Midea sighed, rubbing his temples as memories of the previous day's events replayed in his mind. He reached over to shift the simple, worn linen blinds from his window, letting the early dawn light spill across his face in a seven-colored stream—a product of this world's unique suns casting their rays. The day had just begun, and he already felt a pang of exhaustion weighing him down.

In the last day alone, he had explained everything he knew about Lervea and his own origins to the two young Tyrannius siblings under his care. The revelations had hardly been met with the gratitude one might expect. No, the little winged freak of nature, Surya, had greeted his candid confessions with something akin to scorn. Apparently, she wasn't thrilled that he didn't have an immediate escape plan from the planet they had been forcibly transported to through what he could only describe as a catastrophic nuke of space and time.

Veins pulsed in frustration along his forehead just thinking about it. What did they expect? For him to just magically "pop" them back to the comfort of Hell as if he were some legendary archdemon? The absurdity of their expectations left him simmering, but he knew better than to let his irritation show openly.

What am I supposed to do? he thought darkly. Strike them? Lervea's children? If I were fool enough for that, I'd have died as a darkling the day I slipped into my first puddle of darkwater.

No, his duty was clear, and it did not involve harming them. Despite his rough exterior, Midea was not without morals—or, at the very least, a survival instinct that doubled as a moral compass. While he held no illusions about his own nature as a demon, he wasn't about to go harming children unnecessarily. Besides, the repercussions from Lervea alone would be catastrophic.

Nonetheless, their training wouldn't be some coddling, gentle affair. They'd receive "tough love" and whatever physical conditioning he could concoct. He wasn't entirely sure how long they'd be marooned on this backwater planet, but he suspected it would be a while—long enough for them to forget whatever punishment he planned to inflict.

Midea tugged a pile of spare cloth from his makeshift closet, inspecting the humble rags he'd collected from the village. Well humble to him at least none of them came close to the silk of Paimon. Now that was proper cloth! Some were a bit frayed, but he had a knack for repurposing worn materials. Muttering under his breath, he began weaving numen into a hand-carved needle he'd whittled from a sturdy branch, intent on stitching together an outfit that might fit young Tarak.

As his hands worked, his thoughts drifted to the immediate concerns at hand. Surya was right in that they needed to begin mending their relationship with the villagers—a precarious endeavor, considering the damage caused by her sibling's... instinctive aggression. The little brute had caused no small amount of alarm, and while Midea had managed to secure a tentative alliance with Remus, the local chieftain, he knew full well that it wouldn't survive if Tarak kept terrorizing the townsfolk.

But while Midea was a stranger in this place, he'd already played a role in helping fortify the village, teaching them wards and even sharing a defensive ward technique previously known only to the demons of his world. His thoughts drifted to Hathor, one of the elders in the village. The man was sharp-tongued and abrasive, and Midea sensed something more sinister lurking beneath the elder's rude exterior—a darkness that ran deep, perhaps.

Distracted, he accidentally pricked his finger with the makeshift needle, causing a thick bead of his dark, viscous blood to well up. Demon blood, he noted, was thicker than that of other races, almost sticky. He wondered what Tyrannius blood would be like—surely stranger, more potent. A race capable of consuming souls upon killing was beyond the natural order, unsettlingly so. While many beings had unique innate abilities, such as the demons' own evolutionary abilities or the Asura's sage mind that granted them brief clarity in battle, the Tyrannius surpassed them all. They didn't just have abilities; they altered the very fabric of existence, one should not be able to touch the soul so easily. It was a terrifying concept. However, his duties remained the same.

Even so the image of the villagers' fearful faces flashed across his mind, and he frowned, his brows knitting in thought. Given the severity of Tarak's reaction, Midea was increasingly sure something deeper had transpired to set off the boy's primal instincts. Why didn't he have the same restraint as Surya? She had been able to hold back her instincts from the very beginning, albeit barely. Was Tarak truly that different from her, or had something else triggered his behavior?

Shaking off his thoughts, Midea finished the final stitch, inspecting his handiwork. The clothes were modest but functional—a plain shirt and trousers that would, hopefully, endure Tarak's more... active tendencies. With the garment complete, Midea set it gently on the small table in his room, slipping out silently and closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air fill his lungs. It was a surprising chill, given how the afternoons in this strange world often grew stiflingly hot. A thin mist clung to the air, swirling and dissipating as he exhaled, creating a brief foggy veil. It lent the quiet village a mystical serenity, disrupted only by the distant rustling of creatures stirring in the wilderness. The peace of dawn was unfamiliar to him; demons were rarely afforded such luxuries. He steeled himself, reminded that he was here for a purpose.

The dirt road beneath his boots was silent as he made his way toward the scene of the previous day's destruction, his gaze drifting over the quiet, untouched homes nestled under the shadow of the ancient trees. For now, the village slumbered, save for the soft symphony of nature filling the air. The peaceful atmosphere was oddly comforting, though it felt out of place against the tension that loomed over the village.

The sun was still low, casting muted pastel hues across the landscape and bathing the world in a soft, quiet glow. His breath continued to fog slightly in the chill, and he took another deep breath, letting the fresh air ground him.

He had two priorities for the morning: first, to investigate the site of the incident from the previous day and see if he could glean any clues about what had truly transpired. And second, to gather any information that might prove useful in placating the villagers. If diplomacy fails, he thought grimly, I'll have to dig up some leverage on that elder Hathor, or perhaps his cronies. That type of man definitely had some.

Thinking of the elder once more made him curl his lips in distaste. His mind thinking of the multitude of issues he'd have to face.

Lost in thought, Midea almost didn't notice Garran—a familiar figure in the village, with a tall, broad-shouldered frame and eyes that shone a piercing green under his shaggy, dark brown hair—until he was nearly upon him. The man stood, scrutinizing the damaged homes with an air of barely restrained fury, his posture rigid.

"And what brings you here, Garran?" Midea called, the corners of his mouth twitching in a faint smirk.

The man turned abruptly, his eyes narrowing in surprise before he let out a resigned sigh. "Just trying to assess the damage from yesterday," Garran replied, his voice low and clipped. "The villagers are anxious. One egg gives birth to a 'child of the sun,' and the other a... a monster." His tone hardened on the final word. "And then, to add to our woes, we're running out of shadow cores, which has made our excursions more dangerous than ever. Supplies are harder to secure, and your little beast hasn't exactly helped the situation." His eyes bore into Midea's with a hard, accusing glare.

Midea's patience wore thin at the subtle insult, but he held his tongue, masking his irritation with a forced calm. While he could understand the man's concerns on a practical level, Garran's prejudice grated on him. Well if it could be called prejudice the boy had in fact permanently crippled two boys. But while it was true that Tarak's attack had only worsened the village's perception of them, Midea couldn't help but feel defensive of the boy. He may have been a "beast," but he was still a child—a fact that, evidently, the villagers struggled to understand. Not to mention the fact that he was along with his sister that is Midea's lifeline.

"I would appreciate it if you refrained from speaking about the boy in that way," Midea replied coolly. "He has a name. It's Tarak. And yes, I'm aware of how that sounds." He quirked a brow almost daring Garran to challenge him.

Garran's expression twisted in incredulity. "So, you want him to be accepted among us, yet you name him after a creature from our darkest legends—the very name of an evil beast? And this after he crippled two of our kin, possibly for life." His sneer was evident, laced with venom.

Midea exhaled, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "As I said, I'm aware of how it sounds," he replied evenly. "But Tarak was a newborn, unfamiliar with his surroundings and those around him. What did you expect? He's a mythical creature in his own right. If you stumbled upon a young dragon, would you approach without caution, assuming it harmless? Even if it looked like a child?"

Garran scoffed, crossing his arms. "Perhaps. But even the children of our wolf clan don't maim those they're unfamiliar with."

"Is it that they don't," Midea countered, his voice calm yet unyielding, "or that they're simply too weak to do so? Children cry, they lash out. Most can do little more than bruise. But for beings like Tarak and Surya... their strength is their defining trait. They don't have the luxury of gentleness." He adopted a lecturing tone, knowing it would grate on Garran's nerves.

Sure enough, Garran's initial sneer deepened before a thoughtful frown crossed his face. For all his faults, Midea had to grant him one thing: he could be reasoned with. After a moment, Garran sighed, the rigidity in his stance easing.

"Perhaps there's some truth in that," he admitted begrudgingly. "But it still doesn't sit right. The village is on edge as it is, and now we're facing the real possibility of attacks due to our lack of shadow cores. Without them, our soldiers' excursions have become even more perilous. The villagers believe the shadow cores are essential for our protection, yet here we are, unable to secure enough to keep them safe. We have soldiers out today including that girl Hati. Hopefully, they come back successfully. That being said," He shot Midea a hard look. "your little... 'incident' hasn't exactly helped matters."

Midea raised a brow, the mention of shadow cores again piquing his curiosity. "Shadow cores, you say? And these... help with stealth?"

Garran nodded, his expression grim. "Shadow cores are the harvested remains of creatures we call 'shades of the wild.' Their essence helps cloak our village from outsiders, muffling our presence and keeping away unwanted attention. It's hardly foolproof, but it has served us well in avoiding conflict with stronger beasts, like the Turbeasts that roam the forests. Soldiers can also carry them, but because of the shortage the soldiers are vulnerable. And relations with the goblins, who once provided us with a steady supply, have all but collapsed. Fucking Gobbies."

Midea's mind began to churn with possibilities. So the villagers rely on shadow cores for protection and stealth... interesting. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. "It sounds like things have been... difficult for you," he replied, his tone almost sympathetic.

Garran's gaze flicked to him, wary. "Yes. The shadow cores are just one issue. Our resources are spread thin, and rumors about my uncle's practices are... troubling. And then there's the matter of your... charges," he said, catching himself before speaking further. "Suffice to say, your presence hasn't exactly eased tensions."

Midea's eyes glinted, his mind working quickly. "And these soldiers of yours," he asked casually, "when do you expect them to return?"

"They should be back by noon, give or take," Garran replied. "The forest is unpredictable, but they left early enough that they should be back soon."

Midea nodded, his plan slowly coalescing. "Very well. As for this... incident," he said, gesturing toward the remnants of Surya's home, "I'll investigate and see if I can't... clarify things."

Garran gave him a dubious look, but after a moment, he nodded. "Fine. Just... do what you have to." With a curt wave, he turned and strode off, leaving Midea alone once more.

Time to get to work, Midea thought, rolling his shoulders as he surveyed the scene.

"Traces of the past."

A wave of violet numen rippled from him, cascading across the scene like a shimmer of starlight. The spell was an art of detection—a minor ability he had acquired from his time with certain... unsavory succubi of the Lust Circle. If he of all demons had the right to say that. Not exactly a standard ability for demons of Pride at least it didn't use to be. But it had proven its usefulness over the years. Every noble demon has slept with a succubus or two or four or eight. Really it's hard to hold back, demons are known for many things and restraint is not one. Traces of the past could not actually show one the past of course. But it was useful for exposing recent traces of where one has been. Things like footprints or body liquids through unique remnant numen signatures. It was a good art to find adultering nobles who had been cheating on their partners with other demons. Most usually from the circle of lust. It was pretty widespread through hell. Of course, it was such a simple art that their were a multitude of ways to counter it that were equally as widespread when it became so common. But this was a little village in the middle of nowhere. Simply put he had nothing to worry about.

Midea surveyed the illuminated traces. Faint remnants of grime and foul residue clung to the edges of Surya's destroyed home. A dark smudge, distinct and pungent, covered part of the broken beams. Clearly, the intruders had left their marks here. He glanced at the footprints that led toward the ruins, and his suspicions solidified. Two distinct sets of signatures, larger and clumsier than the small, clawed prints that might have come from the Tyrannius children, well particularly Tarak.

It was the others—the boys who had gathered here, he thought, his jaw clenching. The remnants of their presence lingered around the perimeter of the broken-down house, their numen signatures faint but unmistakable. The footprints wound in and out of the structure, some even trailing up onto the planks and ledges of the ruined roof.

He moved closer to inspect the wreckage of the pen as well. The wards he had set were shattered, their remnants scattered across the broken foundation. While that was likely from Tarak the boys' numen signatures were faintly imprinted on the fragments—a clear sign that they had tampered with the barriers before Tarak's outburst.

More importantly, however he could not with this technique sense any traces of Surya nor Tarak. No matter how he looked there seemed to be nothing of the children. Though they had been here the day before. This made little sense given how all beings even those who never embarked upon the path of cultivation had numen signatures, but then again he supposed he shouldn't be surprised at this. Regardless of how absurd it was. Of course because of this fact he couldn't put together an exact picture of what happened but that didn't really matter. He had more than enough to piece together a plausible story that might ease tensions, and even if he had to embellish certain details, he could lay the groundwork to shield the children from blame. Plus it's not as if he was one to care for right and wrong.

Simply put it was far from absolute proof, but it was enough to tell a convincing story. At least to the villagers. His lips curled into a satisfied smirk. This could work.

Satisfied, Midea pieced together his next steps. While he doubted that any punishment would fall upon the boys, their privileged position in the village made sure of that, he could at least chage their perceptions of the kids. There was enough evidence here to fabricate a narrative that could turn the village's fears in the children's favor, but he needed a final touch to set it in motion. If he played his cards right with this the villagers might even see the children as defenders rather than monsters.

Now, he thought, already moving to the next step. I just need to ensure the soldiers' timely return... with a bit of extra company.

He closed his eyes, concentrating. Three shadowy figures unfurled from his own form, flickering to life with a faint, ethereal glow. These were shadows he had summoned—a Pride Circle art that allowed him to create tangible, though weak, copies of himself. They weren't much in a fight, but they were invaluable for recon. They were what he had used to essentially spy on both Remulus and Surya.

The shadows slipped out through the village's wards, gliding soundlessly over the wall and into the dense forest beyond. Through their eyes, he observed the wild landscape as if he were there himself, watching creatures of all shapes and sizes move through the underbrush.

A spiral of iridescent light drifted past one shadow—a bioluminescent tube-like creature with dozens of sensory organs, swaying in the breeze. A heavily-armored beast with a head like an anchor dragged itself across the ground, its carapace glinting under the filtered sunlight. Featherlins darted overhead, leaping between trees as they hunted small, cup-shaped creatures with leafy legs that shuffled in the shadows below.

But he wasn't interested in them. He was looking for something specific... and dangerous.

A glimmer of movement caught his eye, and a sinister smile crept across his face. There, just beyond the treeline, lurked a group of Vampyrs—pale, emaciated figures that prowled the forest with a predatory grace. The shadows had done their job well, guiding the Vampyrs into the soldiers' path.

Perfect.

Opening his eyes, he allowed himself a satisfied grin. His plan was nearly complete. He'd lead the Vampyrs to the village gates, timing their arrival with that of the soldiers. And with Surya and Tarak present, the villagers would witness the siblings' prowess firsthand. Villagers would think this is due to a lack of shadow cores and he could subtly disable the wards and claim it was a malfunction from how rapidly they were set. The childrens save when combined with the proof he had mustered up would lead to many seeing them in a positive light once more. Also given his own contributions to the village they would not be denied.

By the time I "fix" the wards, he thought smugly, they'll be hailing those two as heroes.

Turning back toward his house, he spotted Surya and Tarak waiting outside. The boy wore the new clothes Midea had fashioned for him, and he seemed to glare at Midea with a watchful wariness. As if debating whether or not he should attack based on how close the demon got to Surya. Surya on the other hand looked at him with open suspicion, her gaze sharp and discerning.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, folding her arms. "Did you speak with the chieftain about mending relations?"

He resisted the urge to smirk. Clever little monster, he thought, admiring her perceptiveness. "Nothing so formal," he replied smoothly. "But I did see Hati earlier. She's returning with some Rannhorn milk for you both. I suggest you wait for her at the front gate. I have... arrangements to make for your training, so wards will have to wait until later."

Surya's nose wrinkled in irritation, but he caught the faint flicker of interest in her eyes. "Really? Just for that?"

He nodded. "Yes. And interacting with soldiers who brave the wilds to provide for the village will help build some trust. Hati may be... difficult, but she's respected. In a way, she's at least strong. If you two are seen in her company, it will do you more good than my presence ever could."

Surya looked at him for a moment, clearly skeptical, but after a beat, she sighed. "Fine. Come on, Tarak."

She held out her hand, and Tarak took it, casting Midea a final, wary glance before allowing himself to be led toward the gate.

Watching them go, Midea's smile grew sharper, his mind already running through the final steps of his plan. No one would die—he'd make sure of that. But a little staged heroism would do wonders to sway public opinion.

Yes this was a masterstroke worthy of House Valefor.

_____________________

Hati raced through the dense forest alongside her troupe, the rhythmic pounding of their feet echoing in sync as they moved through dappled patches of sunlight. It was a bit past noon, and they were overdue to return. Although she felt the thrill of the hunt pulsing through her, invigorated by the day's battles, the thought of encountering a Turbeast sent a chill down her spine. She'd love to tear into one someday, rip it apart and taste victory, but today wasn't the day. Not with her team in this state. She glanced around at her troupe—exhaustion and injury marked each of them. One of her comrades was limping, another's torso was wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, and a third had crudely amputated fingers, flesh still raw from the makeshift cauterization. He had been hit by a beast of the viral swamp so they had no other option.

Despite the fatigue in their eyes, they pressed forward, pushing through the dense underbrush. They had encountered more aggressive beasts than usual, likely stirred up by the goblins who'd been bargaining like snakes, demanding wall rune work and techniques in trade. The core secrets of any village in this world. She was half-tempted to pummel those greedy bastards into the ground and take what they needed by force, but Garran—ever the voice of patience—had held her back. Thinking of him brought a scowl to her face. Garran had been seen running around with Lain lately, that gentle, calm healer with her irritatingly soft-spoken manner. Hati scoffed, her fists clenched. So what if Lain could heal wounds with a whisper? Hati could eat more than any man in the village. And one day she would devour the moon if it pleased her! That's far more impressive! Garran was just a fool.

She pushed these thoughts away and focused on her other reason for rushing back—her little Surya. News had reached her that Surya had been attacked by Elder Hathor, all because her newly arrived brother had apparently shredded Conryn and his lackeys into pieces. Hati grinned. Well done, boy. She would have torn the bastards apart herself if given the chance. And the audacity of that old one-eyed dick to raise a hand against Surya! She'd gone charging in that day too, only for Garran to hold her back once again. But today, nothing would keep her from meeting the boy who shared Surya's blood.

"Hati!" a voice called, snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned her head, catching sight of Lennix, a sickly but fierce blond member of the clan who was bringing up the rear, watching their backs. She had a grudging admiration for the man's tenacity—despite his frail frame, he always pushed himself. He was a hot-blooded one just like herself.

"We've got Vampyrs on our tail!" he shouted, urgency tightening his voice. Hati's instinct flared, almost forcing her to spin on her heels and confront them then and there. But she gritted her teeth, forcing her gaze forward. Her troupe was battered and bleeding, barely able to hold themselves together, let alone withstand a clash with Vampyrs. The last thing she wanted was to lose anyone to those walking corpses.

"Hold formation! We're almost at the wards. Once we're inside, we'll be safe!" she bellowed, her voice carrying through the dense trees, loud and commanding.

A resounding, "YES, MA'AM!" followed, bolstering her spirit. She could feel their loyalty in every syllable, and it made her grin. She had trained them well. She remembered when they were hesitant to be led by a girl.

The forest grew denser as they zigzagged through clusters of trees, dodging low branches and roots that threatened to trip them. Numen coursed through their bodies, allowing them to glide through the woods in silence, reducing their footprints to faint impressions. Despite their speed, the Vampyrs were relentless, their guttural snarls growing louder with each step. Hati clenched her jaw, her fingers itching for her spear as the creatures closed the distance.

"GROOWWWER HEEERRKKK!"

Their voices echoed, twisted and unnatural, accompanied by the rancid scent of decay. Hati's nose wrinkled in disgust. She could almost feel their rancid breath against her back, their decayed claws hungry to rip her and her comrades apart. She cursed under her breath. If not for the damned goblins' meddling, she'd have been more than ready to deal with these creatures.

A piercing shriek echoed behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Lennix, surrounded, narrowly avoiding a swipe from a Vampyr's claw as it tore a chunk from his armor, exposing a patch of raw, bloody flesh beneath.

"Go on ahead! I'll catch up!" she ordered, her voice firm, not allowing room for argument. Her gaze swept over her troops. They hesitated for just a second, faces twisted with worry, before nodding and pushing forward. She wouldn't allow herself to fail them, not now. Not ever.

"Lennix! To me!" she shouted, breaking formation and sprinting back. Lennix barely managed a nod, stumbling toward her, blood dripping down his side. Hati moved with purpose, each stride measured and powerful as she drew her double-sided spear from her back, the familiar weight calming her.

She summoned her numen, feeling it ripple through her muscles as she dashed past him, planting her feet into the soft earth. Gathering her strength, she let her momentum build, each step grounding her stance. In one smooth, practiced motion, she pivoted, twisting her waist and wielding her spear in a fierce arc.

"Solar Eclipse!"

Numen surged along the length of her weapon, the energy forming a radiant, circular arc. To anyone watching, it would have looked like a miniature eclipse—a brilliant halo of light that glowed as her spear cleaved through the air. The weapon sliced through Vampyrs with brutal efficiency, their legs and torsos split as if they were nothing but paper. The remnants of their bodies hung suspended, momentarily hovering in the shape of a halo before crashing down around her.

With her spear already lifted, she took advantage of the momentum, driving the blade into a Vampyr's torso that had flown upward in the wake of her initial attack. She imbued the severed body with numen and launched it at the staggering creatures ahead.

"Sun Hammer!"

The corpse exploded on impact, scattering flesh and bone across the clearing, forcing the remaining Vampyrs to falter in fear. The numen-infused blast scattered them, reducing their ranks to scattered limbs and blood-stained soil.

At the first layer while numen could not be projected from the body easily without rare exceptions like Garran's spear intent. Imbuing numen into objects for various effects was easy enough.

Lennix's eyes widened as he stumbled to a halt beside her, admiration flaring in his gaze. "Holy Fenrir, you tore through them already!" he shouted, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Heh, of course I did. I'll be one of the rulers of this village one day, after all," she replied, a cocky grin spreading across her face. He rolled his eyes, and warmth bloomed in her chest, this would be fun. "But don't get too comfy. You're slowing down, Lennix!"

"What? I'm not—Ahhhh!" Before he could finish, she hoisted him up onto her shoulder, ignoring his protests. She was back to running in an instant, accelerating to catch up with the others, her stride as relentless as before. Finally, the forest broke into a clearing, the village walls were visible just ahead. The other soldiers were already nearing the wards, some shouting with relief as they crossed into safety.

"With a head start barely any one of you made it back before me," Hati boasted, setting Lennix down roughly, his dignity bruised but his gratitude evident. A dark-skinned warrior, Kofi, clapped him on the back with a laugh.

"Hati carrying you like a princess now, Lennix? Trying to win her over, are ya?"

"Shut it," Lennix grumbled, but he couldn't hide the flush creeping up his neck. Hati laughed, tossing her hair back.

"Nice try, but you're not my type. I like a challenge! Plus you were running to Kofi. Get to the eighth shackle and you'll have room to talk!" She shot back, eliciting a round of laughter from her comrades. They walked toward the main gate, and Hati banged her fist on the heavy wood, her voice echoing as she announced their return. The gates creaked open slowly, each inch revealing familiar faces of the village. She was a bit upset to not find Garran waiting for her. If she found him walking with Lain she swore he'd have two new lumps on his skull. But her irritation was quickly snuffed out when she saw who was waiting for her.

Standing there, dressed simply yet glowing with a prettily as she always did, was her Surya. The girl's amethyst eyes and golden hair glistened in the midday light, her silver wings tucked elegantly behind her. Next to her stood a boy, wearing a simple white shirt and dark trousers, his gaze bright with curiosity. He was her mirror and her kin, his red eyes sharper and more intense, his scales obsidian with white flecks, and four horns cresting his head. Hati's heart swelled with pride as she grinned, ready to call out to them.

"Eeehhh my Surya was waiting for me—"

Her words cut off as a low, ominous rumble shook the ground beneath her. Hati's eyes widened, and she whipped around just in time to see a horde of Vampyrs charging toward the now-open gate, clawed hands reaching out, lips twisted in hungry snarls.

"Malfunction in the ward! Close the gates!" a sentry yelled from the wall, his voice tinged with panic. But it was clear the gates wouldn't close in time. The Vampyrs were too close, and the few villagers around them stood frozen in horror, unprepared for the bloodshed approaching.

Her mind sharpened, every instinct screaming to protect the civilians. The Vampyrs were closing in fast, and her soldiers weren't in fighting condition. But Hati was born for moments like this. She planted her feet firmly on the ground, gripping her spear with both hands, ready to meet the creatures head-on. Her voice rang out, unwavering and fierce, "All who can fight, stand with me! No soul shall be lost today—not one! This I solemnly swear!"

Just as she took her first step forward, a blur of silver and gold shot past her, startling her into a momentary pause. Hati's eyes widened as she registered that the blur was Surya, her wings outstretched, the sunlight glinting off her feathers, making her seem almost otherworldly. And trailing just behind her was a streak of black and white—the boy, his sharp gaze fixed on the oncoming horde, his mouth curled into a fierce snarl. The siblings moved with lethal purpose, a natural ease that belied their youth.

And she looked ahead only to see violence in it's truest form.

_________________________

Tanya felt her gaze settle on Midea, suspicion flickering in her amethyst eyes as they observed him closely. For all the things he'd done to help her and Tarak so far, she knew better than to trust the demon implicitly. She had no doubt he had his own agenda—he wasn't exactly subtle about it. He grinned far too often, always with that same sly look that made it hard to gauge his true thoughts. She was certain that every time he plastered on that smile, he was cooking up something, some scheme he'd keep hidden behind that facade. If she wasn't careful, she'd find herself tangled in whatever he was planning. The tricky part, though, was that Midea seemed well aware of how he was perceived. He smiled often enough that it was impossible to tell if it was genuine or just his way of masking his intentions. There was no clear line between the two.

As she recalled the morning, she felt her suspicion deepen. Midea had shown up with of talk of Rannhorn milk, already knowing they would wait near the village's front gate for Hati. The way he had looked at her then, with a glint in his eye, suggested that he was hiding something more than just a few mundane details. Tanya couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was almost as if he'd put something in motion, an invisible thread pulling her toward an outcome only he knew. She was grateful for his assistance with Tarak's clothing, given that she wouldn't have to watch her brother dragging his oversized clothes through the mud. Still, that look had told her he was planning something beyond their morning routine. Something he had no intention of revealing, at least not yet. She had thought he had done something with the chieftain but apparently that was not the case.

Her thoughts lingered on Tarak, her mind drifting to the events of the previous day. Despite the fresh scents of the forest and the villagers bustling around, she could still remember the pungent odor that had clung to the air when she'd found her brother yesterday amid the ruined remains of her home and the wild battle. Strangely, there was no scent of filth on Tarak himself, which only added to her suspicions. It was likely that someone had defiled the area, desecrating her home in the short span of time between Tarak's birth and the ensuing battle. The culprit was clear in her mind—Conryn and his lackeys, the same lot she'd injured when they had attacked Hati. While it seemed that Tarak had definitely done more than simply defend himself. Given what she'd pieced together, she was sure that they had contributed to the destruction as much as any of Tarak's actions.

While she couldn't muster much sympathy for them, she knew her indifference wasn't solely out of spite. There was something primal within her that had solidified her loyalty to Tarak above all else. He was her kin, her brother, and her instincts screamed to protect him, a fierce compulsion woven into her very being. Her own thoughts and emotions had melded with this innate sense of kinship, sharpening her focus on him in a way that overrode nearly everything else.

A quiet sound pulled her out of her thoughts. "Aughhh," came the faint murmur, and she glanced down at her brother. His red eyes were wide with wonder as he looked around, taking in the world with a sense of raw curiosity, almost as if each step revealed some new marvel. A small smile tugged at her lips. She had to admire his resilience, his relentless curiosity that persisted despite all he had gone through so far.

She leaned down slightly, speaking to him with a softer tone, "I'll treat you to something really nice, Tarak. Well, Hati will. You haven't met her yet, but try not to attack her when you see her, alright? I'll be there with you." She kept her voice gentle, as she knew that children, no matter their origin, were more receptive to kindness.

Her brother's head snapped back to her, his eyes sharp, gentle but almost calculating as well as he considered her words. Though he was still learning, she could already see flickers of understanding in his expression. He was picking things up quickly, even if he wasn't quite on par with her own rapid understanding when she was born. But that was to be expected. She had a unique advantage, an edge he didn't possess. Still, it wouldn't be long before he mastered speech himself.

They finally reached the main gate, the heavy wood towering over them. She mused about Hati, wondering briefly why the woman hadn't mentioned picking up milk for her the day before. Then again, with the recent events surrounding her and Tarak's arrival, Hati probably hadn't been able to make time. Not that she would have begrudged her friend for it—Hati had always been protective, perhaps even excessively so, ever since they'd met.

The echo of Hati's voice soon reached her ears from beyond the gate. "Opening!" she called, her voice carrying a sense of strength and command that could rally even the most hesitant heart. Tanya watched as the soldiers filed in, their steps heavy, marked with exhaustion and tension after what was undoubtedly a grueling journey. Though her face remained composed, Tanya made a mental note of the weariness in their eyes and the bruises marking their bodies. It was a stark reminder of the dangers lurking outside the village, dangers she would one day have to face.

As the last of the troupe entered, Hati came into view, her red hair wild and untamed, burnt-orange eyes scanning the area with an intensity that betrayed her readiness for action. Tanya noticed Hati's gaze soften as it settled on her, but before that they had been flickering through a myriad of emotions—first relief, then a brief flash of irritation, and finally a spark of delight once she saw herself. Tanya suppressed a chuckle. Hati's emotions were like an open book, her face far too expressive to hide her thoughts.

"Eeehhhh, my Surya was waiting for m—"

Before she could finish, a low, thunderous rumble shook the ground beneath them. Tanya felt it reverberate through her bones, and she stiffened, turning her head sharply in the direction of the sound. The sentry's voice rang out, high and urgent from above, "Malfunction in the ward! Close the gates!"

The gate began to creak, but it was too little, too late. Shadows writhed in the distance, growing in size as a horde of Vampyrs surged toward them, their grotesque forms barely visible through the haze of dust and decay. They moved with unnatural speed, clawed hands stretching out hungrily, eyes burning with the primal instinct to devour. Tanya's muscles tensed, instincts flaring as her body prepared for battle.

Hati's voice cut through the air, fierce and resolute. "All who can fight, stand with me! No soul shall be lost today—not one! This I solemnly swear!" She positioned herself, feet planted firmly on the ground, her spear raised with both hands, ready to meet the advancing creatures head-on. Her voice held a commanding authority that left no room for hesitation, her presence a beacon for the others to rally behind.

And yet, before Hati could even take a step forward, Tanya felt a surge of energy well up within her, an uncontrollable urge that propelled her forward. She moved instinctively, shooting past Hati, her body a blur of silver and gold as her wings unfurled behind her, catching the sunlight and scattering rays in a halo around her form. The sunlight glinted off her feathers, illuminating her as she dashed toward the horde, an avenging spirit wrapped in light and fury.

A second blur followed close behind her, black and white flashing in the periphery of her vision. She didn't need to turn to know it was Tarak. Something primal resonated between them, a connection that ran deeper than thought or reason. She had wanted to tell him to wait, to hang back for safety's sake, but the moment she felt his presence beside her, she knew he wouldn't heed any such command. They were family, and family didn't stand idly by in times of danger. A predatory grin spread across her face, her teeth sharpening into dagger-like points as the thrill of battle ignited every nerve. Instincts surged within her, urging her forward, filling her with a savage joy she could no longer deny.

______________________

Tanya barreled into the first Vampyr, her momentum alone tearing through its torso, the sickening crunch of bone and sinew echoing as she thrust its body forward into another Vampyr that had leaped to intercept her. She twisted her wrist, claws digging deeper, and with a brutal pull, tore the head clean off the second Vampyr through the first, using it as an improvised weapon to slam into yet another. Her strength was overwhelming, each movement efficient, honed, and lethal. Blood splattered across her face, warm and viscous, heightening her awareness as every instinct sharpened.

Sensing movement at her back, she spread her wings in a powerful arc, and they whipped out with shocking speed, decapitating two Vampyrs that had closed in from behind. Their heads rolled across the ground as their bodies collapsed in lifeless heaps. Tanya vaulted into the air with a powerful beat of her wings, ascending above the horde. With a calculated glance below, she pinpointed Tarak weaving through the creatures like a force of nature, his tail cutting through the enemies with brutal efficiency, each flick of its barbed end slicing flesh and bone as though they were paper. The forest floor was soon littered with dismembered limbs and torsos, a crimson tapestry painting the earth in his wake.

A hail of blood bullets suddenly hurtled toward her, trailing crimson arcs as they sliced through the air, forcing Tanya to dodge mid-flight. She twisted, her wings folding briefly as she cut through the onslaught, but one Vampyr, clearly more adept, condensed a spear of blood and hurled it at her with lethal precision, its velocity three times that of the regular projectiles. In an instant, Tanya caught the spear, her hand wrapping around it as she redirected its energy, turning sharply in the air. With an effortless throw, she launched it back with twice the force, the air rippling and leaving cones from the sheer speed. The spear shot through the horde, tearing into multiple Vampyrs; the shockwave alone was enough to blast several others backward, splattering their remains against the trees.

With a mighty dive, Tanya plunged back down, her wings hardening instinctively flew parallel to the ground, cutting through Vampyrs with the precision of a scythe. Blood sprayed in wide arcs as her wings cleaved through the attackers, turning them to pieces in a matter of seconds. She felt the exhilarating rush of power coursing through her, instincts roaring, her thoughts receding to primal simplicity as her body moved with lethal grace. Vampyrs began to swarm her, their numbers pressing in until she was pinned beneath a pile of bodies, jaws gnashing and clawed hands grabbing at her arms and wings. But Tanya, unfazed, tensed her muscles, and with one immense surge, flared her wings and shook them all off. The Vampyrs, though ferocious, were no match for her raw strength; they flew into the air, jaws snapping helplessly, as she flapped her wings to scatter them further.

Pushing her speed, she lashed out at the air each punch now blurring with raw power, tearing holes through the attackers that were airborne with just the pressure. Every blow sounded like a gunshot, the sheer force sending shockwaves through the ranks, cracking the bones of any Vampyr too close. Her fists were a blur, the air around her vibrating with each strike, leaving shattered forms of Vampyrs lying in her wake. She threw one final punch, its power creating a powerful gust that scattered the remaining Vampyrs, their bodies flung in all directions as if they weighed nothing.

She caught sight of Tarak again, his mouth smeared with blood as he bit down on a Vampyr's skull, feasting on its gray matter with a frenzied hunger. The sight ignited her own instincts further, her primal side pushing her on. She turned to face a Vampyr that had condensed a blood blade, the weapon gleaming as it sliced through the air toward her. She sidestepped, dodging with calculated precision, and delivered a brutal punch to its head, sending it skidding back, though not dead. It was stronger than the others, likely a higher shackle, and lunged again, the blade aiming for her throat.

She twisted, her two right wings stabbing forward in unison, impaling it through the head and stomach. The creature retaliated, acid-tipped claws raking across her face, and she felt the sting as it scraped over her eye, momentarily blinding her, though it failed to destroy her eyeball. A hiss of pain escaped her as her vision blurred in one eye. Yet she could feel her body healing, the irritation fading as her regenerative abilities surged to repair the damage. She retaliated with a brutal blow, sending the creature flying backward, disoriented and vulnerable.

More Vampyrs swarmed, trying to use her momentary distraction, their bodies pressing in, jaws snapping as they tried to latch onto her. But Tanya, seeing through her one good eye, ripped an arm off one mid-leap, using it to impale another Vampyr through the mouth, pinning it to the ground in a single motion. Another leapt from her blind spot, its claws reaching for her side, but it might as well have struck iron; her skin resisted its attack easily. With a predatory grin, she grabbed its skull, crushing it effortlessly in her hand. Her eye blinked open again, vision restored as if the injury had never occurred.

A barrage of blood bullets filled the air, whizzing toward her like a deadly storm. She angled her wings, deflecting them back with a powerful sweep. The bullets ricocheted, their force redirected, striking down several of the Vampyrs in their own ranks. The nearby Vampyrs exploded into clouds of blood and viscera, their bodies torn asunder from the unexpected assault. Glancing to her side, she saw a spray of Vampyr limbs and gore erupt as Tarak, moving on all fours, charged through their ranks. His entire body was a weapon, each movement precise and deadly, his horns stabbing through any creature foolish enough to stand in his way. He ran through them and tended to lead with his horns like some legendary bull it was amusing to see. It was a technique reminiscent of what she had done with her low flight.

Tanya couldn't help but feel a dark pride at the sight, a recognition of their shared blood. Taking advantage of the break in the enemies' ranks, she shot into the air, creating a vortex of wind with her wings. The sheer force of her wingbeats whipped the Vampyrs into a chaotic frenzy, flinging them backward like leaves caught in a hurricane. Blood projectiles scattered, unable to reach her through the wall of air she generated.

As Tarak leapt between Vampyrs ignoring the air pressure, he slashed and tore, his claws rending flesh with a gleeful savagery. He pounced on one of the last Vampyrs, tearing chunks of flesh from it piece by piece, his motions so swift that the creature barely had time to react before it was reduced to a skeleton. His eyes flashed with exhilaration, and he moved even faster, bounding between his targets with terrifying agility, each strike more brutal than the last.

With only a handful of Vampyrs remaining, Tanya felt an instinctive urge to end this with a final display of power and flair. Rising high above the battlefield, she folded her wings tight and angled downward, building speed as she dived. The air split around her, creating rippling shockwaves as she plummeted like a silver meteor, her fist cocked back and ready. The moment her fist connected with the ground, a tremendous force erupted, sending a cascade of shattered earth and debris into the air, creating a crater large enough to swallow a small forest clearing. The explosion blasted the remaining Vampyrs into the air, their bodies twisted and broken from the sheer impact. Hundreds of boulders that would dwarf a man the size of Remus flew airborne almost as if stationary for a second.

In the brief moment of weightlessness, Tarak leapt from chunk to chunk of flying earth, his agile form striking down the last of the airborne Vampyrs. Each of his strikes was precise, his claws and teeth shredding through the Vampyrs mid-air before they could even begin to fall. He tore through one, then another, moving so quickly it seemed as though he were everywhere at once, his claws slicing through the monsters in a red blur of carnage. Tanya mirrored his assault, dispatching any stragglers that drifted within her reach, her movements swift and relentless.

As the shattered earth finally crashed down, a cloud of dust enveloped the battlefield, the remnants of the Vampyr horde reduced to scattered pieces, painting the ground in thick, dark pools of blood. When the dust settled, only Tanya and Tarak remained, standing amidst the ruins of the massive crater, drenched in the blood of their enemies, their expressions fierce and unyielding.

Side by side, they walked back toward the village walls, the evidence of their brutal victory surrounding them, each step leaving distinct clawed footprints in the dirt. Perhaps because of the speed they were moving at the footprints they left behind seemed to release steam as if they were atavistic beings leaving behind an eternal mark on the world. They were like a god and devil walking side by side.

And the fight? The entire fight had ended in barely over a minute.

_________________

The warmth Tanya felt was both energizing and strangely overwhelming. She had absorbed a considerable amount of energy from the battle, her body instinctively siphoning it in a way that left her buzzing with vigor. Yet, because she hadn't consumed any of the creatures directly like Tarak had, much of that excess was dissipating into nothing within her, her body subconsciously destroying it because of her failure to complete the cycle of hunting and eating. From the corner of her eye, she noticed her brother glancing back toward the massacre, his crimson eyes lingering on the bloodied corpses sprawled across the battlefield.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"C'mon, Tarak," she called gently, her voice steady yet coaxing. "I know it's tempting, but let's head back." The underlying urgency in her tone made it clear this was not the time to indulge in further bloodshed. He gave a slight grunt of dissatisfaction, but heeded her words, falling in step beside her.

As they approached the village gates, she could feel the villagers' gazes on them, a mix of fear, awe, and something else that made her chest tighten—a strange kind of pride. The sheer scale of what she and Tarak had accomplished was dawning on her, too. She had relied on nothing more than instincts and fragments of martial knowledge from her past life, yet each move had felt like second nature. This body—her new form—was born for combat, every muscle, every nerve wired for efficiency and destruction. In that brief battle, she had felt something primordial and raw guiding her, a violent grace that had made her strikes devastatingly precise.

And she had also confirmed some of her guesses. For one her wings even when not hardened were the most durable part of her body. And her eyes were also exceedingly durable in fact the blow to her eyes didn't feel much different from the blows to her skin. There was an absurd possibility that broke the rules of biology that she was considering at the moment. It was that the durability of this body was uniform. While it didn't make much sense and would make a lot of the body redundant. It was a distinct possibility especially because she felt every part of her body slowly drinking in the ambient numen of the world.

But her musings were cut short as she observed the crowd's reactions in more detail. Some villagers were wide-eyed, staring at her with a mixture of reverence and fear. Others were huddled close to one another, whispering with expressions of disbelief. She could catch snippets of their mutterings, phrases like "unnatural strength," "dark power," and "blessing from the sun spirits." The awe in their voices was palpable, feeding the warm embers of her own confidence in changing their perception of her kin.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a familiar figure charging toward her. Hati sprinted across the village square, her face tight with worry. Tanya's chest tightened slightly; she knew exactly what was about to happen. She shot a quick glance at Tarak, who, already sensing the incoming force of Hati's enthusiasm, had tensed, his tail spiking defensively. She nudged him with her shoulder, whispering, "Tarak, don't hurt her!"

Just in time, Hati skidded to her knees before them, sweeping both siblings into a fierce embrace. Her arms wrapped around them tightly, and Tanya could feel the woman's pulse racing, her breathing quick and erratic from worry. She turned her head, catching Tarak's wary expression as he stiffened in Hati's hold, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. His tail prickled, spiking in defense, but one pointed look from Tanya softened his posture. He allowed Hati's embrace, though he clearly wasn't thrilled by it.

"Surya, are you okay?! That was incredible, you two!" Hati exclaimed, her voice a mix of pride and lingering anxiety. "Thank you for protecting the village like that. You were both so fast, I barely had time to help." She punctuated her words with a gentle bonk on both of their heads, a playful reprimand masked by affection. "And remember, it's the adults' job to handle these things! Plus, you're hogging all my glory," she added with a grin, clearly impressed despite herself.

Before Tanya could respond, she noticed that others were beginning to gather around them—Garran, Remus, and several other familiar faces, all wearing expressions that ranged from admiration to fear and disbelief. Recognizing a chance to take advantage of the situation, Tanya straightened, clearing her throat and adopting a serious tone. "I just felt the power of the sun filling my body at that moment. Faced with such creatures, I couldn't let them endanger anyone." She kept her voice steady, though the mere mention of the word "sun" made her body momentarily cringe in resistance. Attributing her victories to some faux deity wasn't pleasant but if it was useful then she'd do it. The effect on those around her was immediate. Heads nodded in understanding, expressions softening with admiration.

"There are truly too many strange things in this world. Are you alright, Hati?" Garran asked, his voice laced with a hint of concern as his gaze shifted from Tanya to Hati.

Hati's eyes flashed, her protective instincts flaring up. "Of course I'm alright! And don't call my Surya strange!" she snapped, a hint of playful irritation in her tone. Then, as if realizing who she was speaking to, her gaze sharpened. "And why are you even here, Garran? Weren't you off doing more 'important' things?"

Tanya observed the exchange with an amused glint in her eye, sensing the undercurrent of unresolved tension between the two. Garran looked momentarily taken aback, but sighed in quiet defeat. "I… was, but…"

"Forget it," Hati interjected, her tone dismissive, though there was a slight, begrudging smile tugging at her lips. Tanya could tell this was simply the nature of their relationship—a dance of friendly jabs and challenges that, for all its bickering, didn't seem to disrupt their bond.

With the small talk momentarily over, Tanya decided it was time to address something more pressing. She raised her voice just enough to catch Hati's attention, her expression expectant. "By the way, where's my Rannhorn milk?"

Hati blinked, momentarily thrown by the unexpected question, but then her eyes softened with amusement. She pulled the siblings close again, chuckling softly. "Rannhorn milk? I don't have any on me right now, but I'll get you two some soon, you little cuties." She flashed them both a warm grin, her tone dripping with affection.

Tanya's brows knitted, a flicker of irritation simmering beneath her calm demeanor. Typical, she thought, letting a sigh escape. Tanya felt the veins on her forehead bulge. She had never been fond of gods but as it turns out she wasn't fond of demons either. Her gaze shifted to the shadows, fully expecting to see the imp.

And, predictably, with a faint whiff of brimstone and a flash of light, Midea appeared, emerging from a swirl of dark flame and shadow, his familiar grin stretching wide across his face. He clapped his hands together, his voice smooth and serpentine as ever.

__________________

Midea had observed the fight closely, honest-to-Satan astonished by the display of raw power. Their speed and strength were absurd, almost otherworldly in their intensity. Tarak's tail lashed through the Vampyrs like a divine blade, the spikes along its length gleaming as they sliced through undead flesh with lethal efficiency. Surya was equally devastating. Her wings—absurdly powerful—became weapons of pure destruction, able to become sharp as blades to rend anything in her path. With a single punch, she had shattered the earth, creating a crater that stretched several meters deep and over a thousand feet across, its edges jagged from the sheer force of her strike. Her wings seemed to cover the sky, casting vast shadows, while Tarak's teeth and claws came up from the earth carving through their foes with a savage elegance. Midea couldn't help but be reminded of some mythical battle, a legendary scene destined to be remembered forever, unfolding before him. Wings that covered the sky and jaws and teeth that erupted from the earth. It was similar to Behemoth and Ziz of legends. Of course, that thought was an insane one. Or maybe not considering their mother.

Creation had infinite realms, but none had prepared him for dealing with this shit. He was, after all, Midea Scelus—one of Hell's foremost geniuses. And yet, as he watched them fight, he couldn't shake the unsettling realization that should he ever face them both in combat, his own victory was uncertain. The idea was so ludicrous he almost scoffed out loud. Midea, the prodigy of House Scelus, was seriously contemplating the possibility of defeat at the hands of two literal infants who hadn't even begun to cultivate their power. His father would likely be pissing himself laughing if he could witness this moment. The man did have the bad habit of looking down on his children's failures with disdain and humor rather than anything else.

Despite his lingering astonishment, Midea couldn't help but scoff at his own thoughts this time aloud, his pride unwilling to let the reality fully settle in. This girl was more perceptive and dangerous than he had initially realized, but that also worked to his advantage. He had seen Surya's mind at work—keen, adaptable, and calculating. Her invocation of "sun power" was brilliant, both for rallying the villagers and for subtly altering their perceptions of her kin. It was a move that could shift favor toward them, and he was more than happy to play along with the divine act if it would serve his goals.

He planned to make his way toward the crowd with an embellished flair, moving at high speed, his appearance cloaked in shadow and flame. It wasn't true teleportation, simply an art to look grand and intimidating. Such techniques were popular among his circle for obvious reasons, enhancing the dramatic impact of his presence.

With a dramatic flourish, he activated the art. Shadows flickered around him as he moved at impossible speed, leaving behind a swirl of dark flames and wisps of shadows for effect. The embellishment was purely for spectacle, something his circle of nobles in Hell had perfected. Appearances mattered, after all. He clapped his hands, drawing the attention of the gathered villagers.

"Alright, everyone, I must apologize for the malfunction with the wards," he announced, his voice resonating through the crowd. Bowing his head in a faux show of humility, he wore his usual grin. Not that they knew that of course. "I've been working around the clock to secure them, and this may have caused some instability. I sincerely apologize for any unease it caused. I promise that it will be better in the future."

His apology was met with murmurs from the crowd. Without giving them time to voice any doubt, he raised his voice, gesturing toward Surya and Tarak. "However!" he continued grandly, "in the face of this peril, your young protectors—the seventh Surya and Tarak—did not hesitate. Without a second thought, they stood against the shadow of death that loomed above this village and shattered it! Where there could have been devastation, there is instead peace, and you owe it to these two remarkable beings." His words hung in the air, commanding the crowd's attention as a sense of reverence settled over them.

His words were practically dripping with grandeur, and words planted the seeds of admiration within the crowd. Some villagers appeared shocked at the mention of the boy's name—Tarak—but others seemed appreciative of what the siblings had done. Some faces lit up with awe, and others remained wary, their expressions a blend of uncertainty and resentment. He could see the doubt lingering, the unease that not everyone was swayed so easily. Midea knew not everyone would give in.

And he was proven right when a man near the front of the gathering, his voice dripping with skepticism, interrupted. "You named the damn boy Tarak, and that doesn't change the fact that he crippled two members of our clan permanently!" The crowd shifted, tension brewing as eyes fell upon Midea, Hati, and the siblings.

Midea noticed Hati tense, her body ready to leap to their defense. He held up a hand quickly, silently urging her to hold her peace. Before he could intervene, another voice rose from the crowd, a steady and authoritative tone that commanded immediate respect.

"He's a child, Bardo," Garran's voice cut through the crowd, his tone even and powerful. "And let's not forget, Midea warned us these children were akin to mythical beings. Kids lash out when they're scared or overwhelmed, and unfortunately for those boys, Tarak wasn't weak enough to make that inconsequential. I'm not saying what he did was right, nor that the other boys deserved it. But think of the circumstances and remember what these children did today."

A thoughtful silence spread through the gathering, and Midea felt a flicker of respect for the man, the village's general and future leader. Looking down, he noted the soft smile Hati directed at Garran, one that spoke volumes about her trust in him. Perhaps Garran wasn't as short-sighted as he had previously thought. Then, another voice spoke, calm and clear, shifting the energy once more.

"The girl is named after the seventh sun," Lain stepped forward, her presence serene yet resolute. "Today, she felt the blessing of the sun. As for Tarak, he is of Surya's blood in this life. Fenrir himself once said that all living things are his pack, and that those within it should be uplifted by their merit and actions. He taught us that every creature of merit deserves patience and understanding. Today, the blood of the sun and part of our pack protected us. Will you reject them, going against the teachings of Lord Fenrir because of their past mistakes?" Her voice, though gentle, held a weight that resonated deeply within the crowd, her words aligning seamlessly with Garran's stance.

"Look at you!" Hati's voice thundered suddenly, her eyes blazing as she addressed the villagers. "These children fought and bore injuries to protect you while you adults cowered behind them! And now you have the audacity to call them evil? Are your skulls cracked? Are your brains leaking? Because that would explain why you can't think straight!" Her fierce declaration drew a few laughs from the crowd, and more than a few heads nodding in agreement. She had a way of cutting through pretense, and her support was clear and unapologetic. Her words cut sharply however, leaving some of the crowd however murmuring in shame and silence.

A smirk tugged at Midea's lips as he saw his argument practically forming itself before him. Hati, Garran, and Lain were already doing his job. But not everyone was convinced. Conryn stepped forward, his father trailing closely behind him, anger written clearly across his face. He raised his arm, pointing a finger toward Tarak with barely contained rage. "That thing," he spat, his voice trembling with emotion, "crippled two of my friends permanently. Look what he did to me!" He ripped off a patch on his face, revealing a scarred hole, and lifted his shirt, exposing a long wound that stretched from his shoulder to his torso. A few gasps sounded from the crowd, sympathy stirring for the boy's injuries.

At that moment, Elder Hathor stepped forward, his presence cold and unyielding as he spoke to the chieftain and the crowd both.

"Indeed, Remus," Hathor's voice rose from the crowd, his words measured yet tinged with disdain. "Are our laws so fragile that we allow this monstrosity to walk among us? Does the word of an elder mean nothing? I can appreciate the boy's bravery today, but saving lives does not erase his crimes. We should lock him up, or better yet, expel him entirely. Today's battle showed what dangerous creatures they are—mythical beasts with no place among us."

A ripple of agreement rolled through some of the crowd, their fear and uncertainty manifesting as hesitant nods and murmurs.

Remus raised a hand, attempting to placate both sides. "Enough. Both sides have valid points. We are a village of laws, and we cannot ignore them. But these children did save us, and if Surya is indeed blessed by the sun… and if Midea continues to support our village… Perhaps instead of punishment, we can consider placing him in a controlled environment, to limit any potential harm." His tone sought balance, though his gaze shifted to Midea with unease.

Midea only smiled, his confidence unwavering as he caught Surya's expectant glance from the corner of his eye. With a subtle nod, he assured her—this was only the beginning of his plan. He grinned, after all a Scelus never disappoints.

"Actually," he began, addressing the crowd, "I have something that may ease your minds." He gestured toward Conryn. "Since he's here, let's bring the uninjured boy as well. We'll go to the scene of the incident and investigate what truly happened."

Hati looked at Midea with interest, her gaze flickering with a spark of understanding before she dashed off, going to grab the large uninjured boy to bring to the site.

"What are you getting at, Midea?" Remus asked, a note of suspicion in his voice. Midea's grin only widened, his eyes flashing with intrigue.

"Things aren't as simple as they seem. When Surya was born, she attacked a Vampyr—an obvious threat—but no one else. Ask yourself, why is that?" His words hung heavily in the air, each syllable calculated to intrigue and unsettle.

"What are you implying, boy?" Hathor spat, irritation flickering in his gaze. Midea's patience wore thin, but he maintained a cool demeanor, returning the elder's glare with an even sharper edge.

"I am no boy," Midea retorted smoothly, "and I mean that your son, Hathor, is not blameless. Is it so hard to imagine that a child, sensing danger, might react defensively?" He raised his voice, addressing the crowd with a force that silenced the elder, ripples of curiosity spreading through the onlookers.

Remus sighed, defeated, and gestured for him to continue. "Very well, Midea. Show us this evidence of yours." From the corner of his eye, Midea observed Conryn tense, a flicker of guilt betraying his defiant stance. This was going perfectly.

The crowd followed Midea and the children, their numbers swelling as they moved down the dirt roads toward Surya's ruined home. Surya walked beside her brother, her hand clasped firmly around his, while villagers gave them a wide berth, their respect tempered with a hint of residual fear. As they arrived at the site, Midea noted a glint of golden hair among the crowd—a girl whose hair shone with the same woven gold sheen as Surya's. But there was no time to consider this further; he had work to do.

"I have a technique called 'Traces of the Past,' which identifies unique numen signatures and reveals traces people leave behind. Let me demonstrate."

As he activated the art, energy swept over the area, illuminating signatures left behind by distinct presences. The bloodstains, footprints, and even the foul stench of defecation in Surya's home became visible markers. Midea's gaze scanned the area, the numen signatures pulsing faintly, revealing the intruders' paths with startling clarity.

"As you can see, there are footprints leading directly into Surya's home, one set up to the rafters. There's even defecation left by two individuals, not one," he announced, his tone firm and unyielding. "And if you observe the echoes of the wards around Tarak's pen, there's a distinct print there as well."

"How do we know this signature is my son's?" Hathor demanded, his voice dark.

Midea met his gaze coolly. "He can step within the range of the art and demonstrate any move, or simply walk, and we'll see if it aligns."

The elder began to protest, but Hati returned just in time with Worgen, who looked visibly shaken. "Let's put it to the test, then," she said, her voice steady as she reassured the frightened boy. Midea observed Conryn's panicked glance toward Worgen, who backed away in fear. Reading the situation, Midea stepped forward.

"Naturally, nothing will happen to you," he said calmly. "We're simply confirming facts." Worgen nodded hesitantly, stepping into the technique's field, his numen flowing. Sure enough, the trace matched the remnants found in Surya's home, the prints aligning perfectly. Gasps echoed around them as realization struck.

"I—I was there with Conryn and Ohkong," Worgen stammered, voice trembling as he recounted the events. "We… destroyed the house… and, um, defiled it."

"I say that's a lie!" Hathor barked, but Remus's voice cut him off, his tone final.

"SILENCE! This is proof enough. The boys have faced their punishment already, and Tarak's actions were in defense, not malice. Our laws remain intact, but our judgment should reflect the truth." His voice was steady, firm. "Let it go."

Public opinion had shifted definitively. The villagers looked at the children with acknowledgment, some fear remaining but no longer outweighing respect. Midea met Surya's gaze, flashing a triumphant thumbs-up, though she only rolled her eyes in response. Still, his mood wasn't dampened. There was something deeply satisfying in watching a plan unfold to perfection.

He truly was a brilliantly handsome and intelligent demon. A worthy future overlord.

___________________

As the sky deepened into twilight, Tanya walked beside her brother, his small hand warm in hers. Shadows stretched across the village as soft lanterns began to flicker on, casting a gentle glow on the winding dirt path. Despite the day's challenges, a sense of accomplishment hummed within her, though tempered by frustration at Midea's hidden manipulations. The demon had orchestrated something with those wards—she was almost certain of it. She was aware of his meticulous nature, she did not buy that excuse. Yet, whatever annoyance she held for his covert methods, she couldn't deny his intelligence. He had somehow known the Vampyrs would file in behind Hati's group, and despite the chaos, his plan had cast her and Tarak in a favorable light.

As they walked, villagers who passed by whispered in hushed tones, casting glances her way that seemed softened by awe, even reverence. A man approached and handed them an apple with a quiet nod, his hand slightly trembling. Before she could fully process the gesture, another villager stepped forward, offering a skewer threaded with sizzling meats. A third villager brought forth a bundle of new clothes, murmuring his thanks. The generosity, though unexpected, reminded her of the deep sense of community among the villagers, even when tinged with apprehension.

She tightened her grip on Tarak's hand, glancing at the moons that hung low and full in the sky. She hadn't even been here a full month, yet her presence—and that of her brother—had stirred the village to its core. Each passing day seemed to bring new revelations and conflicts, each experience deepening her connection to her new life. If she could even call it hers truly. A gentle sigh escaped her lips as they turned toward the rural outskirts, where shadows cast the night's embrace across the quiet fields.

The warm night air drifted around them as they walked, and she noticed a subtle change in Tarak—he seemed taller than when he'd first been born, and the realization struck her. It had only been a day, yet his growth was perceptible, his head now way above her shoulder. Though not taller than her yet if you didn't count his horns. His slender limbs were lengthening, his presence already shifting from newborn fragility to something stronger. Her thoughts lingered, considering the possibility of sexual dimorphism among the Tyrannius. Or perhaps it was the animalistic traits in his blood driving his rapid development—after all, some reptiles matured far faster than birds. But more likely, it was the sheer number of lives he'd taken today, the way he had fought so instinctively. Energy seemed to help their kind grow.

Reaching over, she ruffled his hair, chuckling as he leaned into her touch with a soft huff of satisfaction. The memory of that man, the one who'd suggested they lock up or even expel Tarak, brushed the edges of her mind, igniting a protective fury she hadn't felt since she'd first awakened in this body. The thought of anyone threatening him filled her with an almost primal wrath, yet she knew she'd concealed it well. She was gaining control over the instincts of this body, feeling her reactions and impulses more as tools she could wield rather than distractions. A similar surge had overtaken her earlier, too, when Hati had been in danger. Had Hati imprinted upon her? She grimaced slightly at the thought, realizing that perhaps it was too late to escape the fierce loyalty she felt for the warrior woman. And given her bond with Tarak, she had likely consigned him to a similar fate.

"Sorry I couldn't get you any of that Rannhorn milk, Tarak," she murmured, glancing down at him.

He responded with a gentle nod, his quiet affirmation revealing his understanding beyond mere words.

"And… thanks for your help today." Her voice softened, and in response, he let out a proud, almost self-assured grunt, as though to say that protecting her was simply his duty.

A smile broke across her face. What a reliable little brother she had. Turning a corner, she spotted Luna waiting for her, practically bouncing on her feet. She had meant to meet the girl the night before, but the chaos of recent events had made it impossible.

"Surya! Why weren't you here yesterday?" Luna's voice shot out in rapid-fire excitement, her gaze darting to Tarak. "Le gasp—who's that? What is that?! His horns are so cool! Do you think I would look good with horns? Like, imagine—a wolf with horns! That's an amazing idea, right? Oh, and he has a tail too, but it's all scaly. Too bad you don't have a tail, Surya. His eyes are amazing, so red and shiny—yours are purple, which is also amazing. I'm so jealous! My eyes are just black. And… wait, his marks look like yours! Oh! Is he the other one, the other egg? But why are you feathery and he's all scaly? Hmm…"

Her words poured out like a stream, each sentence tumbling over the next without pause. It reminded Tanya of their first meeting, when Luna's exuberant chatter had been almost too much to take in. She raised a hand, signaling for the girl to slow down.

"Easy, Luna. Yes, this is my brother, Tarak. Tarak, say hello." She gestured to him, and he gave a slight nod to Luna, his understanding of their language progressing rapidly.

"Hi, Tarak! Nice to meet you!" Luna greeted, her excitement undiminished. "But why are you named after the evil beast of legend? That's kind of a weird name."

A flicker of irritation crossed Tanya's face, but she held back, knowing Luna meant no harm. She was the adult here, after all, and could afford to be the bigger person.

"I named him that, Luna. Don't worry about it—I actually have some questions for you." She exhaled, hoping to steer the conversation back on track. Luna's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening as she realized her mistake.

"Oh! I didn't mean to say it was weird, just, you know, I thought—sorry! What do you want to ask me?"

She fumbled, clearly worried she'd offended Tanya and eager to change the topic. Tanya smiled inwardly, appreciating the girl's candor.

"Your necklace—where did you get it from?" Tanya asked, her eyes narrowing on the delicate crescent moon pendant hanging around Luna's neck. "I noticed your sister has a similar one."

Luna fingered the pendant with a curious look. "Oh, this? I got it from my dad. But have you seen Sol? It's been ages since I saw her, and I've been a bit worried."

The admission surprised Tanya, casting doubt on her initial assumption that Luna's father had abandoned her and her mother for the mother of Sol. Perhaps the man had some sense of duty after all.

"I saw her recently. She seems fine, though her mother's very strict," Tanya replied. "Your father, though—he still comes to see you?"

A shadow passed over Luna's face, and she shook her head slowly. "No my dad died a long time ago, when I was little. He left us these necklaces in his will. Said he found them outside the village somewhere. He always wanted Sol and me to have names like these—sun and moon, y'know? Oh and Sol's mom is super strict."

Her tone was casual, which surprised Tanya but then again she had likely never gotten to know the man. This new information stirred curiosity in her. So Luna's father had been dead for years, yet both mothers still kept their daughters apart. And the necklaces, obtained from beyond the village, held an aura of mystery, as though they connected to a history unknown to either girl.

Luna's bright voice broke her thoughts. "Hey, you still haven't answered my question, Surya," she said, leaning closer with a curious gleam in her eye. Tarak, sensing her closeness, tensed slightly, his body preparing for what he perceived as a threat.

Tanya laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "Tarak, you can go explore, but don't wander too far."

He shot her a grateful look before turning and sauntering off into the evening shadows, his cautious steps quiet against the dirt path.

Luna pouted. "Why'd you send him away? He's so cute! I was having fun looking at him."

"Well, he was just born yesterday," Tanya replied, her voice tinged with amusement. "I had to take care of him and handle some trouble from a boy named Conryn and his little gang. They… messed up my house, and it caused some problems today. You didn't hear about this?"

Luna's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "No! That's terrible! Who ruins someone's house? If he comes around here, we'll both beat him up!" She pumped her fist with exaggerated fervor, her enthusiasm bringing a small smile to Tanya's lips.

"Him? He's the son of Elder Hathor—"

The moment the name slipped from Tanya's lips, Luna's entire body stiffened. Her eyes widened in horror, pupils shrinking as her breathing grew shallow, her chest rising and falling in rapid, panicked bursts. Without warning, she clutched her head, tears spilling down her cheeks as she took a stumbling step back, her hands pressing tightly against her temples as if to shield herself from something invisible.

"Luna!" Tanya moved forward instinctively, reaching out to comfort her, but Luna flinched, recoiling as if Tanya's touch would burn her.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed, her voice shrill with terror, echoing in the quiet of the evening. Without another word, she turned and bolted down the path, her sobs breaking the stillness of the night as she ran, her figure shrinking into the distance, silhouetted against the darkening sky.

Tanya's heart ached as she watched the girl disappear, realization dawning upon her. The signs were all there: Luna's avoidance of crowds, her reclusive nature, the way her vibrant personality dimmed at even the mention of Hathor. The pieces fell into place—Luna wasn't cursed or mystically tethered to the moon or anything of the sort. She was deeply, painfully scarred. Agoraphobia clung to her like a second skin, and Tanya had no doubt it was connected to Hathor in some way. The man had likely done something to the girl, or perhaps to her family, leaving a lasting wound that went far deeper than any she could see.

Tanya's instincts rumbled within her, a low simmer of anger beneath her calm exterior. She clenched her fists, feeling the fury burn. Just as Hati had imprinted herself onto Tanya's heart, Luna's pain now carved a place within her, too.

_________________________

Tarak wandered away from his sister, the world around him brimming with unfamiliar sights and smells, each one tugging at his curiosity. He didn't fully understand her words earlier, but he recognized her tone and gestures well enough to know she was thanking him—and that made him feel something warm and good. That proud feeling, like the dark, horned man who had basically exuded the feeling. Tarak liked his sister; he had from the very moment he was born. She had shielded him, even against the one-eyed man, and that had cemented his affection for her.

But most others… they grated on him, like an itch under his scales. All he truly wanted was to stay near his sister, to hunt and devour and sleep deeply, with no other distractions. But it seemed there were always obstacles and other people in his way. They looked at him, watched him from the corners of their eyes with that strange hesitancy and fear. It made him feel something off, like an uncomfortable twisting in his chest that he didn't know how to name. He wanted to hurt them, to reach out and crush that feeling away, but his sister's presence held him back. He wasn't quite sure why, but he sensed that the twisting feeling would only grow if he acted on it. His mind was split into two. It hurt when he thought of it too much so he simply didn't.

As he wandered, his steps pressing into the cool, grainy dirt beneath his bare feet, he became absorbed in the sensations of the earth. His claws dug into the ground with each step, the tiny particles squeezing between his toes and leaving a satisfying roughness behind. The air held a warm scent, a richness that seemed to fill him from the inside out, soothing the strange fire in his throat. Above, the sky was as black as his scales, vast and deep, and the largest moon hung above him, as white as the tips of his horns. He felt like he could eat the world, take in every fragment of it with each breath and step. A part of the world's energy constantly seeped into him, and he relished it, basking in the warmth it provided.

He thought of the hunt from earlier, of the creatures he had slain alongside his sister, their energy filling him and feeding that strange fire within him. He felt full, content even, though he regretted not consuming them as he instinctively knew he should. But his sister had told him not to, and so he obeyed. As he roamed through a patch of greenery, he stumbled upon rows of plants lined neatly in the ground, their green leaves stretching out, thin and small. He crouched down, observing a cluster of tiny green creatures crawling along the leaves. They were segmented and had twelve tiny legs, their bodies moving in rhythmic coordination as they weaved through the plants.

In a sudden motion, Tarak's hand darted out, fingers curling around one of the little creatures, feeling it squirm before he crushed it between his fingers. Warmth spread through him at the familiar feeling of a life snuffed out, a sensation he found oddly satisfying. Curiously, he licked his fingers, noting with satisfaction that the small bit of energy didn't disappear. His eyes gleamed with interest, and he began tearing up the plants, hunting down more of the tiny creatures, his sharp teeth crunching through their soft bodies. A few of them tried to bite him back, their small jaws ineffective against his thick skin.

He would have continued, content with his small feast, but the soft rustle of footsteps from behind broke his focus. His tail snapped toward the disturbance, poised to strike, but he froze when he recognized the color of the intruder's hair. It was golden, shining under the light of the moons, a hue reminiscent of his sister's. But it wasn't her. A small girl stood there, her hair like sunlit wheat, but her eyes were deep black, mirroring the night sky above.

The girl didn't flinch at the sight of his tail. Instead, she brushed it aside with a scowl, as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience. He allowed her to, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Perhaps it was because her hair reminded him so much of his kin.

"Stop it! What are you doing, tearing up all these plants and killing these poor little Pipla?" she demanded, her voice tinged with irritation. She marched right up to him, raising her hand, and before he could react, she brought it down on his head in a quick, solid smack. It reminded him of the red-haired woman from earlier.

"Ouch! Your head is hard in more ways than one, huh?" she muttered, rubbing her stinging hand with a grimace. Tarak tilted his head, watching her with an unblinking gaze. He didn't understand most of what she said, but her tone was familiar. He could sense that she thought he was tough, and that made him nod in satisfaction.

The girl didn't seem to have that same look in her eyes as others did. There was no fear, no hesitancy. It was something closer to the expression of the silver-haired girl who had stared at him without flinching. But this was even more unfamiliar. He didn't feel that twisting discomfort around her gaze, something that struck him as unusual.

She crouched down beside him, taking his hand in her smaller, gentler one. Carefully, she guided him, placing his hands over the dirt and showing him how to pat it back down over the plants he had uprooted. He followed her lead, more curious than resistant.

"See?" she said, her voice softening as she glanced at him. "This is how things should be. Don't destroy things for no reason, okay? People put a lot of effort into planting these. They cared for them, kept them safe, just like…" She paused, her dark eyes reflecting the soft light of the moons. "Just like you care for something fragile and precious. When something's so tender, it's easy to damage, easy to ruin with just a touch. And once it's ruined, it's not beautiful anymore. It becomes… ugly. Incomparably so."

For a moment, her voice faded, her gaze drifting, lost in thoughts he couldn't follow. But he felt something then, a strange discomfort in his chest, different from the irritation he felt toward the villagers' fearful glances. It was almost… sad. He couldn't name it, but it made him feel heavy, like a weight pressing against his scales.

She cleared her throat and straightened, her expression brightening again as she brandished her small fist. "And we take care of them and that is not something a caretaker should do. And we should all strive to be good caretakers right! Anyway, you don't need to ruin things to feel strong! You're strong already, Tarak, I can tell. So let's be closer from now on. This way, I can keep an eye on you and smack you whenever you're bad." She grinned, half-playful, half-stern, covering up the softer moment with a forced cheerfulness.

As Tarak gazed at her forced smile, he felt the strange discomfort deepen. It wasn't the same feeling he got from the other villagers' stares—it was something gentler, something quieter, but somehow even more painful.

If he had known more of the world and its emotions, he might have recognized it as sorrow.

________________________

Luna's world was swallowed by the suffocating cacophony of screams, an endless torrent that echoed and rebounded in the corners of her mind. Each scream held the rawness of her own voice, a voice from years ago—so small, so broken. Hathor's cruel jeers mingled with the twisted echoes of her past, an inescapable reminder of a time when she had been utterly helpless, stripped of any dignity or safety. Every nerve felt as though it was on fire, burning with the phantom sensations of that day. She could feel his weight pinning her down, his coarse hands pressing her small frame into the cold floor, her skin crawling under the memory of his filthy touch. She could almost smell his fetid breath, rancid and hot against her neck, his sour saliva left on her cheek like a brand, making her shudder even now as if his leering presence was right behind her.

She tried to run faster, as if speed alone could free her from the chains of memory. But each step only seemed to echo the dull, sickening thud of her heart in her ears, amplifying the dark sensations that lurked beneath her skin. She could feel the weight of his milky gaze, that one clouded eye that wobbled and jiggled, as though mocking her, haunting her with a gaze that had stripped her bare, peeling away any semblance of safety she had once known. No matter how much time passed, that eye seemed to linger in the darkness, a mark of her lost innocence.

Her own screams overlapped with the memory of those desperate cries from the child she'd been—a younger self who had lost her voice to terror. She had been so fragile then, so breakable. And that brokenness had turned into an iron cage, locking her away from everyone. Unable to ever leave her home. She had never told a soul, not her mother, not her sister—she hadn't dared. The fear was a constant companion, gnawing at her every attempt to connect, to trust. And so she kept that dark day buried within her, a festering wound that robbed her of everything outside her mother's embrace, especially during daylight when faces and places seemed to press in on her with claustrophobic intensity.

Tears blurred her vision as she sprinted, her bare feet pounding against the ground, each impact an assault against her fractured psyche. She reached her house in a frenzy, her shoulder slamming into the door. Without the presence of mind to even try the knob, she hurled herself at it again, heedless of the growing pain. Her forehead smacked against the wood, splitting open and sending warm blood trickling down her face. The smell was metallic, but it was somehow a relief—a reminder that she was here, in the present. Her trembling hand found the handle, but her strength failed her as she collapsed against the door, sobbing.

The door swung open, and she tumbled into the arms of her mother, who held her tightly. Her mother's arms, familiar and soft, anchored her as she gasped for breath between sobs. Luna buried her face in her mother's shoulder, clinging to her with a desperation that bordered on feral. Her mother's silver hair was the same shade as her own, but her sightless eyes, a ghostly blue with no pupil, were fixed somewhere beyond the visible world. Her mother's touch was warm, steady, but even that was tainted by the cruel truth of their reality—the black, cracked scar that ran down her mother's chest, a wound that had never healed, both physical and spiritual.

"Mommy!" Luna's voice was raw, ragged as she choked out the word, over and over like a prayer. "Mommy! Hic… Mommy!" Her body convulsed as she clung to her mother, fists pounding weakly against her chest, as though trying to exorcise the vile ghost of her memory through sheer physical force. She could feel her mother tense under each blow, her body shuddering as the repeated strikes aggravated her injury, sending sharp jabs of pain through her. But her mother held on, absorbing the blows without a word of protest, even as blood flecked her lips.

The woman's arms, though fragile, wrapped around her daughter tightly. "Shhh, Luna… I'm here." Her mother's voice was soft, trembling, each word laced with unspoken grief. "I'm here, my love. Your useless mother… I'm so, so sorry… I'm so sorry your mother is useless, so very useless…"

The apology fell from her lips like broken glass, sharp and cutting, but it was the only comfort she had to offer. She held Luna tightly, even as the tears fell freely down her own cheeks. She had known, on some deep level, the pain her daughter carried, but she had been powerless to shield her from it, helpless to stop the darkness from leaving its permanent stain.

Luna cried harder, feeling her mother's thin frame shake beneath her. They clung to each other as though the world beyond them didn't exist, as though by sharing in their mutual grief, they could somehow knit the shattered pieces of themselves back together. She could feel her mother's heartbeat, unsteady but resolute, matching the rhythm of her own racing pulse. The two of them sat there on the threshold, the night air cool around them, cocooned in the shared weight of their silence and pain.

Time blurred as they held each other, bound by a pain neither could voice, and for those moments, the rest of the world fell away. In that embrace, they sought healing for wounds that couldn't be mended, for nightmares that refused to fade.

_________________________________

Sol moved through the quiet, dim-lit paths back home, her heart still pounding from the encounter with Tarak. She thought back to his curious, fearless way of tearing up the fields, and a faint smile crept to her lips. Sure, he was a bit reckless, but she'd found something exciting in his wildness. Granted she would have to spend time beating his destructive qualities out of him. But there was something untamed and raw about him that made her want to be stronger too. He was amazing during the day against the Vampyrs! Her grin faded slightly as she squared her shoulders—she had to be the best. She would be the best. Maybe then, maybe one day, things would be different.

As she reached the edge of the village's residential area, her mood sobered. Her house loomed ahead, larger than the neighboring homes, a shadowy silhouette in the dimming light. Her father's old spear was mounted above the door, its polished metal dulled by time, a constant reminder of his absence. She stood for a moment, taking a deep breath, her fingers grazing over her cheek where her mother's anger often left invisible marks. She opened the door as quietly as she could, slipping into the darkened entryway, her heart sinking a little deeper with each careful step.

The house was silent except for the soft flicker of candlelight coming from the living room. Sol's breath caught in her throat as she took in the shadows cast by the candle, dark and twisted, playing across the walls like grasping claws. Beneath that single, eerie glow sat her mother, her face a study of sharp angles, shadows collecting in the hollows beneath her cheekbones. Her mother's eyes caught Sol's, cold and unfeeling, like shards of ice buried in darkness. Sol's heart tightened painfully as she forced herself forward, an uneasy warmth rising in her throat as her mother's gaze pinned her in place.

"Back so late?" Her mother's voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it dripped with an accusation that clawed at Sol's insides. "You went to meet that whore's child again, didn't you?"

Sol tried to look away, but her mother's eyes were relentless, bearing down on her with a contempt that sliced through her resolve. Before she could process the movement, her mother's hand flashed out, her palm cracking sharply against Sol's cheek. A jolt of pain shot through her, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth, her lips stinging from the force.

"You're just like her—useless," her mother sneered, her voice filled with disgust. "What did I even raise you for, hmm? You caused me to lose my husband, and now you parade around with his bastard offspring? You're worthless."

Sol held herself still, focusing on the fading candlelight, willing herself not to cry, to keep the tears locked away. She felt her mother's fingers knotting into her hair, her scalp prickling with pain as her mother yanked her closer, the dark glint in her mother's eyes intensifying with each second. Sol tried to stand firm, tried not to wince, but her heart thundered as her mother's cold, cruel words seared into her mind.

"You will not embarrass me again," her mother hissed, her breath chilling against Sol's face. "From now on, I'll be picking you up after school. And every day, after your classes, you'll spend seven hours training here, in this house, until you are better—until you're worth the food I allow you to have. No more coddling, no more excuses. You will be the best, do you understand?"

"Yes, M-Mother," Sol whispered, her voice cracking despite her efforts to keep it steady.

A flicker of rage flashed in her mother's eyes, and she gripped Sol's hair tighter, jerking her closer. "Do not stutter, girl," her mother spat, her voice razor-sharp and ice-cold. The sudden harshness in her tone sliced through Sol like a blade, but she nodded, her head bowing as she bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from trembling. She would likely not strike her again. She never did so more than once.

Her mother lingered, her grip loosening as she watched her daughter, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before she shook her head in disgust, releasing Sol and turning away. She retreated into the shadows of her bedroom, her silhouette melting into the darkness, leaving Sol standing alone, trembling, the stinging ache in her scalp and cheek lingering like a wound.

The dim, hollow silence of the house settled around Sol, each shadow deepening, stretching over her like the claws of some unseen monster. Her mother's words replayed in her mind, each one leaving a fresh scar, cutting deeper than any slap or blow ever could. She pressed her hand to her bruised cheek, her fingers brushing over the faint warmth that remained where her mother's hand had struck. The pain was a reminder of her mother's disdain, of the weight of the expectations that had been heaped upon her fragile shoulders since she was old enough to understand what they meant.

In the stillness of the empty room, she allowed herself to breathe, to let out a soft, broken sigh. Her father's spear glinted faintly in the dark, its cold metal reflecting the candle's dying flame. In a way she blamed him for this. But she didn't want to be that person. No she refused to be that person.

Sol's hand drifted down to her side as she stared into the fading light, the flickering flame casting delicate shadows on the walls. The candle guttered once, twice, and then it was gone, plunging the room into darkness. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down on her, the hollowness of her home echoing around her like a cage.

Love is such a tender thing, she thought, her hand still pressed against her stinging cheek. So delicate, so fragile, so easily broken. Always so easily broken

And in the darkness, she wrapped her arms around herself, bracing against the cold, clinging to the few flickers of warmth and hope that remained as she stood alone in the silent, shadowed house.