moss aside, and froze.

Bones.

Human bones. Hundreds of them, layered and half-buried in the soil, as though the forest itself had grown over a graveyard.

The Duke’s words came back to her, heavy as lead.

"You either return... or not at all."

Her fingers tightened around the dagger at her waist.

"So this is the place where heirs vanish," she murmured, a bitter laugh escaping her. "Perfect."

A rustle above. The branches trembled, though no wind stirred.

Something’s watching me.

"Welcome..." The voice drifted through the trees, low and resonant. It wasn’t quite human, nor was it separate from the forest. It was the forest. The tone slithered into her mind, curling behind her ears like cold breath. "...Pentecase blood."

Ahce spun around, blade raised. Nothing. Only the trees, and yet, no, there were faces in the bark. Pale, translucent, emerging and fading in and out of view. Hundreds of them. Men, women, children. Some wept. Some smiled. Some screamed soundlessly.

The lost heirs.

Her pulse pounded. Her muscles wanted to run, but her body refused to move.

"Your blood remembers us," they whispered in unison. "Your trial begins where ours ended."

The glowing fruits above dimmed, one by one, until all that remained was darkness.

Then came the growl.

Low. Deep. Close.

Ahce turned slowly, and from between the trees emerged eyes, amber, luminous, primal. The shape that followed was long and lean, the shadow of a beast built for the hunt.

"Right," she muttered under her breath, gripping her dagger until her knuckles whitened. "Survive or die. Great start."

The creature lunged.

Ahce moved on instinct. Years of training snapped to life, the rhythm of motion, the awareness of air displacement, the sound of claws cutting through it. She twisted aside, blade flashing through the dark. It struck the beast’s flank, but instead of blood, black smoke poured out. The creature dissolved, shrieking soundlessly, leaving only its burning eyes to fade into mist.

Silence followed.

The trial had begun.

Hours, maybe days, bled together after that. The forest was a maze that refused to stay still. Paths she took vanished when she turned back. Trees seemed to rearrange themselves when she wasn’t looking. Her senses frayed from exhaustion and hunger, but she kept moving, guided only by instinct.

Sometimes, she heard footsteps behind her, soft, deliberate. When she stopped, so did they. When she quickened her pace, they followed. Once, she thought she saw her own shadow walking ahead of her.

"Calm down, Ahce," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "You’ve faced worse than this."

She didn’t believe it.

The air had turned cold and metallic, the scent of rust and decay growing stronger. The forest began to thin, and through the mist, she saw it, something wooden, crooked, covered in vines.

A hut...

It sat in a clearing where the mist refused to enter, the earth unnaturally still. Its roof sagged under the weight of age. The windows were shattered, black with soot. The door hung slightly open, as if beckoning.

Every instinct screamed at her to stay away.

But exhaustion and curiosity won.

Her boots crunched over brittle leaves as she stepped closer. The silence deepened with every step. When she crossed the threshold, the scent hit her. Dust, rot, old wood, and the faintest trace of something sweet, like dried herbs.

Cobwebs hung thick from the ceiling. A single chair sat before a dead fireplace, beside a table etched with faintly glowing runes. The symbols pulsed as Ahce approached, spreading faint golden light through the room.

Her heartbeat quickened. She brushed a finger over the carvings, feeling warmth radiate from them. The symbols looked ancient, Pentecase sigils, but not ones she’d ever seen. Older. Wilder.

"Someone lived here," she murmured, barely breathing. "Or maybe... something still does."

The wind shifted. The door slammed shut. The runes flared brighter, casting long shadows across the floor. The air grew colder, her breath turning to mist. Then...

"Blood of the Pentecase," the voice whispered from the walls, from the air, from within her own skull. "Welcome home."

Ahce froze.

The runes pulsed like a heartbeat, slow and steady. The shadows deepened, curling along the walls until they took shape, silhouettes of people, faint and flickering, standing in a silent circle around her. Some bowed. Others wept. And in that moment, Ahce understood.

This hut was not abandoned. It had been waiting for her. The first true successor in a century had come home. And the forest, alive with restless souls and ancient power, was ready to see if she was worthy to inherit the blood that had devoured every Pentecase before her.