Seamus sat quietly on the warm sofa in front of the fireplace, the orange glow reflecting in his eyes as the wood crackled and slowly turned into ash. He did not look away.

The way the flames consumed the logs reminded him too much of what had just happened, how Mark’s body had crumbled into nothing, leaving only dust and unfinished answers behind.

He knew Mark had tried. Especially at the end, when his time was clearly running out. He had spoken about Robert’s Bloodstyle, the Crest, the Progenitor’s heart. But it was incomplete. There were too many gaps.

How did they connect multiple vampire souls into one house, one separate domain? How did the owner command that space as if it were a living organism? Mark had controlled the Red Zone the same way. Was that the result of a Psyche-type Bloodstyle?

Or something closer to what Seamus did when he used Isolde’s power to shape his own domain?

And then there was Latros’ Emblem. The war in the North. The agreements with Bjorne.

But the two things that bothered him the most were much more personal.

Lady Velstrath and Flynn.

"That lady... It was Isolde, wasn’t it?" he murmured to himself, staring into the flames as they flared brighter for a moment.

He did not know the exact timeline of when Isolde became the matriarch of Velstrath, but based on the fragments he had seen inside her Labyrinth of Dream—memories of Viviane, of the old manor, of that twisted family—he was certain it had been more than two hundred years ago.

Maybe even five hundred. Isolde was patient enough for that.

"I need to ask Diane," he thought.

As if summoned by his own suspicion, the door creaked open. Soft footsteps crossed the wooden floor. Someone sat across from him without asking.

Diane.

"I’ve been thinking about it," she said quietly, staring into the same fire he was. "That Lady Velstrath... I think it was my mother."

Seamus blinked slowly. ’Speak of the devil.’

"You think so too?" he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Do you know when she became the matriarch? Or how?"

Diane hesitated. He could see she was digging through memories she did not often revisit.

"It was a long time ago," she finally said. "But there has never been anyone with silver hair like hers in Velstrath... except the mistress."

She paused. "And according to the rumor I heard... that mistress was my grandmother."

Seamus immediately remembered the hierarchy of the Human Farm. The lowest class were cattle. The middle class were breeders. And the highest—

"Mistresses," he finished quietly. "At the top."

Diane nodded. "Yes. If my grandmother was one... then my mother might have been raised inside that system too."

He frowned slightly. "So both your grandmother and Isolde... they could have been mistresses?"

"That is the most likely scenario," she replied. "I don’t remember everything clearly. That period... I tried to forget it." Her hands tightened slightly in her lap. "And my mother always hid the worst parts from me."

The fire cracked loudly between them.

"After my father died, my mom became distant. It was like she turned into a different person."

Diane’s eyes drifted to the window, but Seamus knew she was not seeing the night outside. She was somewhere far deeper, inside a memory she had buried for years.

"She used to be gentle," Diane continued quietly. "Optimistic. She told us it was okay to dream. She used to sit with us and tell fairy tales before bed. Those were happy days."

Her lips curved faintly, but the smile did not last. "Then it all disappeared."

She paused, steadying her breath.

"Recently, some of my memories started coming back. In the Red Zone... something cracked. I remembered my parents arguing. It was a big fight. I could not understand it back then, but now I can connect the pieces."

Seamus did not interrupt. He simply watched her as she started to tell him all the dreams she has inside that domain. After it was all done, she sighed in relief as if letting out a lot of burden as she continued.

"I think when the fire broke out, my mom survived," Diane said, her voice lowering. "But she turned into a vampire. I don’t know how. She did not come home for a week. When she finally did..."

She swallowed. "She killed my father."

The words landed heavily between them.

"Maybe she hated him for not protecting her. Being mistress meant being allowed to be violated and degraded in the worst way possible for women. Even with the comfort and privilege it gave, it was still cruel."

Diane continued, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. "Maybe she thought he did not fight hard enough for her. Maybe she blamed him for what she became."

Her hands moved restlessly on her lap. The memory was not just painful. It was confusing, layered with guilt and anger and something close to sympathy.

"After that, she was unstable. She lashed out at us. Especially Viviane." Diane glanced at him.

"I think I know why. Viviane resembles her the most. The stubbornness, the sense of justice, the way she refuses to bow, her dreams.... My mother might did not want her to repeat her path."

She exhaled slowly. "It was cruel. I know that. But I understand it now. They are too alike."

Seamus reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was not a grand gesture, but it grounded her. She leaned into it slightly and her breathing steadied.

"So she became matriarch after that?" he asked.

Diane shook her head. "No. I think it was almost a hundred years after Viviane turned into a vampire. I do not know how it happened. Because I was moved to another part of the palace when I turned into a vampire."

Her expression hardened. "It was bloody. No one survived. Not even the branch families. My mother exterminated them all. I don’t know if someone helped her, but it was not a small massacre."

Seamus nodded slowly. "That confirms it. Lady Velstrath in Mark’s memory was Isolde. And if she met Robert back then, she must know more about Latros than she lets on."

Diane frowned slightly. "She never mentioned the doctors behind the Corvane experiments. If she knew, she would have done something."

"Or," Seamus replied, "Latros approached Velstrath to cooperate and Isolde rejected them."

That possibility lingered. It made sense. Two powerful houses with opposing visions rarely shared the same table peacefully.

"What were they discussing in that garden before Mark arrived?" Diane muttered.

"That," Seamus said quietly, "only your mother can answer."

He leaned back, eyes lifting to the ceiling. Too many threads remained loose. Latros. Bjorne. Isolde. And Flynn most of all.

"I’m going into the Labyrinth of Dream to check the map," he suddenly said, pushing himself to his feet. "I’m not waiting for Bianca to organize everything."

"I’ll come," Diane replied immediately. "I can redraw it properly. Phones don’t work inside the domain."

"Fine."

They entered the Labyrinth together.

Darkness enveloped them, thick and heavy. But Seamus did not hesitate. He closed his eyes and focused, retracing the layers of the domain he had shaped earlier. Like a maze with shifting walls, it responded to intent.

"I found it."

The darkness twisted and peeled away, revealing a modest house. Mark’s house. The image flickered slightly. Furniture shifted shape. Colors bled into each other and then corrected themselves. The memory was unstable, clearly tampered with.

They moved to the private office. On the wall, faint scratches were visible, marks etched into plaster with fingernails.

Diane quickly retrieved paper and pen from the adjacent drawing room formed within the domain. She copied every line carefully.

Once done, they withdrew from the Labyrinth and returned to reality.

Diane let out a relieved breath. "I hate how oppressive it feels there."

Seamus chuckled lightly. "That means it worked."

He examined the map on the paper, memorizing key points.

"I’ll inform Bianca—"

The door suddenly opened before he could finish.

Dylan stood there, expression tense.

"Fleur needs you," he said. "Bianca tracked Otto. She thinks she can access his memories."

Seamus’s gaze sharpened instantly.

"Then let’s not waste time."