Chapter 34: The Night Before the End

Darkness swallowed her whole. Camela’s scream echoed into the void, but there were no walls to capture the sound.

She felt herself falling endlessly. Her fingers grasped at the air in desperation, but Vincent was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly, the ground appeared beneath her. She fell hard, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs as cold stone pressed against her palms.

A dim light flickered above—a lantern swaying in midair. The air reeked of damp soil and rust.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Vincent!” she called out.

No response came back, just silence that felt as heavy as chains.

Then a scraping noise echoed from the darkness slowly and deliberately.

She froze in place. “Who’s there?”

The lantern blazed brighter.

From the darkness emerged a figure—pale and robed, with lips twisted into a cruel smile.

“Bride,” the voice whispered. “Welcome to the cage before the end.”

Camela pressed her back against the wall. “Where’s Vincent?” she requested.

The robed figure tilted its head. “He’s separated from you,” the robed figure replied, “That’s the way of the cages. You walk your night alone.”

Her voice trembled. “I don’t care about cages. Just take me back to him.”

The figure chuckled softly, like the sound of breaking glass. “Oh, you will see him again only if you make it through this night.”

Her hands tightened into fists. “What do you want from me?”

The lantern flared brighter as the figure moved closer, its eyes glowing a faint red, distinctly non-human.

“It’s not about what I want,” the robed figure said, “But what the blood demands. You swore an oath, binding yourself to this fate. And now, your heart will be tested.”

Camela's throat felt tight. “Tested how?”

The figure smiled and replied. “Through memory, desire, and fear.”

The ground shifted beneath her feet as stone walls rose higher, slick with moisture and forming a circle around her—a cage without bars that she couldn’t escape from.

The figure’s voice dropped low. “You have one night. If you break before morning, your soul will be ours.”

The light flickered for a moment before becoming steady once more, showing that the robed figure had disappeared.

Yet, something in the air shifted—a gentle warmth brushed against her cheek.

Camela turned and gasped.

She was no longer in the cage but standing in her childhood bedroom. The curtains her father had bought, the desk where she used to write, and the fragrance of lilacs drifting through the open window surrounded her.

Her lips parted, leaving her mouth open. “This…can’t be real.”

“Of course it is,” came a reply.

Her father appeared in the doorway, dressed in his mayor's coat. His voice was smooth and calm, as if nothing terrible had ever happened.

Camela took a step back, frightened. “No…you sold me. You gave me away.”

He gave a faint smile as he responded. “I saved you. You just haven't seen it yet.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Save me? You handed me over to the fox! To chains! To death!”

He moved closer to her. “Would you rather it had been me? The city needed someone to take the blame and pay. Better you than me.”

Fury made her fists tremble as tears ran down her cheeks. “You disgust me!”

Then his tone softened. “Camela, I love you. Come back home with me. We can forget and leave all of this behind…no fox, no council…just us.”

Her heart twisted painfully as she looked into his eyes; they seemed genuine, and his voice felt real.

But something inside her whispered: It’s a lie. It’s another trap. It's the cage.

With effort, she said it aloud and declared, “You’re not my father. You’re just an illusion. You're a trick.”

The image wavered; his smile twisted into a menacing smirk. “You’ll regret this decision,” he threatened.

The walls around her melted away as her childhood bedroom faded from view. And suddenly, she was back in her cage of stone once more.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she gasped for air. “It’s not real. None of this is real.”

But the lantern flickered once more.

When everything steadied, Vincent stood before her. He wasn't chained or angry—just Vincent, with soft eyes looking at her.

“Camela.” His voice was low and warm, filled with emotion. “It doesn’t have to hurt anymore.”

Her heart raced painfully in her chest. “Vincent…”

He moved closer, his hand lightly touching her cheek. “Choose me. Not the fight or the council…just me. Let’s run away together tonight.”

Her breath trembled. His touch felt both sweet and painful. She wanted to trust him, to fall into his embrace.

But something inside her cautioned again: Too easy. Too perfect.

She grabbed his wrist and looked at him intensely. “If you’re real, say it.”

He raised his brow furrowed in confusion. “Say what?”

Her voice wavered as she pleaded, “Repeat the words you said to me in the fire…the night you mixed your blood with mine.”

The Vincent in front of her paused for a moment, and a faint smile spread across his face.

“Why does that matter?” he asked.

Her stomach sank as she replied, “Because you don’t remember.”

In a rush of anger, she pushed him away. “You’re not him.”

The image flickered, his facial expression became harsh and distorted before fading into smoke.

The cage shook violently, and the lantern's light dimmed.

The smoke thickened, twisting into various forms. Long hands with sharp fingers emerged from it. Then—her voice echoed in the darkness.

“Kill him.”

Camela froze in place. “No…”

The whisper came again, louder this time. “Kill him. Kill Vincent.”

Her knees weakened, and she grabbed her head. “Stop! That’s not who I am!”

The shadows laughed in her voice. “Yes, it is. It’s the part you buried. Do you think he’ll love you forever? Do you think he’ll protect you? He belongs to the council now. He’ll betray you. He already has.”

Trembling with fear, Camela felt tears streaming down her cheeks. “He hasn’t betrayed me. He…he saved me.”

The whisper grew colder. “When it comes down to it, he’ll save himself…not you.”

Pressing her palms against her ears, she screamed, “Shut up!”

The lantern flared brightly, causing the shadows to pull back.

Once again, she found herself alone.

Her chest ached, and her throat felt raw. She whispered to herself, shaking and trembling: “I know who I am. I know what I want.”

The stone floor shifted beneath her feet and the robed figure reappeared at the edge of the light, wearing a thin smile.

"You lasted longer than most," the robed figure said.

Camela's eyes flared with intensity. "If you think you can break me, you're mistaken."

The robed figure tilted its head slightly. "Break you? No. We only prepare you."

Her breath hitched. "Prepare me for what?"

"For the last cage. The final choice."

The ground rumbled beneath her again.

Above, a faint crack appeared in the stone ceiling, and through it, she noticed movement.

Vincent.

He knelt there, his hands bound by chains of fire, his gaze fixed downward. His face was pale, and his jaw was tight with tension.

"Vincent!" she shouted.

His head lifted, their eyes locked for a brief moment and his calm demeanor faltered—pain and love flickered in his gaze before he silently mouthed one word:

“Run”.

Her heart ached fiercely. "No! I won’t leave you here!"

The robed figure's voice hissed ominously, "Tomorrow you will choose: your freedom…or his."

The lantern's glow faded until only darkness filled the space.

A whisper from the figure slithered through the darkness:

"Sleep well, bride. The night before the end has begun."

The stone beneath her crumbled away, and she fell again—this time into black water that swallowed her whole.

Her scream dissolved into silence as she fell into the deep waters.

When she resurfaced—she found herself not alone.

Something cold and scaly brushed against her leg as the darkness rippled around her.

And then she saw them—hundreds of eyes opened under the water.