Aurelius Von Carstein.

The Hidden Ones.

Weeks passed, and the mansion, once a monument to the von Carstein name, had become a cold, hollow shell. The servants, the guards, even the remaining family members—all were in awe of Aura, their new ruler. He was efficient, calculating, and no one dared to defy him. And yet, as the days wore on, a gnawing feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach. Despite his outward confidence, despite his growing power, something was missing. The threats his uncle Sylas had warned about—those who lurked in the shadows—were never far from his thoughts.

He had tried to ignore them, to bury them beneath his sense of control, but the whispers in the dark had become harder to silence. He could feel eyes on him, always watching, always waiting.

One evening, after a particularly brutal round of meetings with the mansion’s key figures, Aura found himself alone in his father’s old study. The storm had returned, thundering against the windows, but inside, everything was calm—eerily so. Aura leaned back in his chair, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace.

Then, the door opened.

“Do you always spend your nights alone, nephew?” Sylas’ voice cut through the stillness, low and smooth.

Aura didn’t look up. “You’re still here?” he asked, his tone dry.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Sylas replied, stepping into the room. “You’ve done it. You’ve taken everything. But now... now it’s time to face what comes next.”

Aura’s eyes flickered to him, his face impassive. “I’m ready for whatever comes. Let them come.”

Sylas’ lips twitched into something resembling a smile. “You think you’re ready? You’ve barely scratched the surface, Aura. You’re playing a game you don’t even understand. The von Carstein bloodline wasn’t just about power—it was about control. And there are others, far more ancient than you, who want that control back.”

“I’ve already taken control,” Aura said, sitting up, his voice colder than the air around them. “What are you trying to say?”

Sylas stepped closer, his eyes glinting with something dark. “You think you’ve wiped out the family, but you’ve only destroyed the surface. The von Carsteins were never just a single family—they were part of something much larger. And now, the others have come.”

Before Aura could respond, the room seemed to grow colder, the shadows lengthening unnaturally. A figure emerged from the corner of the room, its presence almost invisible at first, but as it stepped into the light, Aura’s eyes narrowed.

The figure was tall, draped in dark, flowing robes that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. Their face was obscured by a mask, but the eyes gleamed with a faint, predatory light. Aura’s heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t just some servant, some guard from the mansion. This was something else. Something far older.

“Aura von Carstein,” the figure spoke, its voice a soft rasp, like the sound of dead leaves scraping against the ground. “We have been watching you. And now, we’ve come to collect.”

Aura rose from his chair slowly, the air around him crackling with tension. “Who are you?”

The figure stepped forward, and behind it, two more figures emerged from the shadows. Each wore a mask, each cloaked in darkness. Their movements were deliberate, almost haunting, as if they were a part of the night itself.

“We are the remnants of the true von Carstein legacy,” the figure said, the voice chilling in its finality. “The bloodline you think you’ve destroyed is far older than your father. And we are its guardians.”

Sylas stepped back, his face a mask of fear. “This... this is what I was trying to warn you about, Aura. These are the ones I’ve spent years researching. The true power of the von Carstein name isn’t in the mansion, the wealth, or the politics. It’s in the blood. And you’ve awakened the guardians.”

Aura’s eyes flicked between the figures, his mind already calculating, already shifting into the mode of predator. “You think you can intimidate me?” His voice was a whisper of lethal calm. “You think you can take what’s mine?”

The first figure—tall and unnervingly still—lifted a hand, and with a flick of the wrist, the shadows in the room seemed to twist and writhe, pulling at the edges of the light. Aura’s blood ran cold. The power he felt from them was unlike anything he had ever encountered. It wasn’t just strength; it was ancient. It was the blood itself.

“This mansion,” the figure intoned, “this legacy, was never meant for someone like you. You are an aberration, a disruption. And now, you will be dealt with.”

Aura’s fingers twitched, his claws extending from his fingertips like blades, his power surging with an intensity that matched theirs. He couldn’t let them take everything. Not now. Not when he was so close to securing his place.

“Then come,” Aura said, his voice deadly calm, “and let’s see who’s truly worthy of this power.”

In a flash, the battle erupted. Aura’s daggers, glowing with an almost otherworldly energy, were drawn in an instant, slicing through the air with deadly accuracy. But the guardians were faster, more agile. Shadows seemed to surround them, moving like tendrils of darkness, always one step ahead.

The room filled with the sound of metal clashing against shadow, the air thick with the tension of a fight that would determine everything. Aura’s mind raced, his powers shifting with each strike. Blood manipulation, claws, daggers—all were at his disposal. But the more he fought, the more he realized that the true power of the guardians wasn’t just physical—it was in their connection to the bloodline, to something deeper and darker than he had ever known.

One of the figures lunged at him, and in that moment, Aura felt a sharp pain in his chest. He had been struck, a wound that wouldn’t heal quickly, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t stop.

With a roar, he pushed forward, his blood boiling, his rage unleashed.

“I won’t let you take it from me!” Aura screamed, his eyes wild with fury.

The guardian’s laugh was hollow, mocking. “You are nothing. Just a shadow pretending to hold the light.”

Aura’s heart pounded in his chest as he surged forward, his blood thrumming with power. He would win. He had to win. He would prove that he was worthy of the legacy, of the blood that flowed through his veins.

---

As the fight raged on, the mansion trembled under the weight of their power. The von Carstein name had been reborn—not in the form of an empire, but in the fire of conflict. And as the night bled into morning, Aura knew that this was only the beginning of the true war for the von Carstein legacy.

---

**End of Chapter 7.**

---