Chapter 7

In a corner of the Gravein household sat Liza’s pilebunker.

It was resting after a long night turning vampires to ash on Lunday and hadn’t seen its owner all Feurdi. The rest was welcome—she was hard on the Fossan joints. Maybe this Wassdi would bring easier work: staking beams into place, or just standing guard and looking mean.

It wasn’t alone.

Next to it sat a brown leather trunk. Scuffed corners. Worn straps. The kind of battered that might be real… or just part of the act. The metal edge guards were dulled by miles, but the half-lidded eyes that opened betrayed no fatigue.

Chester cleared his throat.

Then bent forward—hinges groaning, lid yawning wide to reveal teeth and slick flesh.

He coughed once.

Eris hit the floor in a heap.

Then Chester made a noise.

Something between a retch and a complaint—

like the long-suffering groan of a dog that ate something it shouldn’t have.

Liza came next.

Feet first. Backwards. Spat out with a solid thwop right on top of Eris.

“Ghhk—”

Mabel followed a heartbeat later—arms flailing, eyes wide, a high-pitched “Whaa—” that cut off mid-splat as she landed square on Liza.

Eris planted a hand and started to push herself up.

The pile shifted.

Liza’s leg slid. Mabel’s shoulder slipped.

The whole mess buckled sideways—and collapsed in a heap.

Cushions thudded. A boot thumped the wall. Someone’s coat flipped over like a flag of surrender.

Everything settled. Again.

A shaft of sunlight cut through the torn curtain.

It landed square on Eris’s face.

Her skin vanished in an instant—scorched away like paper in a flame.

What remained was a blackened skull, charred and dry, with two tiny horn nubs where her hairline used to be.

The skull turned.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Neck cracking faintly as she faced the Gravein sisters—empty sockets aimed straight at them, twin horn stubs catching the light like burnt copper.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Smoke curled from her jaw.

Liza was halfway to her feet, brushing off dust and irritation.

She looked up.

Saw the skull.

"Ahh!"

And dropped straight back down—legs kicking out on reflex. Her boot caught Eris square in the chest and sent her sprawling across the room, away from the sunlight.

She hit the wall with a hollow thud and slid to the floor, smoking gently.

Mabel stared.

From across the room, Eris twitched.

Red mist bled from her collarbones—thick, syrupy, the color of dying coals. It didn’t rise like steam. It crawled, dragged by nerves that weren’t there yet.

The skull cracked.

Flesh knit wrong, then tore, then knit again—like a wound changing its mind mid-heal. Muscles reformed in bursts, twitching. Eyelids grew over empty sockets before the eyes themselves caught up, glassy and red.

Her jaw rehinged with a wet pop.

Hair sprouted in patches—burnt ends first, like it was growing backward.

By the time her skin returned, she was breathing hard through clenched teeth. Every inch of her face still smoked faintly. The horns were gone.

But the smell of scorched copper lingered.

Eris sat up slowly.

Her shoulders shook. Breath hitched. One hand braced against the floor like gravity was arguing with her spine.

She looked like something half-cooked and dragged back to life—charred around the edges, mana still fizzing off her skin in lazy red tendrils.

She wiped a smear of ash from her cheek.

“F-...Forgin’ great. At least now I know the sun’s up.”

Across the floor, the pile stirred again.

Mabel pushed herself upright, slow and stiff, brushing curtain fuzz from her face. Liza followed with a grunt, one arm hooked around her knee, the other clutching her ribs like they owed her rent.

Both stared at Eris—still smoking, still grim.

“Yeah... Yeah, that’s one way of finding out.”

“Shafts below, Eris... I wish there was something we could do about that.”

“It’s awful every time.”

Eris rose with a grunt, one boot skidding slightly as she caught her balance.

She leaned back against the wall—same one Liza had launched her into—arm draped across a crate like she needed it to hold her together.

“Believe me, miner... no one is thrilled.”

“It’s like putting your head straight in a furnace.”

“It is exactly as bad as it looks.”

The old parlor held still.

Three girls sprawled across it in various states of ruin—one leaning against a wall, two sunk into cushions and carpet like they’d melted there. Sunlight cut through the torn curtain in a wide, lazy band, catching motes of dust and the edges of overturned furniture.

Chester was just luggage again.

Lid shut. Eyes closed.

Beside him, the pilebunker waited in silence.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The only sound was the slow tick of a clock that hadn’t been wound in weeks.

And the house breathed with them.

The silence held.

Then Eris exhaled through her teeth and shifted against the wall.

“…Alright. I’ve gotta get the gold back to Night Shift.”

“I’m sure none of us were expecting the detour.”

Liza nodded—slow, like her neck had to remember how.

She pushed herself upright, wincing as something cracked in her shoulder.

“Yeah… Yeah, we need bed. Badly.”

“See you around, Eris.”

The sun had shifted.

The parlor was quiet again.

The floor was clear, only a faint trail of boots on the stairwell rug and the ghost of something burnt still clinging to the curtains.

Liza stirred.

Her body moved before her thoughts caught up—sitting up, blinking slow, spine cracking once on the twist.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her boots were where she’d left them.

She pulled them on in practiced knots, each tug waking her up a little more.

Liza crossed the hall, boots soft against the worn floorboards.

She paused at Mabel’s door, gave it two short knocks with the side of her knuckle.

“Hey, sis? Let’s grab dinner.”

“I’m thinking G Kelpie’s.”

A moment passed.

Then the door cracked open.

Mabel stood there—hair tousled, boots laced, mostly geared except for her coat slung over one shoulder. She blinked slow, still shaking off sleep.

“Yeah… alright, yeah.”

“Let’s eat.”