CHAPTER 124: ALMOST WORTH AN APPLAUSE

Wisps of shadows crept around the glowing barrier, twining like black serpents. They constricted, tighter and tighter, until the hum of the barrier wavered.

The orange glow flickered, pulsed once like a failing heartbeat, and then shattered, splintering apart with a sound like glass cracking. The shards of light dissolved into the air, leaving nothing but the corpse lying silently before us.

And then the smell hit me.

It wasn’t the foul stench of something decomposing. No, this was... different. It wasn’t human at all. The air carried the damp weight of earth, of soil freshly turned. And beneath it, faint but lingering, was something floral. A fragrance soft and refreshing, like petals caught in the wind. The kind of flowers you only noticed when you were close enough to brush against them.

"Alysia," Rion murmured. "He smelled a lot like Alysia."

The name sparked in my memory. My lips parted.

"Alysia..." Jeron had mentioned it, the strange scent he’d picked up on the man who attacked him.

I looked at the corpse again, unease settling heavier in my chest. "So does that mean this is the man we’re looking for? The one who almost killed Jeron?"

But the question clawed at me. If it was him, then why was he lying here, already dead?

Rion’s face darkened, crimson eyes glowing faintly against the swell of shadows that curled tighter around him.

For a moment he was silent, unreadable, and then—slowly, his lips curved. A smirk. The kind of smirk that meant he’d seen something fascinating in the horror I was only beginning to grasp.

"Yes. This is the man," he said at last, and his certainty only raised more questions in my head. "But he’s been dead for a while."

I blinked, confusion tightening in my chest. "What do you mean?"

Rion’s gaze lingered on the body. "His body was only used as a vessel. He was just a puppet. Controlled. He was used to get the harp."

My jaw slackened, disbelief rattling through me.

"What... what kind of magic is that?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

I’d read about curses, wards, magic, things light and dark, but never anything like this. The idea of someone moving a corpse around, bending it to their will, sent shivers racing across my skin.

It was beyond anything I’d imagined. Beyond evil.

"This kind of magic," Rion said, his eyes glinting with crimson fire, "is very rare. And very old. I’ve only heard of it before, in scraps of history. But its existence is real."

"The master of this couldn’t be the woman. It must be someone from aboveground. This man," his eyes slid to the body, "was likely her real husband. She’s acting under orders. Perhaps she was promised his life would be renewed once they got what their master wanted."

A bitter thought curled in my chest. My stomach sank. "Which is the harp."

"Exactly."

My throat tightened. I looked down at the body again, at the bluish lips and the unnatural stillness. The puppet that had nearly killed Jeron. The man who no longer lived but was still made to serve someone else’s ambition.

I took a slow breath. "But then... where is the harp now?"

A wisp of shadow slid into the room like a serpent, curling through the air before drifting toward us.

Cradled in its grip was the harp.

I sucked in a breath, my eyes locked on it.

"When I got near the house, I immediately felt the Celestial Wolf’s energy," Rion said, his tone cool and certain. "So I was sure it was hidden inside."

The harp floated in front of me, suspended by his shadows. Its strings gleamed faintly in the dim light, almost shimmering as if touched by something more than just craftsmanship.

I didn’t know who our real enemy was, not yet—but seeing the harp in front of me made my chest tighten with relief. This was proof. This was progress. One step closer to our goal. One step closer to fulfilling my bargain with Rion. And one step closer... to freedom.

"Can’t you feel anything? Can’t you feel the energy?" he asked as he let the harp hover closer, his shadows holding it out like an offering.

I lifted my hand, almost on instinct, but stopped short of touching it. My senses strained, searching for something—anything—that would resonate in me.

Nothing.

I shook my head, disappointment burning in my chest.

"That’s a shame." His smirk curved like a blade, but his eyes didn’t hold true disappointment. If anything, he looked like he’d already expected my answer.

"You just need some practice." His voice dipped, dark amusement lacing each word. "Now... why don’t we spill some blood?"

Before I could react, the front door slammed open again with a deafening crack.

The woman’s body was yanked inside, hurled across the threshold by Rion’s shadows. She was dragged into the air, limbs thrashing uselessly, her throat bound by black wisps choking the life from her.

Her eyes flickered gold, her wolf trying desperately to surface, but the shadows clamped down tighter, suppressing her power as easily as snuffing out a candle.

My stomach clenched as I watched her struggle.

I’d seen Rion unleash his shadows before, but the sight never failed to make my skin crawl. They weren’t just an extension of him; they were a force of their own, obeying his every whim.

"Did you really think you could sway me with your poor acting?" Rion’s voice was laced with a deadly mischief, his words smooth, sharp, and merciless. "The performance was decent, I’ll give you that. And the prop was almost worth an applause. But you underestimated me."

Rion’s shadows weren’t just a weapon, they were his eyes and ears. He could sense more than any wolf alive.

The woman hadn’t stood a chance from the beginning. Perhaps she had never met the Undercity’s Alpha up close, never understood the scale of what she was up against. If she had, she wouldn’t have been foolish enough to attempt this.

"You’re not from Rayvehill, are you?" Rion asked. "You were planted there by someone. A piece meant to slip under my nose."

He lifted one hand slightly, his long fingers curling. The shadow tightened around her neck in response, her strangled cry echoing through the room.

"Do you really think this man," his eyes flicked to the corpse again, disdain in every line of his face, "would be resurrected once you delivered the harp to your master? Such an innocent, poor thing. I imagine you must have indulged in far too many fairy tales as a child."

The woman’s eyes bulged with panic, tears streaking down her cheeks as her feet kicked helplessly above the ground. Her desperation clashed against the sharp, merciless curve of Rion’s smirk.

And for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Because in that dim room, with shadows curling like vipers and crimson eyes glowing like fire, Rion Morrigan didn’t look like a savior. He looked like the very monster the wolves aboveground always whispered about in fear.