Semua Bab Bound To Ruin: Bab 1 - Bab 10

I should have turned back the moment the wind changed.It wasn’t a breeze. Not really. It was the kind of shift that makes the trees hush, makes birds forget their songs. A stillness that slid down my spine and whispered: You are not meant to be here.But I’d come too far. And there was nothing left waiting for me beyond the tree line.The ruins had no name—at least none the guidebooks dared print. Just a speck on an old map, nestled between mountain ridges that never melted, buried under mist no sun could burn off. There were stories, of course. The kind told in wine-soaked whispers. Sealed doors. Blood-wrought curses. Women who entered and never returned.They didn’t mention how beautiful it would be.The stone was black. Not gray. Not aged. Black like the sky right before a thunderstorm, veined with gold that shimmered when I touched it. Vines crawled across the archways but didn’t choke them. Flowers bloomed in the dark—silver-edged petals that pulsed faintly in time with my breat

The runes beneath the slab dimmed. Not vanished, not gone—just waiting. I felt their absence like a breath held too long. The fae was gone too. Not vanished in smoke or shadow, but simply... no longer there. As if he'd never been. As if the weight he left behind was the only proof I hadn't imagined him.I sat up slowly, muscles sore, throat still raw. My balance wavered. The air was thick, sweet, laced with something feral that prickled behind my teeth. I pressed a hand to the stone—it no longer burned, only pulsed faintly, a heartbeat I couldn’t name.Something had changed.A corridor stretched out beyond the pedestal, flanked by columns choked with ivy. The light was wrong—cool and gold at once, like moonlight smeared with blood.The air changed as I walked—growing thicker, muskier. Shadows coiled tighter. Trees—real trees—twisted through the walls now, their roots breaching stone, bark glistening as if slick with breath. It felt like stepping into a den carved from instinct and hun

I didn’t look back as I left him. I couldn’t.The corridors were too quiet.Not silent. The silence here had teeth. But quiet in the way a room gets when it’s waiting for something to go wrong.The moment I crossed the threshold of his chamber, the air changed. The scent of lavender lingered faintly on my skin, too soft to wash away. The corridor beyond stretched long and curving, lined with identical doors—tall and locked, marked in languages I couldn’t read.I didn’t know where I was going.I only knew I had to move.I passed doors with symbols shaped like bones, feathers, moons, teeth. None opened. None rattled. I was surrounded by the weight of things sealed away.The light dimmed the farther I went. Not by magic—just by distance. I followed the curve of the hall until I reached a small alcove. A dead end.No doors. No runes. Just a bare stone wall.No. There had to be more.I pressed my palms to the stone, heart racing. It felt warmer than I expected. Almost… expectant. Like it w

I woke to cold.Not the kind that bites—but the kind that lingers. The kind that feels like it settled into the stone centuries ago and never left. My limbs were heavy, my body weak, my thoughts slow and fluttering like moths trapped behind glass. The silence around me didn’t feel peaceful. It was oppressive. Ancient. The hush of a tomb that remembered every scream it had ever swallowed.The vampire sat in the corner.Not watching. Not looming. Just... present. Like the shadow of a statue, unmoving and dimly lit by the single candle that hadn’t yet guttered out. The air smelled of blood and stone—thick, metallic, and sharp in the back of my throat.His skin was pale—too pale. Not moonlight or marble, but the kind of pallor that looked drained from the inside out. His long frame folded into stillness, limbs loose but not relaxed. There was something regal in the curve of his spine, something ancient in the tilt of his head. Raven-black hair hung loose around his jaw, a few strands brus

I found the kitchen by accident. It was tucked behind a forgotten archway, half-concealed by vines that had no business growing in stone. The door creaked when I pushed it open, and the scent of ash and old wood met me like a memory I couldn’t place.It wasn’t lavish. No crystal or gold. Just stone counters, a rust-stained basin, shelves carved straight into the wall. But someone—something—had used this space. The hearth was swept clean. The knives were sharp. A pot still hung above the cold embers.It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.If I was going to be trapped here, then I would not be trapped waiting. I would move. I would act. I would do. In the corner of the kitchen was a stone cabinet, sealed with an old rusted latch. I cracked it open and found bundles of dried herbs, a netted bag of thick-skinned roots, and a few strange, knotted vegetables nestled in woven baskets. There were even sealed jars—thick dark preserves, grains, and something that looked like salt. I didn’t que