Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE HEIR AND THE HOLLOW VOW: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Chapter 1: The Weight of Silence The cold wind whispered through the twisted pines of the Silken North, carrying the scent of salt and ancient secrets. Lady Seraphine D’Argent stood at the edge of the cliff, her slender frame silhouetted against the bruised sky. The blood moon was hours from rising, but already its faint red glow seemed to tint the horizon, bleeding into the clouds like a warning. Seraphine’s silver-streaked hair tumbled around her face in soft waves, a striking contrast to the dark night. Her skin was pale—almost translucent—as if the moonlight had claimed her for its own. High cheekbones, a slender nose, and lips tinted like the first blush of dawn gave her a fragile beauty that seemed both ethereal and resolute. Her eyes, a rare shade of stormy gray, held a depth that spoke of sorrow and strength intertwined, as if she carried a world of secrets in their gaze. Draped in a midnight-blue cloak embroidered with silver thread—the sigil of her fallen house—she app

### Chapter 3: The Man Beneath the MaskThe forest didn’t fear him—but it watched.Riven moved through the trees like a shadow, his cloak catching on brambles that recoiled rather than tear the fabric. The pine needles beneath his boots never crunched. The wind carried no scent of him. The gods had taught him long ago how to walk unseen.But tonight, the forest whispered her name.Seraphine.He had never spoken it aloud. But it bloomed like a forbidden flower in the quiet of his mind, strange and beautiful, a name that sounded like a prayer he wasn’t worthy to say.Riven reached a clearing and paused beneath a ring of weathered standing stones. Here, the air thrummed with old magic, thick with memory. He pulled off one glove, baring the mark that had bound him since the day he died.A delicate black sigil curled from his wrist to his palm—thorned, elegant, and cruel. The Vowmark.It burned softly now. Not pain. Not heat. Just… presence. Connection. As if somewhere across the world, th

---### Chapter 5: The Door Between ThemThe manor’s great wooden door stood before her like a final test.Seraphine’s fingers trembled over the cold iron latch. Not from fear—but from the way her magic hummed just beneath her skin, responding to something… someone… on the other side. A thread, newly taut and pulsing, tied to the rhythm of a heart she did not yet know.She exhaled slowly.The dream still clung to her. The warning. The god. The blood moon’s light pressing down on her even now through the stained glass above the entry hall.*He is not what he seems.**But neither are you,* she thought.With a soft click, she turned the latch and pulled.The door opened inward with a whisper of old hinges, and moonlight spilled across the threshold.He stood just outside.Tall. Still. Masked.The man was dressed in black, his cloak heavy with the scent of pine and cold wind. The silver of his mask gleamed like polished bone, hiding all but his mouth and jaw. Pale skin. Sculpted. Expressi

### Chapter 7: What Power DemandsThe cliffs behind the manor rose like broken wings, jagged and wild, forever locked in a quiet war with the sea below. It was here that Riven brought her at dawn—where the wind was sharp, and the sky stretched endlessly above them like a promise not yet fulfilled.Seraphine shivered as the breeze tangled in her braid.“Is this where you plan to kill me?” she asked dryly.“If I wanted to kill you,” Riven replied, crouching to carve a rough circle into the frost-covered stone with the edge of a silver blade, “you’d already be ashes.”She arched a brow. “Comforting.”He didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he straightened, brushing stone dust from his hands. “Step inside the circle.”“What does it do?”“It binds your magic to the space. You can’t escape it until you master it.”Her stomach turned slightly. “That sounds more like a trap than training.”“Magic is always a trap when you don’t understand it.”She stared at him, uncertain. “And you do?”“I know

**Chapter 9: A Mother's Memory, A Daughter's Curse**The house no longer felt haunted.It felt *alive*.Walls whispered in the dark. Candles flickered where no flame had been lit. Doors once sealed creaked open as if beckoning her inside. And Seraphine—once fearful, once forgotten—walked through it all like she had always belonged.She didn’t wake Riven that morning.Or if he was ever truly asleep, he let her go.She carried a single candle and a dull blade, her fingers stained with old chalk and sigil dust. The deeper into the manor she went, the colder it grew. Not lifeless cold—this was a cold born of preservation. Of something buried and waiting.She passed the old nursery. The music room. The sunken parlor.Each step drew her closer to a memory she hadn’t summoned… yet couldn’t deny.At last, she reached a place she hadn’t dared enter since she was a child.The west tower.The door was low, carved from blackwood, and bound in iron. Her mother had once warned her: *“Never go beyon