"No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks."
***
She moved toward the window with the same silent grace she'd used to enter. Her footfalls made no sound on the wooden floor despite its age.
But before she slipped into the darkness, she turned one last time. Her silhouette framed against the moonlight.
"Master?" Her voice was soft. Vulnerable in a way it hadn't been moments before. "Thank you. For seeing me when everyone else looked through me. For giving me purpose when the world had written me off as nothing."
The raw emotion in her words was almost painful to hear. Gratitude so profound it bordered on worship.
Then she was gone.
Vanished into the night like smoke on the wind.
The curtains fluttered briefly in the cool breeze. Then settled back into stillness. As if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.
I collapsed back into my chair. All the strength left my legs in a rush.
The room was silent except for the soft sputtering of the dying candle on my desk. My hands trembled. Not with satisfaction. Not with the thrill of a plan well executed.
With the cold weight of terrible understanding.
My goal was to save a girl. Maybe secure a useful ally.
I looked at the empty room. At the fluttering curtains.
I've created something far more dangerous than I ever intended.
The Twilight Society was born. Sealed into existence by her word of acceptance. Its first member had vanished into the darkness, armed with purpose and burning with devotion.
And I was left alone with the terrifying knowledge that I now controlled a weapon I barely understood.
A weapon that thought I was a god.
A weapon that would kill without hesitation if I merely suggested it might please me.
I've just weaponized a yandere maid with a savior complex and given her religious conviction that I'm infallible.
What the hell have I done?
I ran my hands through my hair. Stared at the ceiling.
The candle flickered. Shadows danced across the walls of my room.
Somewhere out there, Lyra was making her way back to the servants' quarters. Moving like a ghost through the darkened halls of the Leone estate. Already playing her role. Already wearing her mask.
Just like me.
We're the same, aren't we? Both pretending to be something we're not. Both hiding our true selves behind walls of deception.
The only difference is that she knows what I really am.
Or thinks she does.
The truth was more pathetic than her fantasy. I wasn't a mastermind. I wasn't a god who could see the future. I was just some college student who'd been dumped into a light novel and happened to remember enough of the plot to cheat.
That's all my "prescience" amounted to. Cheat codes. Spoilers. Knowledge I shouldn't have about events that hadn't happened yet.
But she doesn't need to know that.
Nobody does.
The persona of the pathetic third son was my armor against the world. The bumbling coward who couldn't do anything right. That mask kept me safe from my family's plotting, from the noble houses' machinations, from the protagonist's narrative gravity that would crush anyone who stood in his path.
And now I had Lyra.
A shadow who believed in me completely. Who would do whatever I asked without question. Who had skills I couldn't develop on my own. Infiltration. Stealth. The ability to move through the world unseen.
This is wrong.
I know it's wrong.
I'm exploiting her trauma. Taking advantage of her gratitude. Building a cult of personality based on lies.
But the alternative was dying.
And I wasn't ready to die.
Not yet.
Not when there was still a chance I could change things. Save people. Maybe even find a way out of this mess that didn't end with my corpse in a ditch somewhere.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
But at least I'm walking it with my eyes open.
I reached for the candle on my desk. Pinched the flame out between my fingers. The brief sting of heat was grounding. Real. A reminder that this wasn't a dream. That I couldn't just close my eyes and wake up back in my apartment with an exam to study for and a life that made sense.
This was my reality now.
Kaelen Leone. Third son of a declining noble house. Possessor of garbage stats and a death flag the size of a mountain.
And now, apparently, leader of a secret organization with exactly one member.
Twilight Society.
It's a good name, actually. Mysterious. Memorable. The kind of name that could become legend if we survive long enough.
If.
I stood up. Walked to the window. Looked out at the darkened courtyard below.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. The wind rustled through the trees. Normal sounds of a normal night.
But nothing was normal anymore.
Tomorrow, I would wake up and put on my mask again. Stumble through breakfast with my family. Flinch at Lucius's barbs. Accept Father's cold dismissal. Endure Lady Vivienne's contempt.
And underneath it all, I would be planning.
Watching.
Waiting.
The story of Heirs of the Azure Orb is just beginning. The protagonist hasn't even awakened his first power yet. The main plot is still chapters away.
I have time.
Time to build. Time to prepare. Time to gather more people like Lyra. The broken ones. The discarded ones. The extras written to die so the heroes can feel sad for two paragraphs.
I'll save them.
All of them.
And maybe, I'll save myself in the process.