Darkness was gathering outside the manor, and the faint rumble of the heavens announced it’d be a stormy night, perfect for what he had planned.
Candra slipped behind Nick’s chair. The rustle of her silk gown sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. She leaned forward, her hands coming to rest lightly on his shoulders. The scent of jasmine and spiced honey washed over him, cloying and thick, masking the greasy, gathering tension in the ether.
"Timothy is a sweet boy, but he is weak," Candra whispered, her lips mere inches from his ear. "He will leave Oakenhollow weak and defenseless, unable to come to the Crowleys’ aid when needed. Armand sees it. I see it. And I know you see it, Nicholas.”
Nick picked up his crystal goblet, staring into the dark plum-colored wine. He kept his breathing slow and measured, focusing on maintaining the projection of his false mental shell.
It wouldn’t do to let the woman see his amusement now. Tim was many things, but weak was not among them. He’d faced demons from the depths of hell head-on and proven himself many times over.
“He is the rightful heir," Nick replied, his voice deliberately carrying the soft hesitation of a young man desperate for validation. He could almost imagine her glee, because he’d made sure to let her think he was lusting after his own brother’s position.
“Heirs change all the time," Candra corrected, her fingers tracing a languid path along the lapels of his dark coat. "You need strength beside you to grasp what is yours. You need loyalty that does not question your brilliance. I can give you Oakenhollow, Nicholas. I can give you everything.”
Slowly, he turned to face her, keeping his expression vulnerable and open. The moment their eyes met, the trap snapped shut.
Candra unleashed her magic, and it was no longer a subtle, probing tendril or a gentle suggestion of comfort. The charm she’d been building up condensed into a piercing spike of pure intent, driving straight into the false mind.
Nick observed the invasion with detached fascination, watching her spell bypass the projected ego's outer defenses and slide effortlessly into the simulated emotional center. It moved with an oily precision, latching onto the brain and forcing it into overdrive.
He felt the magic begin to carve grooves into the projection, laying a foundation of unquestioning devotion. The spell was literally scarring the architecture of the fake mind, rewriting the pathways of loyalty to enshrine Candra as an infallible goddess. Any thought of rebellion, any lingering loyalty to his own family, was systematically smothered by an overwhelming tide of subservience.
“So much skill," Nick murmured, swirling the wine in his glass, letting the false mind appear awestruck. "Is this the same binding you wove into Sir Armand's mind to secure his love?”
Candra’s expression twitched at the unexpectedly steady declaration, but she shook it off and laughed softly, a victorious, melodic sound. She trailed a manicured fingernail along his jawline. "Armand is a loyal hound. You, Nicholas, shall be so much more. I can already see it. All that potential… And I shall be the one who guides your hand. Accept the gift, and you will become what you were meant to be.”
"I see," Nick said. He set the crystal goblet carefully on the linen cloth and let the shell fall apart.
In its place, she met the mind of someone far greater than she could imagine, and with it came power.
The roaring fire in the hearth sputtered, choking down to embers in the span of a heartbeat. Frost bloomed in jagged, crystalline patterns across the silver platters and crystal goblets. The air grew so cold and thin that it burned the lungs as a Prestige soul asserted its dominance over the room.
Candra’s magic, suddenly stripped of its target and facing a far greater foe, shattered like brittle glass. The backlash hit her hard.
She staggered backward, a sharp cry tearing from her painted lips. She clutched her head, her dark eyes wide with horror. She stared at the young man seated calmly at her table, the color draining from her face as she finally grasped the scale of the danger she had invited into her home.
"Treason," Nick pronounced. His voice was calm but rang with finality. "Against House Crowley and against your liege lord. There is no coming back from this, witch.”
"Guards!" Candra shrieked, her melodic purr replaced by the shrill desperation of a cornered animal. "Kill him!”
The doors burst open, and six men in the livery of Oakenhollow rushed into the dining room, their longswords drawn. Their eyes were blank, devoid of fear or hesitation, and he could tell at a glance that there was nothing left in them to reason with. They would fight until their last breath for their Lady.
Calmly, Nick rose. He felt pity for these poor souls, who’d once been loyal men, and decided not to harm them.
A wave of spiritual static washed over their minds. It was a blunt, bloodless strike meant to sever the link between their consciousness and their physical bodies. For all their devotion, they could do very little to resist it.
The guards collapsed mid-stride. Swords clattered on the polished floorboards. Armor groaned as the men hit the ground, out cold before the first guard even stopped sliding across the wood.
Candra backed away, her midnight silk gown swishing across the floor, until her spine hit the stone hearth. She raised her hands, her fingers trembling, desperately trying to weave another charm to defend herself.
Yes, your spells are masterful despite your level not being very high, but I imagine that doesn’t leave much room to cultivate offensive magic, does it?
Nick stepped over a fallen guard as he focused on the spellform, drawing forth threads of spiritual authority and casting them forward. Glowing silver-white chains lashed out from his palm, sinking into Candra’s chest and limbs. They bypassed her flesh and locked onto her mana channels, choking the flow of her power.
She gasped as her knees buckled, the chains pulling taut. The cloying aura of her Charisma vanished from the room, snuffed out like a pinched candle, and she slumped to the floor, gasping for breath, her magic sealed.
Shouts echoed from the corridor outside. The crash of the doors and Candra's scream had alerted the rest of the manor. The thud of dozens of boots vibrated through the floorboards as servants, cooks, and the remaining night watch hurried toward the dining room.
“Of course. It’d be too much to expect you to have the good grace not to drag blameless people into this,” Nick muttered, glancing at the open doorway.
If all the enchanted servants in the manor were to attack him, as seemed likely, they would force him to harm them. That was unacceptable. These people were victims, not enemies.
He left Candra bound on the hearth, confident that no one in town could free her, and quickly headed into the hall. He strode toward the guest wing, where he sensed the familiar signatures of Tim and Claudius. He saw them coming out of their room, wands at the ready, their faces alarmed by the chaos echoing up from the lower floors.
Nick summoned the Shard and slammed it down, enveloping them both in a shimmering bubble.
"Stay there," he commanded, without stopping to answer their many questions.
He stepped into the center of the hallway, closed his eyes, and expanded his domain. He felt the frantic, devoted anger of the manor staff rushing up the grand staircase. They were a tide of brainwashed loyalty, armed with butcher knives, clubs, and spears, rushing to save the woman who had enslaved them.
With the Shard as a focus, Nick could easily gather the ether, anchor it with his will, and unleash a silent pulse of spiritual suppression.
The wave rippled outward, passing through the oak walls and stone floors. It washed over every soul on the manor grounds, carrying an irresistible command to sleep.
The shouting ceased instantly. The thud of boots gave way to the chaotic thumps of bodies collapsing on the stairs and in the halls. Within three seconds, silence reclaimed Oakenhollow Manor, broken only by the gathering storm outside.
Nick opened his eyes, letting out a slow breath. Control was still coming back, despite his Trait helping, and preventing any harm from coming to mortals in such a sweeping strike required his full attention.
He turned back to Tim and Claudius, lowering the barrier around them.
“Alright, time to get to work,” he muttered, walking back toward the dining room. "Bring her to your quarters, Tim. We have work to do.”
Though the two mages were still in shock at how quickly everything had happened, they followed his orders and went to fetch Candra, laying her on the guest room's rug.
She was unconscious, her breathing shallow, silver chains still glowing faintly beneath her pale skin. Tim stared down at his stepmother, a complex mix of relief, anger, and deep sorrow tightening his features. Claudius stood near the door, keeping watch over the silent hallway, though there was no need. His strike had been too fast for word to reach outside the manor, and with the rain beginning to fall, it’d be a while before anyone wandered in.
"Is she dead?" Tim asked quietly.
“No, just sealed,” Nick corrected. He pulled a wooden chair close to her prone form and sat. "Her mana is locked, so she cannot cast, and her passive aura is suppressed. But binding her does not undo the scars she left on your people. We need to find a way to unravel the damage.”
Technically, they had everything they’d come for. He’d been attacked without cause and could rightfully claim as much if this matter were ever brought before Duke Von Alluria or even the Royal Court.
But Nick wasn’t content with that. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he closed his eyes and pushed his perception into Candra’s soul.
This was delicate, highly dangerous work. Exploring another mage's soul without their permission was a violation of the highest order, fraught with esoteric traps and violent feedback loops. But Candra was restrained by his power, and her defenses were nonexistent.
Slowly, Nick observed the structure of her magic. Her mana channels were smooth, with an oily quality that let her spells slide into minds undetected. He traced the pathways back to her core, examining the source of the Charm.
Because the magic left no trace on the victims, studying the affected townsfolk proved useless. The answer had to lie at the origin. He watched as her sealed mana pulsed against his silver chains, analyzing its frequency, shape, and intent.
It took him more than an hour to find anything of value, and he was glad his companions trusted him enough to let him work.
Memories, in the end, were what helped him most. All the times she’d cast her charms on the townsfolk were easy to gather, especially since she’d been very active in the last few months and they were quite fresh.
He saw how the magic shaped itself into a viral pathogen, latching onto natural dopamine production and forcing the brain into an artificial state of euphoria, how it corrupted and eroded all else until only she remained.
Slowly, Nick opened his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Did you find something?" Claudius asked.
“I know how it works,” he replied earnestly. “Doing something about it is different. As we expected, even powerful dispelling magic wouldn’t work.”
Tim’s shoulders slumped. “Then we’re back where we started.”
“No,” Nick shook his head. “This… It won’t be easy, but having seen exactly how the process works, I think I might be able to reverse it. Or at least, some of the damage.”
For that, he’d need to use Candra herself as the fulcrum for a ritual large enough to cover the entirety of Oakenhollow.
It wouldn’t be easy, but it had to be done.