Lilith
Pillar isle Dungeon
Pillar isle
North Pillar Ocean
America continent
April 17th 6415
Eduardo and I moved quietly through the silver forest, the mist now clinging like a low veil over the forest floor. The space between us wasn't heavy or hostile anymore—it breathed easier, looser, like something long held back had finally been released. His footsteps no longer grated on my nerves. Mine no longer tried to outpace his. We walked in rhythm.
The taste of his blood still lingered on my tongue—rich, coppery, and strangely sweet. I hadn't expected it to be like that. Not just palatable… but intoxicating. The memory of it pulsed faintly at the back of my throat like a phantom flavor I wasn't sure I wanted to forget.
I hadn't believed it before—that I would ever need blood. Let alone crave it. But after the feast of lamentation at the Mircalla estate… something in me had shifted. Stirred. Awakened.
I felt it even now. Not hunger, but something else—a coiling, simmering energy humming beneath my skin. My steps were lighter. The fog no longer chilled me to the bone. My hammer felt less like a burden, more like an extension of myself.
The blood consumption actually helped with strengthening your star core, Aeternum's voice rippled through my mind like an echo in still water. Your mental stamina has been replenished.
So my mental power should be stable now, I replied, flexing my fingers experimentally. The tension that usually sat in my spine after prolonged combat was gone. The haze behind my eyes—gone.
Affirmative. Aeternum confirmed.
Eduardo glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He didn't say anything, but there was a calm to him now too. No tension in his jaw. No guarded posture. Just quiet understanding. Maybe even trust.
We walked on, the silver leaves whispering above us, our footsteps soft against the glowing moss-covered path. For the first time since I'd met him two years ago… the silence between us didn't feel like a battlefield.
It felt like peace.
"So there's something that's been bothering me," Eduardo said, his voice low as we stepped between two silver-barked trees that gleamed like metal under starlight. "Ever since you confirmed what those things were."
I glanced at him. "What is it?"
He hesitated for a moment, brushing his fingers along the faintly glowing edge of a vine as we passed. The mist hadn't yet returned, but the chill was creeping back into the air, coiling at our ankles like a warning.
"Those things in the mist," he said. "The Lunaris Wraithhounds."
The name alone made my spine itch. "Yeah?"
"I've seen the name before," he said. "In one of my grandmother's old tomes. Faded, barely legible. A bestiary from before the Mircalla left the Old World. According to it, they're not just wild dungeon creatures. They're cultivated."
"Cultivated?" I echoed.
"Born under a full moon," he went on, eyes scanning the glimmering underbrush. "Imbued with lunar mana while still embryonic. Their bodies infused with silver mist and starroot spores, nurtured through symbiotic grafting. The text said they were… grown, not born."
My brows furrowed. "That's... oddly specific. And weirdly poetic."
Eduardo gave a dry laugh. "Yeah. My grandmother had a flair for dramatics. But here's the important part—they weren't made by vampires or dungeon lords. The tome said they were bred by Lycans. Specifically for hunting."
I slowed my step, letting that sink in.
"That's odd," I said. "Aeternum only gave me basic data—name, traits, and a note about their perception distortion abilities. No origin. Nothing about Lycans."
"It doesn't surprise me," Eduardo said with a shrug. "I've lived over a hundred years and I've only seen that entry once. Grandmother guarded those old texts like they were heirlooms."
"So," I said, tilting my head. "Why would a Mircalla vampire have Lycan-related bestiaries lying around?"
He gave me a look. "Because she was... obsessed with them. The culture, the rituals, the mana rites. She thought Lycans had access to a purity of instinct that we lost centuries ago." He shook his head, then muttered, "I always thought it was just her eccentricity."
"Right. Because vampires and Lycans hate each other."
"Historically, yes," he said. "But my grandmother never followed tradition. She even taught me a few Lycan glyphs, just to piss off my father."
A cold breeze swept through the trees, and we both paused as the forest exhaled silver mist.
I tensed. "So what was it about the Lunaris that's bothering you?"
He narrowed his eyes, watching the fog begin to bleed back into the glade like a returning tide. "If the Lunaris Wraithhounds were used for hunting…"
"…Then they were likely deployed by Lycans," I finished for him, already raising my hammer. "Which means…"
"…our real enemies aren't the beasts," Eduardo said grimly.
The mist curled around our feet. Thicker. Heavier. Familiar.
"…It's the ones who set them loose."
Somewhere in the distance, a low howl broke the silence—long, deep, and ancient. Not a cry of loneliness, but of signal. Of marking. The eerie quiet fractured into a thousand rustling whispers as the silver mist surged in like a rising tide, blotting out the stars above.
"Not this shit again," I muttered, gritting my teeth as the familiar silver haze rolled over our boots like a creeping tide. My breath came out in short, visible bursts, each one laced with mana as I channeled my Ability Factor.
Primal Harmonic energy spiraled around my core—subtle, resonant threads of balance and contrast weaving through my limbs like a soft vibration beneath my skin. I extended my hand, willing it to drink in the mist again.
The silver vapor coiled around my fingers like it recognized me—resisted me. It entered my system in strands, thin and reluctant. I could feel my body trying to break it down, to make sense of its alien quality. But it was slow. Too slow. The silver mist was still too wild, too foreign. I hadn't fully synthesized it yet.
It clung to my skin. Whispered through the trees. Blinded my internal senses like moonlight given form.
Behind me, I heard the click-click of gunblades being unlocked. Eduardo stepped forward, twin pistols glinting in the muted glow, his arms tense, shoulders squared. His pupils dilated, glowing faintly—not with heat, but with something colder. Hungrier.
A dark hue coiled through his irises like liquid shadow.
"I can sense them," he said, his voice rough like gravel. "Their killing intent… It's strong. It's close."
I spun toward him, my eyes narrowing. "How? Aeternum's readings are scrambled. I can't even get a flicker of presence—just static."
Eduardo didn't look at me. He was locked in, eyes scanning the treeline, following something unseen.
"The mist blocks your frequency perception," he said. "Because it reflects your energy signature. It knows what you're trying to detect and bends around it. Vesper Mortem...thanks to it, I can sense the killing intent of others....and these beasts are radiating with it. Moonlight can't deflect it."
I kept absorbing what I could, feeling the slow trickle of silver mist filter into my core. But it wasn't enough. My harmonics were reaching their limit. I could balance energies, cleanse and refine mana in my bloodstream—but this was like trying to drink an ocean one drop at a time.
The Lunaris had been born in this mist.
I was still a guest in it.
"They're close," Eduardo said again, voice hushed now. "And they're circling."
He turned one gunblade sideways, resting it along his forearm like a shield. The other stayed trained on the dark beyond the trees.
A branch cracked. The mist twitched.
Then—silence.
A branch cracked again—closer this time.
Then the mist shuddered.
I barely had time to shift my stance before the trees to our left exploded outward in a shower of splinters and silver light. A Lunaris Wraithhound burst from the underbrush, its body low and serpentine, silver fur rippling like liquid steel, claws dragging thin slashes through the air.
But Eduardo was already moving.
His body blurred.
One step forward—pivot. His right arm snapped up, the gunblade barking three precise shots in half a breath. The bullets rippled through the mist like sonic bursts, tearing the wraithhound's shoulder open in mid-leap. It staggered midair—but Eduardo was already beneath it.
He twisted his hips, planted his foot, and slammed the butt of his left pistol into the beast's underjaw, driving it higher.
Before the hound could hit the ground, he stepped forward again—elbow close, wrist locked—his second gunblade fired a horizontal spread in a burst-fire pattern, five shots erupting in a sweeping line across the beast's torso.
Each bullet connected like a chain reaction of internal explosions.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Ribs shattered. Spine twisted. The hound screeched and fell in a heap of silver gore.
But another came—no, two.
The mist parted just enough for me to see the lunging shadows—and Eduardo was already there.
His battle art wasn't just about shooting. It was a dance. One that Eduardo seemed to have practiced for centuries. He ducked under the first swipe, rolled over his shoulder, both guns twisting in his hands as he fired behind him mid-spin. One shot went through the beast's eye.
The other leapt over the corpse, jaws wide—
CRACK—CRACK—CRACK!
Eduardo didn't move. His arms had crossed over his chest, both pistols aimed outward. The hound had leapt directly into the crossfire. The bullets tore through its throat in a tight pattern, punching out the other side. The creature's momentum carried it past Eduardo's shoulder, its body already collapsing before it hit the ground.
By the time I raised my hammer again, the three wraithhounds lay still. Eduardo stood in the center of the clearing, steam rising from his pistols. The mist coiled around his boots but dared not rise. His breathing was calm. Measured. Eyes sharp. The silver mist stirred again, as if uncertain whether to flee or attack.
"You alright?" he asked, without looking at me.
"I am now," I said. "Nice dance moves."
He smirked, spinning one of his guns back into its holster. "Thanks."
Eduardo's final shot echoed through the mist as silence reclaimed the forest.
But it wasn't over.
The mist stirred again—thicker this time, pushing in from every direction like a living tide. Eduardo tensed, reloading his weapons with fluid precision.
"There's more coming," he said.
I didn't need Aeternum to tell me that. The silver haze wasn't just masking their movements anymore—it was summoning something. And unless we cleared it now, the entire forest would become their hunting ground.
I stepped forward.
"Get behind me."
Eduardo blinked. "Wait, what are you—"
I raised my hammer. A deep breath.
Then… I danced.
My boots brushed the silver leaves as my body moved into rhythm—each step slow but deliberate, like drawing the shape of a memory into the earth. My hammer traced arcs through the air, leaving afterimages of glowing orange and deep violet. The runes on my skin pulsed, igniting with Soulfire. And from the edge of my soul, I called its name:
"Dancing Twilight – Everlasting Sunset."
The forest shifted.
A golden-pink radiance erupted from the tip of my hammer as it struck the earth—not like sunlight, but something older, something deeper. A light that lingered, that remembered. The Soul Light flared outward in a ring, rippling across the battlefield with a solemn grace.
The mist screamed.
Where the Soul Light touched it, the silver haze writhed, burning at the edges like fabric being eaten by flame. The radiance did not explode—it simply was, blooming outward like the final light of dusk that refused to fade.
Trees bathed in the glow shimmered, becoming etched with luminous runes.
The forest transformed.
Where once silver fog lay thick, now only the Everlasting Sunset remained—an open field of glowing twilight. Every shadow peeled back. Every hidden ripple revealed. The Lunaris Wraithhounds, once phantoms in the mist, were dragged into view by the purifying tide of Soulfire. Their silver hides twitched under the radiance.
One tried to cloak itself again—its form flickering like a mirage.
But the twilight held it fast.
"You can't hide anymore," I whispered.
They snarled, but didn't leap. Their instincts told them what their minds could not: this was no longer their hunting ground. It was mine.
And worse still, for every moment they remained within the Dancing Twilight, the Soul Light drained them. Their strength. Their mana. Their essence. Bit by bit.
"This technique…" Eduardo muttered from behind me, his voice laced with awe. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It's Soul Light," I said, exhaling. "It doesn't just blind. It remembers. And it burns everything that doesn't belong."
The Lunaris shifted, uncertain. One growled. Another took a step back.
I raised my hammer again, slowly pivoting into another stance—like a waltz that hadn't ended yet.
"Let's see how well they hunt without their mist."
The Lunaris Wraithhounds hesitated at the edge of the glow—instinctively recoiling from the radiance bleeding across the forest floor. Their forms flickered like ghostly flames, silver and smoke interwoven with moonlight.
But it was too late.
The Soul Light didn't wait. It reached for them. Like fingers of sunset flame, the lingering glow rippled through the air—elegant, quiet, but unrelenting. It didn't strike like lightning or roar like fire. It simply touched. And when it did…
They burned. The first Wraithhound cried out as its limbs turned to ash—not crumbling, but disintegrating, unraveling into flecks of silver dust. It thrashed, twisted, tried to phase into mist again—but the twilight glow clung to it, like memory, like grief, like judgment.
The next one followed—its body convulsing in the glow, bones warping, soul howling. Its silver eyes met mine one last time before they hollowed into light. One by one, they fell.
Each step they took, the Soul Light remembered them. Each breath they drew, the glow burned deeper. The wounds it inflicted didn't bleed—they emptied, as if their souls were being peeled away from the inside out.
Their mist couldn't hide them. Their shadows couldn't shelter them. Their essence—cultivated under moonlight, born of arcane rituals, sharpened for the hunt—meant nothing before the light of a soul that refused to be hunted.
And so they died. No screams remained. Just the soft shimmer of silver dust, swirling upward like dying fireflies caught in a fading sunset. Then… silence. I lowered my hammer.
The last flickers of the Dancing Twilight pulsed once, then slowly dimmed. The air settled. The battlefield was empty. No more enemies. No more mist. Just Eduardo and I, standing in a sacred clearing of ash and glow.
The glow clung to the edges of my hammer, refusing to go out—because Soul Light never truly faded. It lingered, waiting for the next shadow to challenge it.
Eduardo exhaled beside me, stunned.
"Why didn't you use that from the start?" Eduardo asked, still staring at the scorched clearing where not even ash remained.
I let out a slow breath, my shoulders sinking under the weight of the aftermath. "Because it eats too much mana," I said, voice low. "I haven't mastered it yet—not fully."
The glow of Soul Light still clung faintly to the edges of my hammer, pulsing like a heartbeat. It was beautiful. Dangerous. Draining.
Dancing Twilight: Everlasting Sunset—a technique born from the fusion of my soul force and elemental light, refined with Aeternum's guidance. A weapon crafted to face monsters like Loridien Kael. But every time I called upon it, it took more than it gave back.
Even with all my mana efficiency augmentations and training, the cost was brutal.
I could already feel the hollow ache in my limbs—the echo of mana drain gnawing at the edges of my focus. My mana core had kicked into overdrive, drawing essence from my soul core to replenish what I'd burned. Each cycle shimmered faintly across my inner energy network.
But it would take time.
I placed a hand against a nearby tree, steadying myself. My star core still glowed brightly within, bolstered by the blood I had taken. My mental force held strong, letting me direct the streams of returning energy without faltering.
But I wasn't at full capacity. Not by a long shot.
Eduardo shot me another glance, his expression somewhere between wariness and awe. "So that was the trump card?"
I didn't look at him. I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon, on the place where the Soul Light still lingered like a defiant flame in the aftermath of annihilation.
"No," I said, voice cold and steady. "That was the warning. For the Lycans pulling the strings behind this hunt."
I stepped forward slightly, dragging my weapon behind me, its head still glowing faintly with residual Soulfire. "Enough of your games. Show yourselves."
As if in response, a long, deep howl tore through the forest. It wasn't wild or feral—it was structured. Commanding. A signal.
The air thickened with pressure—not the numbing haze of the mist, but something heavier, older. Primal.
Then the trees groaned. Branches cracked. Snow-laced leaves scattered like whispers of forgotten prey.
Shapes emerged from the clearing—huge, lumbering figures with silver-furred bodies rippling with muscle and menace. Silver Moon Bears—but even larger than the ones we'd fought earlier. These beasts weren't feral. They were armored. Disciplined.
And they weren't alone.
Riding atop them were figures clad in gleaming silver skinsuits, the material clinging to their forms like a second layer of flesh. Their armor plating was minimal—but precise—accentuating speed over bulk. Their skin was obsidian-dark, adorned with luminous tribal glyphs that pulsed faintly with mana.
Their eyes glowed a fierce greenish-yellow, not with rage, but clarity—like predators who had already decided how the battle would end.
"Riders," Eduardo muttered under his breath. "I've only ever read about them."
I narrowed my gaze, taking in their movements—the silent discipline, the way they sat upon the bears like extensions of the beast itself. No unnecessary motion. No wasted energy. From among the mounted warriors, one dismounted. He was larger than the rest—nearly seven feet tall, broad-shouldered with a long mane of braided silver-black hair that shimmered faintly under the starlight. Unlike the others, his armor bore ceremonial etchings: ancient glyphs woven into the plating like veins of moonlight and root.
He walked forward with slow, deliberate steps, the earth beneath his bare feet seemingly recognizing his weight and will. The other riders parted for him without a word, their posture shifting—deferential, reverent.
His eyes, golden-green and slit like a wolf's, locked onto mine with the full force of a predator's judgment. When he spoke, his voice rumbled like a landslide through a canyon.
"You stand within the heart of the Grove of Acras—sacred land of the Wildroot Pact." He stopped several paces ahead of us, inhaling the scent of scorched air and lingering Soul Light. "And you dare burn its breath with your false sun."
Lilith didn't move. She didn't flinch. The afterglow of her Soul Light still shimmered across the battlefield like defiance carved in gold.
"I gave a warning," she said. "The hunt ends now."
The Alpha exhaled sharply through his nose. Not laughter—but something like disdain.
"This is not your domain to end. You were prey. But now you've bled the land." He turned slightly, gesturing behind him to the riders. "And the blood price must be paid."
The grove around us began to hum—softly at first, but rising. The silver trees quivered. The roots pulsed with a heartbeat that wasn't ours.
Eduardo shifted beside me, fingers tightening around his gunblades. I could feel it too. The forest had turned on us. No...It had always been against us.
The pack howled—and the forest exploded with motion.
Dozens of Lycans lunged from the treetops, silver streaks cutting through the branches like ghostfire. I slammed both hammers into the ground, the earth splitting beneath me as I channeled my ability: jagged spikes of folded stone burst upward, skewering the air just as the first wave descended.
Then I casted a tier Four Spell: Rising Gale Tower. A roaring spiral of wind erupted from beneath me, shooting upward in a furious tornado. The sheer force hurled several Lycans back mid-leap, their momentum thrown off by the wind's screaming ascent.
But they adapted.
Even as the air howled and the stone groaned, Eduardo was already in motion—twin gunblades flashing with burst-fire precision. He weaved through the chaos with a dancer's rhythm and a gunman's precision, bullets ringing out in staccato bursts as he carved arcs of flame and pressure through the trees. Each shot was precise, aimed not to kill but to redirect—buying seconds, breaking formations.
Yet the Lycans didn't fight like beasts. They fought like brothers. Their unity was frightening. Each one moved in perfect synchronization, flanking and rotating mid-combat with feral grace. Some bounded along tree branches, others zigzagged through the mist-laced undergrowth, and all wielded silver-forged blades that sang with crescent arcs of power.
Blades flashed—silver energy ripping through the air in razor crescents. One of them nearly cleaved through my ribs, but I raised the Gale Tower again, conjuring a fresh wall of swirling wind. The slashes hit it mid-flight—the wind didn't block the blades, it split in two.
"They're cutting the damn wind!" Eduardo shouted between bursts.
And he wasn't wrong.
These weren't ordinary enemies. Each of the Lycans radiated a power that should have belonged only to higher stage warriors. Individually, I could sense they were Ascendants of the Warrior stage—but together? Together, they felt like something more.
The reason was obvious.
Their Alpha's aura loomed like a mountain behind them—steady, oppressive, and vast. A true Master stage cultivator. His presence alone wove through the spiritual veins of the forest, linking his entire pack to him. His will elevated their cultivation in unison, temporarily granting each of them the strength and reflexes of Master stage fighters.
Pack Synchronization. It was one of the Lycan's most terrifying traits—a unity of soul and instinct. And they were using it to try to kill us.
-
Gilded Thorn club
Vel cora street,
Pandemonium City
Hudsonia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
April 28th 6412
Lilith stepped into the velvet-lit haze of the club, her boots echoing softly against the polished obsidian floor. Heat and sound hit her in waves—music pounding like a heartbeat through her ribs, its bassline shaking the air with each thump.
The scent of perfume, sweat, and mana hung thick, laced with indulgence. Bodies moved like waves in low light—gyrating, laughing, losing themselves in pleasure and pulse. Silken curtains hung like shadows between private alcoves where figures lounged, kissed, or vanished into velvet gloom. A flash of teeth here, a flicker of aura there—Vampires. Manaborns. Drunken nobility and danger, all packed into one place.
Lilith didn't flinch, but her jaw tightened.
She moved through the corridor like a blade through water, her amber eyes sweeping over the chaos with quiet intensity. A pair of Ascendant men stumbled past her, drinks sloshing, whispering something vulgar under their breath as they caught sight of her figure. One tried to meet her gaze—only to recoil when her eyes flicked toward him, colder than frost-touched steel.
Her aura barely flared, but it was enough to make him stumble back.
The music shifted—now a pulsing electric rhythm, synchronized with neon lights flickering across the walls in crimson and violet bursts. Every flash briefly lit up her features in stark contrast—sharp, calm, hunting. Her senses were tuned—mana threads brushed past her skin, carrying scents and emotions in fragments.
She wasn't supposed to be here. This world of smoke and rhythm and hedonism wasn't made for someone like her.
And yet, here she was.
A group of girls burst out of a doorway to her left—laughing, clad in barely-there silk and glittering mana-thread lace. One of them brushed against Lilith as she passed, trailing perfume and giggles.
Lilith stepped to the side with silent precision, letting them pass, though her gaze remained locked on the door they had just exited.
Ariella's scent was faint—but present.
She took a breath, exhaled slowly.
Found you.
But before Lilith could take another step toward the doorway, a shadow moved into view.
A tall figure stepped out from the pulsing corridor light, cutting a striking silhouette beneath the flickering neon. His dark hair was long, perfectly straight, cascading over broad shoulders like silk. The club's shifting hues caught the sharp angles of his face—cheekbones like carved stone, lips drawn into a faint, instinctive scowl as his eyes locked onto hers.
Lilith stiffened as recognition hit her.
Prince Eduardo Gomez.
His gaze sharpened as he stopped a few paces away, arms folding across his chest. "What are you doing here?" he asked, voice low, aristocratic—but edged with genuine irritation.
Lilith's eyes narrowed. "Did you bring her here?" she asked, voice flat, unreadable.
Eduardo exhaled through his nose. "Ella and I wanted to see the nightlife for ourselves," he said casually, with a faint shrug. "We're trying to get to know each other. Seeing as we're going to be engaged soon."
The moment the word engaged left his lips, something in Lilith snapped.
Her eyes burned amber-gold, and her steps closed the distance between them—predatory, deliberate. Eduardo didn't move, but one eyebrow lifted at her approach, mildly amused. But that amusement faded as he felt the tension rippling off her—not just hostility, but something deeper. A storm just barely held in check.
She stood close enough now that he could see the heat in her gaze wasn't simple anger—it was possession. Fury. A silent how dare you radiating off her skin like a spell about to detonate.
And yet, for all her threatening proximity, Eduardo found his breath catching—not in fear, but in surprise.
He studied her again.
Why hadn't he seen it before?
Yes, she was dangerous. Yes, her glare could shred steel. But beneath that edge—was beauty. A kind that didn't shimmer with aristocratic polish, but smoldered with raw, unfiltered soul. A kind that couldn't be bought with bloodline or title.
Ariella was beautiful—undoubtedly so. Regal, warm, sharp-minded. She was the perfect political match, and he respected her immensely. But he didn't burn when she was near.
Lilith was different. There was something about her…wild, untamed. Honest in the way fire is honest when it decides to devour something. And now, she was standing inches from him, glaring like she wanted to tear fate itself apart for daring to tie Ariella to someone else.
Eduardo's voice dropped to a near whisper, curiosity threading through the low timbre. "Why do you hate me so much, Lilith? We've only just met, and yet… every time you look at me, it's the same. Like you can't stand the sight of me. I haven't even done anything to you—yet."
Lilith's gaze sharpened, her tone a blade drawn from its sheath. "I can't stand that expression of yours." She took a step closer, her words pressing into him as much as her presence. "You walk around like you're the only one who's ever known suffering. Like you've convinced yourself you have no choice but to take whatever life hands you. I hate that look in your eyes—the one that says you've already given up."
Something in Eduardo shifted. Her words didn't just land—they struck deep, unearthing memories he'd long buried. His brother's voice. His own failures. Nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if it was worth it to keep fighting.
A muscle in his jaw ticked, tension pulling at the corners of his mouth. He had spent years mastering the art of detachment, perfecting the mask that kept his past from bleeding into his present. And yet, in the space between her accusation and his next breath, the mask cracked.
He stepped forward, closing the scant inches between them before either of them could reconsider. His hand brushed the side of her face, almost tentative—then, without another word, his lips found hers.
Lilith's breath caught in surprise, her body still and rigid for a heartbeat. She hadn't expected the prince's answer to come in the form of stolen warmth.
Lilith's shock snapped into motion. Her fist shot up between them, slamming into Eduardo's chest with enough force to send him staggering back a step. The breath left him in a sharp grunt, his boots scraping against the floor as he caught himself.
Her knuckles ached, but it was nothing compared to the molten surge rising inside her. The desire to drive her fist through his ribcage, to end him here and now, flared hot and primal. Her fingers flexed at her side, the phantom weight of her blade whispering for her to draw it.
Kill him.
She shut her eyes for a single, grounding second, forcing the thought down, trapping it in the cold cage of her will. A deep breath burned in her lungs. When her eyes opened again, the orange in them was sharper, but she held herself still.
Eduardo straightened slowly, one hand brushing his tunic where she had struck. He didn't speak—though his dark eyes lingered on her with an unreadable expression.
Before either could move again, the sound of hurried footsteps and a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Lilith? Eduardo?" Ariella's tone carried confusion and the faintest edge of alarm as she came into view.
Lilith stepped back, her jaw tight, the space between her and Eduardo widening as if to erase what had just happened.
Ariella stopped a few paces away, her eyes shifting from Eduardo to Lilith. That invisible tether between her and Lilith—something she had never been able to name but always felt—pulled taut in her chest. A ripple of raw emotion bled across it.
It wasn't just anger.
It was killing intent.
The sensation was sharp enough to make her spine stiffen. For the briefest heartbeat, she imagined Lilith's blade buried in Eduardo's chest, imagined the flash of blood. The image wasn't her own—it was what Lilith wanted.
But why?
"Lil…" Ariella's voice softened, confusion knitting her brow. She could read her knight like a book—every flicker of her aura, every shift in her stance. Right now, Lilith was a storm barely held in check, and for reasons Ariella couldn't piece together.
Eduardo broke the silence first, his tone smooth, almost casual. "We were… talking."
Ariella's gaze lingered on Lilith. Her knight avoided her eyes, a subtle, deliberate act Ariella knew well. It meant she didn't want to answer—didn't want Ariella to see the truth in her expression.
That only made the unease in Ariella's chest tighten.
"Stay inside," Lilith said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
She didn't wait for a reply. Turning on her heel, she moved through the entrance she'd come from, her strides purposeful at first but growing heavier, less steady. The din of voices calling her name blurred into muffled echoes, like sound struggling to reach her through water. By the time she slipped out into the night air, her lungs were already dragging for breath.
She ducked into a narrow alley, the stone walls pressing close, and leaned her back against the cold brick. Her body sagged against it, one palm braced to keep herself from sliding down completely. She tilted her head back, eyes shut, inhaling sharply through her nose, exhaling in a slow, controlled hiss.
"Damn it…" The word escaped her between clenched teeth.
That molten, primal urge to kill—the same hunger that had always been coiled deep in her bones—had surged up fast and hot, uncoiling the moment she was close to Eduardo. For an instant, it had been all she could taste, all she could see: his blood, the life leaving his eyes.
If Ariella hadn't been there…
Lilith's jaw clenched harder. She could still feel the tether to the princess's presence, the only anchor keeping her from stepping over a line she could never uncross. One wrong move, and she would have sparked an international incident, all because of an impulse she should have buried long ago.
But she wasn't the girl from the Dread Forest anymore. At least, that's what she told herself. The girl who had always chosen the blade first, who had followed the kill-instinct without hesitation—she was supposed to be gone.
She forced her breathing into rhythm again, until the pounding in her ears eased. When she finally opened her eyes, her gaze wandered down the alley toward the street beyond.
That's when she saw it.
A building stood at the far end, its silhouette cutting a sharp line against the night. Gothic spires rose like black fangs into the sky, the facade lit in an amber glow from the streetlamps. Stained glass windows painted in deep crimsons and midnight blues shimmered faintly with the light inside. The images on them stopped her cold—panels depicting a veiled woman cloaked in darkness, her womb encircled by a swirling red liquid.
A church.
Not just any church.
The Church of the Lilithism Order.