The woman's middle eye snapped shut, the eerie glow vanishing in an instant—
And then—
She vanished.
A sudden rush of cold air swept through the tavern as she reappeared directly in front of Angeline.
Too fast.
Too close.
Angeline barely had time to react before the woman tilted her head, her neck bending in a disturbingly perfect 180-degree angle. It was unnatural, inhuman—her long black hair spilling over her twisted shoulders like dead vines.
"You foolish girl.... Angeline, was it?" the woman cooed, her voice thick with amusement, her lips pulling into a slow, cruel smile.
"How did you know?" Angeline clenched her fists, but before she could move—
"I can see everything."
That voice—low and knowing, layered with something more than just human speech—sent a chill crawling down Angeline's spine.
"Then you should have seen this!"
Realization flashed across the woman's face.
The Angeline standing before her—was an illusion.
Too late.
A fist engulfed in roaring flames came swinging from behind, slamming into the woman's jaw with a satisfying CRACK!
The woman staggered back, her head snapping to the side from the sheer force.
She hadn't expected that one.
Angeline grinned, shaking her burning fist. "Not so all-seeing now, huh?"
The woman lifted her gaze, an eerie smile curling her lips despite the damage.
But Angeline wasn't done.
"I don't know who or what the Blancs are..."
Her eyes flared with anger, her other hand clenching into a tight fist—
"...but I live with one."
Before the woman could react—
BAM!
Angeline drove her fist deep into the woman's stomach, flames erupting from her knuckles.
"For my father!"
The impact blasted the woman across the room like a broken doll, her body crashing through tables and chairs, sending debris flying everywhere.
A thick cloud of dust and shattered wood filled the tavern.
Angeline exhaled sharply, shaking the pain from her fist, feeling the warmth of her own fire flickering around her fingertips.
She took a step forward—
And then—
Her body froze.
A force wrapped around her like invisible hands, squeezing her limbs until she couldn't move.
Before she could even struggle, she was lifted—
Her feet left the ground.
She was floating.
Then—
She was thrown.
Angeline's body whipped through the air like a ragdoll before slamming into the bar stall, the wooden counter splintering on impact.
The breath was knocked from her lungs.
For a moment, everything blurred.
Pain pulsed through her back, her head spinning from the sheer force of the throw.
The woman's eerie laughter echoed through the broken tavern.
"Such a waste of power," she cooed.
Angeline gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus through the pain.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
The debris burying the woman exploded outward, wooden splinters and broken furniture flying in all directions. The force of it sent a chair hurtling against the wall and a table flipping end over end before smashing into the floor.
And yet—
She stood.
Wounded. Broken. Burned.
And yet—
Still standing.
Her body was riddled with cuts, her dress torn and soaked in blood, but the look on her face was one of indifference. It was as if pain, agony, or even death itself meant nothing to her.
As if she was merely an empty vessel.
A ragged cough suddenly cut through the chaos.
Isaac.
Vul's ears twitched at the sound, her head snapping to the side. She saw him—her father—slowly stirring, his body weak but alive.
For some reason...
She still didn't understand.
Didn't process anything.
But she moved anyway.
She knelt beside him, her small hands hovering uncertainly, watching as Isaac's eyes blinked open.
The first thing he saw—
Was Angeline.
His daughter.
Collapsed across the bar stall, struggling to lift a shaking hand, trying to cast a spell at the floating woman.
The woman hovered mid-air, like a puppet suspended by invisible strings, her middle eye flashing ominously.
She drifted toward Angeline, fingers curling like claws.
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Then—
A wall of ice erupted between them.
Thick. Cold. Unyielding.
The woman stopped abruptly, her head tilting in curiosity before turning her gaze toward the source—
Elijah.
Breathing hard, exhausted beyond belief, but still gripping his sword—its tip embedded in the floor. The chilly fog surrounding his blade thickened as frost crackled along the ground beneath his feet.
The woman sighed.
With an eerily calm motion, she reached up and ripped the ice shard from her skull, her flesh tearing with a sickening squelch. The middle eye on her forehead closed again.
Then—
She disappeared.
And reappeared directly in front of Elijah.
Before he could react—
SHHK!
The very same ice shard sank into his stomach.
Elijah's body went rigid, his breath caught in his throat, the cold sting of his own magic now impaling him.
Isaac clenched his fists, his entire body shaking as he tried to stand. His vision blurred with rage and desperation.
"You... monster!" he spat, barely able to push himself off the ground. "You're evil! A soulless, heartless wretch!"
The woman merely chuckled, twisting the shard inside Elijah's gut just to hear him gasp.
Isaac let out a furious roar, his voice filled with nothing but hatred.
Then—
Vul felt it.
Something inside her.
Something calling to her.
Her fingers twitched.
An instinct. A pull.
She didn't understand.
Didn't think.
She just—
Moved.
Her hand gently pressed against Isaac's back.
A spark—
Then a fire.
A sudden surge of power erupted inside of her—
And for the first time in her life, she felt.
ANGER.
A deep, raw, raging fury.
The same feeling she had toward Angeline earlier.
But now—
It was boiling.
Then—
A glow.
A bright, piercing glow.
The dragon tattoo on Vul's back ignited, its fiery outline searing through the fabric of her clothes, becoming visible to all.
Then—
Something ripped free from her body.
Tearing.
Unfolding.
Growing.
The woman's cold amusement shattered into a look of sheer horror.
From Vul's back, something began to emerge.
The dragon—
Broke free.
Its form peeled away from Vul's flesh as if it had been merely sleeping beneath her skin. What was once an intricate marking now grew, expanded—its body stretching higher, larger, monstrous.
The tavern walls groaned under its sheer size, wooden beams splintering, glass shattering, the air itself shaking with its presence.
A beast of darkness, of power, of something far beyond human comprehension.
Its black scales gleamed with an unnatural sheen, each one sharp like obsidian. Its wings unfurled, large enough to nearly collapse the entire tavern.
But its eyes—
Red.
Piercing.
The exact same as Vul's.
The woman staggered back.
For the first time—
She feared.
Then—
The dragon's mouth opened.
A deep rumble shook the ground as its throat glowed—
And then—
FIRE.
A torrent of hellish red-and-black flames erupted from its maw, engulfing the woman in an unstoppable inferno.
Her screams pierced the night, raw and inhuman, a cacophony of agony that rattled the very air.
The fire consumed her.
Her skin melted away.
Her body—
Was reduced to bone.
And still, the flames did not stop.
The ground beneath her blackened and melted, a gaping hole forming where she once stood.
Then—
Silence.
Nothing remained but the scorched bones of the woman, smoldering in the middle of the molten crater.
The dragon's glowing red eyes narrowed—
Then it slowly turned its head.
And looked directly at Vul.
The dragon's glowing red eyes locked onto Vul—unmoving, unreadable.
Then—
Its massive form shuddered.
The black-scaled beast began to dissolve, its massive wings flickering into embers, its limbs unraveling into thread-like streams of fire. The flames spiraled inward, slithering through the air like living serpents, winding toward Vul's back.
She gasped.
The heat licked at her skin, but it didn't burn—instead, it felt familiar, like something returning home. The fiery tendrils coiled around her shoulders before sinking back into her flesh, the sensation tingling down her spine.
Then—
It was gone.
The blazing inferno, the towering beast, the overwhelming power.
All that remained was the intricate black tattoo on her back, glowing faintly before dimming into stillness.
The aftermath was eerily silent.
The once-proud tavern was now ruined.
The wooden beams had collapsed, sections of the walls reduced to cinders. Scorch marks blackened the floor, the furniture reduced to little more than ash and splinters. A gaping hole in the center of the room still smoldered—all that was left of the woman. The once-warm and lively tavern was now a ghost of its former self, filled with nothing but the scent of burnt wood and blood.
The thick wall of ice Elijah had created had melted in the heat, water pooling across the floor.
Angeline wasted no time.
She stumbled forward, ignoring the soreness in her body, and rushed to Isaac, who was now sitting upright, groaning but alive. Relief flooded her face.
"Father!" she cried, dropping to her knees beside him.
Isaac gave her a small, tired smile. "Still alive, lass... barely."
Angeline let out a shaky breath before looking up—her gaze landing on Vul.
"You—" she hesitated. "What was that?"
Vul stood there, staring at her own hands, which were still trembling slightly. She opened her mouth—
And nothing came out.
Because she didn't know.
"I... I don't..." Vul murmured, her voice smaller than before.
A ragged cough interrupted them.
Elijah.
Angeline's head snapped toward him, and she scrambled to his side, carefully cradling his head. His breathing was shallow, his face pale.
"You're going to be okay," Angeline assured him, though her voice wavered.
She quickly ripped a strip from her already torn skirt and pressed it against the wound in his stomach, trying to slow the bleeding.
Isaac, now more steady, turned to Vul and ordered, "Help her."
Vul nodded without hesitation and rushed to Angeline's side, holding down the cloth to apply pressure as Angeline worked.
Then—
The sound of hoofbeats.
A wagon.
And approaching voices.
The moment Stefan saw the state of the tavern, his heart stopped.
Where there was once a bustling, warm establishment—
Now stood a wreckage.
The roof had partially collapsed, smoke and embers still clung to the air, and what remained of the structure looked like it could crumble at any second.
Stefan sat stiffly in the driver's seat of the wagon, beside Alex, who had been cheerfully chatting with him just moments ago.
But now—
Both their smiles had disappeared.
A cold pit settled in Stefan's stomach.
His first thought was Angeline.
Then Isaac.
His family.
Without another second of hesitation, Stefan jumped off the wagon and ran.
"ANGELINE!"
His voice carried across the wreckage as he sprinted down the hill.
"ISAAC!"
He ran until his boots hit what was left of the tavern floor, breath sharp, heart hammering.
The first thing he saw—
Was Vul.
And her hands—
Covered in blood.
His stomach dropped.
"You—" his voice was sharp, immediate. "What did you do?"
Vul barely had time to blink before—
"Stefan, stop!"
Angeline's voice cut through the tension as she glared at him.
She was still crouched over Elijah, her hands coated in blood as she carefully pulled out the ice shard from his wound.
"She saved us," Angeline snapped. "Don't—don't you dare accuse her."
Stefan's chest rose and fell rapidly, his hand clenched into a fist—
But he didn't argue.
Because Angeline's words were fierce.
And Stefan knew better than anyone—Angeline wouldn't defend someone unless she meant it.
"What happened here?"
The voice came from behind.
Alex had arrived, panting heavily, his usually neat coat disheveled from the run. His wide eyes scanned the scene—the destruction, the injuries, the exhausted faces.
He stared at the burning wreckage of the tavern and paled.
"Wha—what in the name of the gods happened here?"
Isaac, now standing fully, let out a slow, tired exhale.
"It's... going to be a long story," he muttered. "But first—" his sharp gaze flickered to Alex. "We need a healing potion. Now."
Stefan immediately turned to Alex. "I have plenty. Go get them from the wagon. Now."
Alex nodded frantically and turned, running back up the hill.
Stefan, meanwhile, slowly walked forward—toward Elijah.
The man was barely conscious, his breaths weak, his body trembling from the blood loss.
Stefan knelt down beside him.
For a moment, Elijah didn't move.
Then—
His eyelids fluttered.
And through hazy, pain-filled vision—he saw Stefan.
A weak smile touched Elijah's lips.
His expression was one of pure, unfiltered joy.
Like a man who had just seen an old friend after years apart.
His lips barely moved, his voice a whisper.
"Master..."
Stefan's breath hitched.
"Save your energy," he said quickly, his usual commanding voice softer now.
But Elijah's trembling fingers clutched weakly at Stefan's sleeve.
His eyes darkened, the joy slipping into something grim.
"But... I'm afraid that they found you..."
His breathing was uneven.
"The house... your house..."
He swallowed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly.
"They need you..."
Then—
His final words.
"Your destiny..."
His eyes closed.
Stefan's entire body locked up.
His mind blanked.
The weight of those words crashed down on him, suffocating, unbearable.
His house.
His past.
His destiny.
He...
He left all of that behind.
Alex suddenly rushed back, hands full of glowing glass vials.
Isaac immediately snatched one and uncorked it, pouring the golden liquid directly over Elijah's wound.
The magic hissed against his torn flesh, the healing process beginning immediately.
"More," Isaac ordered, and Alex quickly handed him another.
As Isaac, Alex, and Angeline worked frantically over Elijah—
Stefan slowly backed away.
His breath was uneven.
His thoughts clouded.
Vul watched him from the corner of her eye.
She wasn't sure why.
But she had a feeling—
Something inside him was breaking.
And she didn't know what it meant.
Yet.