CHAPTER 70: JESTER OF RAVEN

Seamus narrowed his eyes further. The red strings were faint, almost invisible, but they stretched upward, merging with the blood-colored sky.

They anchored to one bird among the swirling murder of crows, the largest of them, with burning red eyes.

"A raven?" he muttered.

The crows froze mid-flight. The figure of the Lady dissolved into a storm of black feathers. Yet the eyes of every crow fixed on him, not as mindless dream-shapes but as if each one carried its own will, watching him with conscious malice.

Isolde’s gaze snapped toward him. "What did you do?"

"What do you mean? I just noticed it. That ’Lady’ had strings tied to the raven in the midst of crows." His voice carried the same confusion etched across his face.

"Wait... this isn’t your doing?" Diane pressed, her eyes darting between them.

Isolde didn’t answer, but the tension in her expression said enough. This was beyond her control.

Someone had breached her dream realm, someone strong enough to twist it beneath her nose.

The thought unsettled them all. What kind of power could counter a stage-four evolution of the Psyche Bloodstyle?

A woman’s laughter rippled through the air, echoing across the dream. The system flared in Seamus’s sight:

[Warning!]

[Unknown figure detected!]

[The dream realm is destabilizing as it resists the intruder!]

[Collapse in 30 seconds!]

[Sagacitas will become unstable until then.]

The crows burst apart into feathers that swirled upward, fusing into a colossal raven that loomed over them, its eyes gleaming with intelligence.

"Long time no see, Isolde," a mocking voice cooed.

"You’ve come far... truly evolved. And it seems you’ve found someone interesting."

"Fate is cruel, isn’t it? He should have come to us instead of rotting away in the House of Serpent, withered away where he didn’t belong."

The dream quaked. The bloody sky bled into cracks of real night, reality bleeding through as the realm collapsed.

Isolde’s lips curled into a smirk. "A raven. Once a symbol of wisdom... now wallowing in the sewers with scavengers."

"Indeed. It’s been a while," she continued sweetly.

"If you want him, come take him. But first, shouldn’t you tell me where you are? My lovely Seamus would gladly come to you."

Isolde raised her hand. The heavens split as massive puppet-like hands reached down, clawing to seize the raven.

"Hoho? Bold, but foolish. This is only my echo, you’ll never catch me here."

The raven shattered into a thousand rose petals, spiraling downward like crimson snow. The mocking voice lingered, playful and venomous: "Don’t trouble yourself over my location. Your precious human will find his way to me soon enough... or perhaps I’ll fetch him myself."

"Goodbye for now, sweetie."

A heart-shaped flare exploded across the dream-sky like a firework. Then the realm broke apart completely, shattering into nothing.

They found themselves once again in Velstrath’s garden, now lifeless, dull, and eerily silent.

Seamus exhaled shakily. "What the hell..." His voice was low, uncertain, caught between dread and curiosity.

Isolde’s eyes twitched as she whispered, "Fucking bitch."

The scavenger’s body ruptured without warning, spraying blood and viscera across the garden. The metallic scent hit hard, turning the air thick and wet.

Isolde’s expression soured as she turned away, the hem of her dress unstained only because the blood fell short.

Seamus started toward her but stopped, instincts pulling him back to where Dylan and Maria lay unconscious in the gore-soaked grass. Lulu knelt beside them, trying to rouse them, her hands trembling.

Diane had already followed her mother.

Seamus barked for the silent maids gathering at the edge of the manor grounds. "Take care of them," he ordered.

They bowed without a word, their faces blank as marble but their eyes flicking nervously to the crimson garden.

He found Isolde in her office with Diane mid-interrogation. The younger woman’s tone was sharp, but her fingers twisted the hem of her sleeve as she pressed her mother for answers.

Unlike Viviane, Diane still sought Isolde’s approval, still moving within the orbit of her mother’s will. Seamus paused in the doorway, realising how lonely that looked.

"Mother, just tell me—" Diane hesitated, her gaze flicking to Seamus as he entered. "Is she who I think she is?"

"Who do you mean?" he asked.

Diane’s lips pressed together as though waiting for permission. This, Seamus thought, was the difference between the two sisters.

Viviane had rebelled outright, while Diane deferred, measuring every word, every glance.

How could two women shaped by the same past diverge so completely?

Isolde, lounging comfortably in her chair, gave a small nod.

Diane exhaled. "She’s the head of Corvane House. Her name is Roanna."

"What kind of power lets her breach your dream?" Seamus demanded.

Now Diane faltered, glancing at her mother. Isolde answered herself. "Corvane are always tricksters, Seamus, like the caw of crows, the jest of a raven. Their power is as unpredictable and unsettled as they are."

She gave a dry, humorless smile. "They also have a terrible sense of humor."

"Don’t speak in riddles," Seamus snapped, folding his arms. "I don’t have time for games. If another House wants my blood, I need to know how to fight them."

"We’re not sure," Isolde said simply. "But at least one of them holds a Dominion Bloodstyle."

That answer made Seamus’s eyes narrow. "Oh? I thought you knew everything. Seems you’re powerless against them too."

"Powerless?" Isolde rose from her chair, her presence suddenly oppressive.

The room felt smaller, darker. Seamus had to steady his breath to keep his expression neutral.

"Let’s see who you plead for when their knife is at your throat."

She stepped closer, voice lowering but no less sharp. "Don’t mistake their offer for kindness. You’ve seen how they treat Scavengers. That’s how they’ll treat a human like you, a mere cattle to be bled dry."

"Not even your irritating little charm will save you and in the end, you will have nothing in you, not even your little pathetic comeback."

Her words hung in the room like a blade. Seamus felt his pulse quicken, the urge to lash back rising in his chest, but for once he didn’t have a retort.