Lervea waited, her massive fourteen-and-a-half-meter frame concealed behind one of the towering pillars that lined the palace halls. Everything in this place was needlessly large, from the vaulted ceilings that seemed to stretch toward eternity to the massive obsidian doors that looked as if they had been hewn from the bones of titans. The architecture was meant to inspire awe and intimidation, a reminder of the power of the Superbia, a ruling clan of Hell and the family of Lilith. And yet, despite the sheer scale of it all, Lervea had never felt small in these halls.
A smirk tugged at her lips as she compressed her presence, her vast, overwhelming energy shrinking down to something undetectable. It was an old trick—one she had mastered long ago. Given the peculiarities of her physiology, hiding in plain sight had always been easy. The blood of her lineage made her an enigma even in a world of envy and lust demons.
Her golden wings folded tightly against her back, her black tail flicking behind her in slow anticipation. She knew her target would be arriving any moment now.
Footsteps.
Lervea pressed herself further into the shadows, keenly attuned to the subtle shifts in the air. The temperature in the hall dropped ever so slightly, the natural heat of Hell momentarily suppressed by the presence approaching. Lilith. Even without seeing her, Lervea could feel the weight of her power pressing against the world, coiling around her like a predator.
Her voice came first.
"Yes, I want you to go to the Lust Circle and trade several thousand Jarati for Paimon silk."
Her words were smooth, spoken with a commanding ease, yet carrying an undercurrent of calculation.
A second voice, more hesitant, followed.
"But Ma'am… trading souls for silk?"
A pause.
Then, a quiet exhale, the sound of amused exasperation.
"The bigger picture, little demoness." Lilith's tone was patient, indulgent, as if explaining something to a child. "It's about sacrifice. I will be presenting before one of the Lieutenants of Satan, and my willingness to sacrifice will make the Lord Devil stake more in me. The silk itself is irrelevant."
Lervea's smirk widened. Interesting. She was alway ambitious. Lervea liked that about her.
A few moments of silence, then the unmistakable sound of a bowing figure, the rustling of cloth as the lesser demon acknowledged their mistake.
"I'm sorry for being so small-minded, Lord Lilith."
Lilith waved a hand, a dismissive flick of her wrist that sent ripples of energy through the air. A Legionnaire-class demon. That was what they called themselves when they reached the Fourth Layer, and yet, even at that level, they cowered before her.
Lervea barely stifled her laughter.
She took a step forward.
The moment her foot touched the ground, the world turned gray.
The air shuddered—no, reality itself wavered, runic inscriptions igniting in the polished obsidian floor beneath Lilith's feet. Ancient symbols, written in a script linnovated by she herself and unknown by most, burst to life in an intricate pattern, spreading outwards in a seamless geometric design.
The energy flashed like lightning, coiling up like a serpent before snapping down, enclosing Lilith in an instant.
Lervea wasted no time.
Her wings flared, golden light streaking from their tips as she surged forward, a blur of motion. Lilith was strong, impossibly so, and this trap would only hold her for a fraction of a second.
But a fraction of a second was all Lervea needed.
Lilith's body had already been marked, the sigils weaving through her existence, momentarily stripping her from both the physical and spiritual components of reality. A conceptual imprisonment—she was untouched by both yin and yang, severed from the fundamental forces that made up existence itself.
Lervea's fingers flicked, and in her grasp appeared a bikini.
Not just any bikini.
A sinful, black-laced masterpiece, adorned with silver embroidery, so delicate it looked spun from whispers of darkness itself. The design was a cruel mockery of elegance, a piece that looked like it belonged to some dominatrix goddess of depravity.
Lervea's grin stretched wider.
This was going to be glorious.
With precise, ruthless efficiency, she dressed the trapped demon.
Fabric molded against skin, straps tightened into place, dark silk hugging the curves of a body that was normally shrouded in authority and untouchable power. It was a piece that screamed temptation and humiliation in equal measure, meant not to adorn, but to expose.
It took less than a heartbeat.
By the time Lervea had secured the last strap, she could already feel the runes beginning to crack.
Lilith's power pulsed.
The trap was failing.
Lervea didn't hesitate.
She threw herself backward, wings propelling her in a sharp, elegant retreat, her black tail curling behind her like a ribbon of ink.
The moment she left the affected zone—
The world snapped back into color.
The runes shattered.
And Lilith was free.
After the gray space shattered, collapsing around them as reality reasserted itself with a violent snap. The moment it did, heat flooded the air.
Lilith stood at the center of it, her presence an inferno of raw, unbridled fury.
Her purple hair flared around her like a storm of silk, caught in unseen winds that carried the weight of her wrath. Her amethyst eyes, usually pools of measured cunning, were now molten with incandescence, burning with the depth of her rage. A demonic rune ignited upon her forehead, glowing with the sheer power of her bloodline, the markings etched into her skin in a language that was more than words—a declaration of absolute, undeniable pride.
The mark of Superbia. Of her bloodline.
Her black wings unfurled behind her, vast and domineering, the shadow they cast stretching over the ruins of the spellwork she had just obliterated.
And then—her gaze snapped to Lervea.
Lervea, who smiled proudly, golden wings still spread, standing with the kind of confidence only a woman who had just humiliated one of the strongest demons in existence could have.
"I think you should wear things like this more often," she said cheerfully, raising both thumbs up in an exaggerated motion of approval.
For a moment, Lilith said nothing.
She simply stared.
Then, without a single word, she reached out.
Space itself condensed in her grasp, folding, warping, and then solidifying into an ultra-thin blade—a weapon formed not from metal, but from the very fabric of the world itself. It glowed faintly at its edge, not with light, but with an absolute, crushing absence—the absence of space, of reality, of anything at all.
With a flick of her wrist, she swung.
Lervea ducked, fast, the motion effortless, but she didn't miss the devastation the strike left in its wake.
Behind her—the entire palace split diagonally.
Not the walls. Not the floors. The entire palace.
The blow had carved through the very essence of the structure, the precision of the cut so perfect that it was almost artistic.
Lervea blinked, whistling softly as she straightened back up, her black tail curling lazily behind her.
"Trying to take my head off after all the good times it's given you? How ungrateful," she teased, a lilting giggle escaping her lips.
Lilith's face was red.
In part from embarrassment.
Mostly however from sheer, seething, white-hot rage.
"LERVEAAA!!" she roared, her voice shaking the very foundation of the palace. Power pulsed from her skin, the sheer intensity of it warping the air, making the very light around her twist unnaturally. "By the Devil, I swear, you won't get away with it today!"
Lervea's grin widened, a sharp, mischievous thing that practically radiated amusement.
"Hehe, how prideful of you."
Lilith moved.
The space between them collapsed in an instant.
Lervea's wings flared, her body twisting in midair as a dozen razor-thin space-slashes tore through the air toward her. She dove through the onslaught, weaving between the deadly arcs of destruction, her movements fluid, effortless. The slashes never stopped—each one a calculated, precision strike meant to dissect her piece by piece.
But Lervea was faster.
Her four eyes flickered, all of them open, giving her a complete view of the battlefield. She saw the attacks before they even finished forming, read the trajectory of each strike as if time itself had slowed.
And Lilith—Lilith didn't even take the bikini off.
The sheer absurdity of the sight nearly made Lervea burst out laughing mid-flight.
The Queen of Superbia, Lord of Salem, Mistress of the First Circle of Hell—clad in black leather that looked like it belonged to a dominatrix rather than a monarch, slicing apart her own palace in an unrelenting rampage.
It was perfect.
A momentary distraction—and then—
A blade clipped her wing.
Or rather—it should have.
The razor-thin slash of condensed space met the golden expanse of Lervea's wing and failed.
Reality buckled for an instant, the laws of destruction colliding against an immovable force. The force that was her.
The sheer durability of her being rendered the attack meaningless. Space trembled, but it did not sever. The golden feathers remained untouched, unyielding—as if the concept of injury itself had been rejected.
Lervea twisted midair, letting the force of the would-be impact roll off her body like water over stone.
She barely even acknowledged it.
Instead, she hummed, tilting her head slightly as she studied Lilith's increasingly furious expression.
"Wow," she said, voice lilting with delight.
Lervea let out a low, throaty hum, tilting her head as she examined her uninjured wing.
"Wow," she said, voice light, playful. "How violent~"
Her smile never faded.
Lilith heaved, her breath coming sharp, body thrumming with barely restrained power as she pointed her sword at Lervea. The air around her warped, shifting into a violent purple haze, thick with numen so potent it made the atmosphere feel brittle, fragile—glass-like.
Lervea's eyes widened just a fraction.
That was new.
"You're the most violent of them all!" Lilith spat, her amethyst gaze burning as the edges of her aura pulsed with raw fury. The runic sigil of Superbia still blazed on her forehead, an open declaration of her divine sin, her stark pride and refusal to take this lying down.
She lifted her blade, its edges shimmering with an unsettling stillness, as if the fabric of existence itself was holding its breath.
"Space is made up of infinite intersecting planes." Her voice was low, dark—a promise, a decree. "I shall alter their state to become my blade. And I shall slay ten thousand divinities."
Lervea blinked, then laughed nervously.
"Wait, wait, wait." She held up her hands, golden wings twitching slightly. "It's not that serious."
It was a blatant lie.
The air cracked.
Suddenly, everything around them shifted, folding, bending, warping.
The very framework of existence convulsed. The palace, the ancient halls of Superbia—fortified with millennia-old numen, reinforced by wards that made blocks of Hell-born marble harder than the planets of higher spheres— buckled under the force of Lilith's command.
And then—
The world shattered.
Like glass struck by an unseen hammer, reality splintered, tore apart, and was reforged.
A blade of pure spatial destruction carved itself into being, shaped from the very bones of the cosmos.
It was magnificent.
It was terrifying.
It was also completely unnecessary.
The palace didn't just crack—it was wrecked.
Walls that had stood for eons collapsed like brittle parchment. Chandeliers—each crafted from the crystallized tears of fallen seraphs—shattered, raining fragments of holy and unholy light onto the broken floors. Towers twisted and buckled, foundations crumbled, the very sky above seemed to tremble from the sheer presence of the technique.
As the dust settled, Lervea stepped forward, unscathed.
Her clothing, however—
Gone.
She huffed, puffing up her cheeks in mock irritation as she brushed dust off her bare shoulder. Her pitch black fish-like tail flicked, an exasperated sigh slipping from her lips.
"You just wanted to see me naked." Her tone was flat, unimpressed, as she turned away, unbothered by her own lack of attire. "You could have just asked."
Lilith, standing amidst the ruins of her own damn palace, arms now crossed firmly beneath her breasts—still in the damned bikini—scowled so hard it was a wonder the ground didn't catch fire beneath her feet.
"You," she growled, "have no right to talk."
"Pffftt! Hahahaha!"
A grin stretched across Lervea's face, sharp and amused, her laughter spilling into the ruined palace like ringing bells.
And despite herself, despite the absurdity of the situation, despite the ridiculousness of her own state of dress—Lilith started laughing too.
It started as a breath, a small huff of amusement, but then it grew.
The sheer ridiculousness of it all—the destruction, the fight, the fact that they were both standing there, half-dressed, in the wreckage of an ancient palace that had once housed the pride of demon royalty—was too much.
Lilith threw her head back and laughed.
The sound echoed off the shattered walls, wild and unrestrained, filling the space with a liveliness that hadn't touched this place in since the last time Lervea had done something like this.
Lervea wiped at her eye with the back of her hand, shaking her head. "See? This is why I do this."
Lilith huffed but didn't deny it.
With a casual flick of her wrist, Lervea extended her hand.
A pulse of gray energy radiated from her fingertips, spreading outward in a sweeping wave of controlled destruction and creation. The fragmented palace rippled, its disjointed ruins trembling before the force that overtook them.
Stone shards and shattered columns flowed like liquid, reassembling themselves in seamless precision. Walls reforged, archways mended, the grand chandeliers that had once shattered from the sheer force of Lilith's power floated back into place, their crystalline light flickering back to life.
Within moments, the palace stood whole once more.
Lilith nodded in quiet appreciation, flexing her fingers as she watched the energy settle into the air. "I'll never get used to you doing these things you know." She sighed.
Lervea grinned. "Good. I like keeping you on your toes."
With a casual stretch, they both conjured proper clothes, the black dominatrix-style bikini fading away as silk and leather took its place.
Lilith adjusted the hem of her shirt, smoothing the fabric over flawless skin. The slight shimmer of magic in the air still clung to them, a lingering reminder of the destruction they had just caused.
She glanced at Lervea, tilting her head.
"You here to hang out? I have some work to do, but I should be able to make some time soon." She rolled her shoulders, adjusting the fit of her top before tossing a stray strand of violet hair over her shoulder.
Lervea said nothing at first.
Instead, she shrunk.
Not drastically, but noticeably—her towering fourteen-meter frame compressed down to four meters, her divine presence condensing into something smaller, sharper, more intimate.
Lilith barely had a second to process before Lervea was behind her.
Her arms slipped around Lilith's waist, pulling her into a slow, deliberate embrace. Silvery hair, tipped in streaks of black, spilled over Lilith's shoulder, a curtain of celestial light that framed them both.
The warmth of her body pressed against Lilith's back, a gentle but undeniable presence.
Lilith did not move.
For a moment, they simply stood there, suspended in the space between words.
Then—
"No," Lervea said at last, voice quieter now. "I'm here to tell you I'll be gone for a while."
She lifted a hand, palm turning skyward.
A medallion materialized in her grasp, its polished surface gleaming like liquid mercury beneath the palace's rekindled light.
Upon its surface, a symbol.
A man.
Behind him, a beast.
And beyond them both—an endless starry sky.
Lilith's breath stilled.
Lervea turned the medallion slightly, watching the light catch against its engravings.
"I've gotten some info that someone has the same one." Her voice was steady, but there was a weight beneath it, something old, something that had lingered far longer than it should have.
"So I have to go find them."
Lilith turned then.
Slowly.
She twisted her head just enough to meet Lervea's gaze, the flickering shadows around them painting her face in deep contrasts of light and dark.
Her purple eyes burned softly, reflecting something unreadable.
"Will you be alright?" she asked.
There was no teasing in her voice.
No arrogance.
Just genuine concern.
"I know you've been looking for a long time."
She wasn't asking about the mission.
She wasn't asking about the fight ahead.
She was asking about the search itself.
The weight of it.
The burden it had placed on Lervea's shoulders for so many years.
Lervea didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she leaned in, her forehead pressing gently against Lilith's.
For a moment, they simply breathed.
Then—
"You're acting like I'm not stronger than you."
A smile.
Small. Subtle.
Lilith's eyes narrowed.
"That's irrelevant."
Her voice was dead serious.
"There are people out there stronger than both of us, you know."
Lervea's smile didn't falter.
Lilith took a small step forward, pressing her weight more firmly into the space between them.
"And you never told me why you're looking for the others or what they even are or mean to you," she murmured.
She didn't demand.
She didn't push.
But she was asking.
And this time—she wanted an answer.
"I don't know what you're wrapped up in."
Lilith lifted her hands, placing them on either side of Lervea's face.
The warmth of her palms seeped into Lervea's skin, grounding her, anchoring her.
"That's why I'm asking."
Her voice dropped slightly.
"Do you need help?"
Lervea hummed, the warmth in her chest spreading like a slow-burning fire as she leaned into Lilith's touch. The hands pressed against her face were warm, steady—the hands of her second and most loyal friend.
She nuzzled against them just slightly, her silver-black hair brushing against Lilith's fingers. It was a small thing, an unconscious gesture, but it was enough.
Lilith had always been steady. Even when Lervea had disappeared for decades, even when she had returned with stories half-told and wounds barely healed, Lilith had never wavered. They never looked too much into one anothers past and yet their bond remained.
She was the one of the first people Lervea had chosen to trust, the second she had given her faith to since that day.
And yet—
"I'll be alright," Lervea murmured, forcing herself to pull back.
Because this—this was something she had to do alone.
Her golden wings shifted, the black-edged feathers catching the light of the palace chandeliers, glinting like sharpened blades as she took a deliberate step back.
"This is something I have to do myself."
Lilith's brows furrowed, the glow of her violet eyes dimming slightly, but she didn't argue.
Not yet.
Instead, she exhaled through her nose, her arms falling to her sides, fingers curling slightly before she forced them to relax.
She knew Lervea.
Knew that when she was like this—when her tone carried that unshakable resolve—there was little that could change her mind.
So instead—
"You focus on becoming an Archdemon first." Lervea grinned, pumping a fist in the air. "You're almost there, right?"
She took another step back, her voice lifting slightly, deliberately shifting the mood.
"Fighting!"
Lilith's mouth twitched.
A half-second flicker of both amusement and irritation.
A small part of her wanted to grab Lervea by the collar and shake her. But the larger part—the part that had spent centuries learning who Lervea really was—knew this was how she dealt with things.
Still, Lilith wouldn't let her leave without saying something.
She inhaled slowly before shaking her head, exhaling through her nose with a sigh that was only half-exasperated.
"Fine," she muttered, crossing her arms. "But be back soon, okay?"
She tried to keep her voice light, casual—tried to bury the worry beneath a small, wry smile.
Lervea hesitated.
For just a second.
Because Lilith was right to be worried.
This wasn't something simple. It wasn't a short trip or a fleeting journey.
This search—the truth behind the medallions, of what had happened that day. Of where it was and who did it.—was something that might take years. Thousands, even.
And she knew herself.
If she lingered too long, if she let herself get caught in Lilith's concern, she might put off leaving for too long. Especially given the… state her body was in.
So, as always—
She put on a smile.
A sharp, playful thing.
A liar's grin.
"I won't promise anything!"
And with that, she moved.
Lervea's golden wings snapped open, sending a rush of displaced air through the palace chamber, fluttering the curtains, rustling the deep crimson banners that hung from the towering marble columns.
She flapped once.
And then—
She disappeared.
Her presence unraveled like mist in the morning light, vanishing into the nothingness between realms before the echoes of her laughter could fully fade.
Even from a distance—even after she had gone completely invisible to all but the most powerful eyes—
She saw her.
Lilith.
Still standing in the middle of the palace, staring up.
Lervea snorted softly to herself, shaking her head.
She had left quickly for a reason.
If she had stayed any longer, if she had lingered beneath the weight of that gaze, she would have hesitated.
And she couldn't afford that.
Not now.
Not when she was this close.
The skies of the Pride Circle stretched before her, a kaleidoscope of violet and gold, tinged with the faint iridescent gleam of demonic numen that saturated the realm.
It was beautiful.
It was soaked in arrogance.
And it was a cage.
A cage she was about to leave.
She surged forward, piercing through the thick, heavy clouds of the demon realm's upper atmosphere, the pressure parting around her like silk.
The moment she neared the exit of the realm—
She felt him.
The Archdemon of Pride.
The weight of his presence rolled over her like a crushing tide, an oppressive force that threatened to sink its claws into her very essence, demanding submission.
It wasn't an attack.
Not yet.
But it was a challenge.
A silent warning.
A reminder that she was not beyond his sight.
Lervea's lips curled.
How laughable.
Lilith's intentions weren't unknown to Hell, after all.
And neither were hers as her ally.
She let out a slow breath—
And unleashed her fear. It erupted like a roiling storm, slamming against the Archdemon's presence with the force of a descending calamity. It was not an attack.
It was a rejection.
A declaration.
You do not intimidate me.
His presence wavered.
Just slightly.
Lervea sneered, her golden wings flaring wide as her body faded.
She didn't teleport.
She didn't move faster.
She simply ceased to be detectable.
If she did not want to be found, then he could not find her.
Not now. Not ever.
At least—not until she wanted to be seen. And if it ever came down to that? She would be stronger than him.
Because as powerful as the Archdemon of Pride was—
She was advancing faster. She was a Tyrant after all.
Lervea's wings flapped once more, sending a ripple of force through the dense numen-charged air as she reached the boundary of the Pride Circle. Here, at the threshold of this realm, the Jarati drifted aimlessly—small, orb-like souls of lesser demons and other beings ferried into hell, they were flickering like dim embers, lost without purpose or direction.
She reached out, her fingers curling around a few, their wispy, barely-formed bodies writhing briefly against her grip before she shoved them into her mouth without a second thought. Their essence dissolved on her tongue, a bitter yet oddly soothing rush of raw energy sliding down her throat and sinking into the depths of her being.
Lervea barely even tasted it.
Her focus had already shifted forward.
The Realm Wall loomed ahead, stretching into the distance—a vast, undulating mass of abyssal energy that formed the boundary between the greater Hell and the true beyond.
She didn't slow.
Her wings flared, her speed accelerating until the distinction between movement and stillness blurred. Space itself warped around her, treating her body as an anomaly, an impossibility that refused to adhere to its rules.
The barrier loomed closer.
Lervea did not hesitate.
She pushed forward, energy exploding around her as she tore into the wall of infinite darkness.
The moment of impact was visceral.
It wasn't difficult—not truly—but it was always an ordeal.
Crossing infinite distance in a limited amount of time was never a simple matter. Even for beings like her. The sheer nature of it, the metaphysical laws governing such a thing, required skill. Required manipulation.
For now.
But soon, she would break past even that boundary.
Soon, there would be no need for calculation, no need for precise space-folding techniques.
Soon, she would simply move.
And distance—no matter how great—would cease to be a factor.
Lervea shook her head, setting the thought aside for now, as her body pierced through.
The realm of Hell vanished behind her.
And before her—
Ginnungap.
The endless In-Between.
It had many names. Some simply called it the Gap. Others, the Void. A few scholars from long-dead civilizations had labeled it the Unplace.
But to most, it was simply Ginnungap.
The nothing between all things.
The space where realms did not touch, where the threads of existence unraveled, where laws withered and faded into an almost formless silence.
For most, to enter Ginnungap was to be erased. One had to be at the eighth layer to travel here with their body.
For most, it was death.
For her?
Lervea exhaled, her wings spreading wide.
It was nothing.
She moved forward, letting her senses unfurl, her perception stretching outward, seeking landmarks in a place that had none.
Ginnungap was not a true void.
Not completely.
There were places here.
Fragments.
Islands of shattered reality drifting through the nothing. Worlds that had collapsed, realms that had been devoured, remnants of civilizations that had long since ceased to exist.
She ignored them.
Her focus was elsewhere.
She turned her gaze upward.
And there—faintly—
She saw it.
The branches of Qliphoth.
Its branches stretched through all the realms of Hell, its roots piercing deep into the layers of the infernal hierarchy, a cosmic skeleton of existence itself woven into the fabric of the abyss.
The black arteries of Hell's true order.
A place of power and knowledge.
A place not her goal.
Lervea ignored it.
Her path was set elsewhere, and her speed only increased, a silent force carving through the void, treating space as if it did not exist.
Because here—
It didn't.
Or rather, it existed thinly, incompletely.
Ginnungap was not like the realms.
Not like the spheres.
It was barely a place at all.
It was unreality.
A half-formed concept.
A space where existence struggled to hold itself together.
Where even color barely existed in many parts.
And yet—
There were still things here. Creatures. Not many and not often. But they existed.
The natives of the Gap. Born in nothing. Living without a world.
Drifting without a home. Not unlike herself.
And in that moment, Lervea wondered—
How many of them had ever seen something like her?
Her lips twitched slightly.
Lervea shook her head, banishing stray thoughts as she refocused on the path ahead. The map she had acquired flickered through her mind, etched into her perfect memory—the coordinates, the landmarks, the strange anomalies she would have to pass through to reach her destination.
Somewhere out there, in the boundless nothing, someone else bore a medallion like hers. It didn't belong to them.
She intended to find them.
Her wings flexed, unfurling with a slow, measured grace before she snapped them downward. A ripple of raw power exploded from her body, surging through the endless, shifting expanse of Ginnungap.
She enforced space.
It was the easiest way to move through this place—to impose structure where there was none, to bend the formless void to her will, to carve direction out of a realm that fundamentally had none.
She forced space to exist beneath her. And then, she shattered it.
A hollow, concave shape of gray spread outward, blooming around her like a sphere of ruined glass. Then—like ash meeting fire—it disintegrated, erased by the sheer force of her movement.
In the next instant, her body was no longer wholly there.
A streak of gold and black tore through the nothing, a living comet ripping across the unseen currents of the abyss. She was motion given form, speed incarnate, breaking through the gaps in reality, leaving behind massive eruptions of gray as space buckled and collapsed in her wake.
She flew.
And in her flight, she saw things.
Things that did not belong in any proper world.
A sphere that was not a sphere at all—but a cube. And within it, everything was cubic. The mountains. The oceans. The very sky. Even the creatures that crawled across its surface seemed to be shaped from rigid edges, their bodies folding and unfolding at impossible angles.
Further along, she passed a floating planet—one that drifted without a sphere, exposed to the raw, undistilled void of Ginnungap. Upon its surface, the dead danced.
Corpses, moving in eerie synchronization, hopping up and down in a rhythmic, endless procession around a gargantuan casket. Their decayed limbs twitched in stiff, unnatural movements, yet there was something almost joyous in their macabre celebration.
Lervea did not stop.
She had seen stranger things.
Though, what she saw next did give her pause.
A massive, disembodied head.
It drifted through the Ginnungap like a severed celestial body, its flesh cracked and eroded by time, yet still pulsing faintly with residual power. Its features were humanoid, but on a scale so vast that even its eyelashes could have served as bridges between continents.
Blood seeped from its severed base, thick, viscous droplets the size of small moons, suspended in the void like ruby planets.
Lervea licked her lips.
That was food.
Without hesitation, she veered off course, altering her trajectory with effortless control. She drew close, reached out, and seized one of the drifting blood-clots, crushing it between her fingers before bringing it to her mouth.
The moment it touched her tongue, warmth flooded her veins.
Her body absorbed it instantly, drinking in the ancient vitality contained within the god-like remnants. Strength coiled through her muscles, a rush of raw energy sparking deep within her core.
She smirked.
Good.
She took another, rolling the thick liquid between her fingers before licking it off. A hum of satisfaction vibrated in her throat.
She could have stayed longer.
She could have devoured more.
But she had places to be.
With a final glance at the drifting titan's head, she turned away, shifting back into motion, streaking through the Ginnungap once more.
And then, she saw them.
Some of the natives.
The true creatures of the Gap.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
They did not move like living things should.
Their bodies were composed of concentric rings of flesh and bone, stacked together in ways that defied reason. Each segment of their form seemed to rotate independently, their upper and lower halves spinning in opposite directions, twisting around an unseen axis that had no relation to the physical laws of any known world.
Embedded into their flesh—hundreds of eyes.
Not arranged in neat rows, nor scattered haphazardly, but welded into place, fused into the very structure of their bodies. Some blinked. Some remained frozen, locked in perpetual stares that saw through the veils of reality itself.
They moved in and out of existence.
Phasing.
Shifting.
Never fully there, never fully absent.
For a brief moment, Lervea considered stopping.
Considered hunting them.
She had no idea what they would taste like. No idea what kind of power they might offer.
And she was curious.
But—
She exhaled, flicking her wings once more.
She had a destination.
She had a purpose.
She ignored them.
And the gold and black comet of her existence shot forward into the vast, waiting unknown.
Time passed.
How much? She didn't know.
The Ginnungap did not abide by such trivialities. Seconds stretched into eons, and eons collapsed into moments. Time was nothing here—not in the way mortals understood it. Not in the way lesser realms dictated it. Here, movement and perception were the only true measures of progression, and even those were warped by the nature of this formless expanse.
But she knew she was nearing her destination.
The pull of it sharpened, a distinct presence threading itself into her awareness, tugging at the edges of her senses like a distant heartbeat. The fluctuations of this universe, the pulse of its reality, the signature of its laws—it all bled into her perception before she had even truly laid eyes on it.
And then, finally—she arrived.
A sphere.
It shone in the nothingness, not with the cold sterility of other universes she had passed, but with a brilliance that felt… almost alive. Its surface pulsed with shifting hues of gold and red, a contained inferno, radiating heat and fury into the void around it.
She assessed it with a single glance.
Rank Seven.
Not bad.
Her gaze sharpened, her expression turning unreadable as she crossed the boundary. The veil of the universe parted before her without resistance, the very fabric of its existence folding and yielding to her presence. She did not need to force her way through, did not need to struggle against its natural defenses. She simply entered.
And in the next instant, she was within.
The moment she breached its cosmic shell, light erupted around her.
Her silvery hair ignited with reflected radiance, shimmering in the glow of a sun that burned like a celestial forge. Every inch of her perfect form absorbed the energy around her, her skin catching the flickering reds and oranges of the surrounding system.
The laws of this world were heavy with flame.
She felt it immediately—the overwhelming elemental saturation, the way the very essence of this universe seemed to be built upon the foundation of fire. Planets smoldered in the distance, their cores brimming with active magma. Comets streaked past like burning arrows, their trails searing lines of white-hot energy into the darkness.
And then there were the creatures.
She saw them moving through the cosmos, vast entities of swirling fire-numen and spirit energy. Some roamed in endless packs, massive flaming serpents coiling through the vacuum, their bodies leaving trails of heat in their wake. Others existed as sentient storms—roving infernos that crackled with malicious intelligence, their flickering forms shifting and reshaping endlessly as they wandered the star-ridden abyss.
She ignored them.
Her tail flicked behind her, leaving streaks of black light in its wake as she adjusted her trajectory. Then, without hesitation, she opened her lower pair of eyes.
Power surged.
The entirety of the universe unfolded before her in absolute clarity.
Her energy pulsed outward, expanding without limit, wrapping itself around the cosmos like a second skin. It was not an attack, not an intrusion—merely an extension of herself. A reaching. A searching.
And she saw.
Everything.
Countless stars burned in her mind's eye, their cores dancing with secrets. Civilizations, old and new, flickered within her awareness—some thriving, some crumbling, their fates written in the flow of this universe's cycle. She saw kings and beggars, warlords and prophets, love and bloodshed, victories and failures.
Some things were beautiful.
Many things were not.
She remained indifferent.
She had come for one thing.
And then—she found it.
Her wings flared once, and the entirety of space around her buckled. The sheer force of her motion displaced reality itself, shoving aside the very concept of distance. In the span of a single instant, she was there.
A planet.
Bare. Lifeless.
A gray husk floating in the heat of a dying star, stripped of atmosphere, stripped of breath. Its surface was little more than dust and scorched stone, worn smooth by the ceaseless passage of time.
It did not matter.
Because sitting upon one of its jagged rock formations, waiting with the patience of a being utterly unbothered by the passage of time—
Was a man.
Her eyes narrowed.
He was tall. Too tall. Or perhaps too short.
Most humanoid races either trended toward smaller statures or dwarfed others entirely, their forms either diminutive or godlike in their immensity like the titan. But this one?
Twenty meters.
A strange in-between.
His cloak draped around him like a shifting void, swallowing light, absorbing perception. Even her four eyes—her all-seeing gaze, crafted to unravel the very fabric of existence—could not pierce through the material.
A rarity.
And his skin—brown, strong, his body built with the kind of muscle that spoke of an overwhelming natural strength. It was evident, even beneath the folds of his dark attire.
But none of that mattered.
Because what did matter—
What demanded every ounce of her attention—
Was the object in his hands.
A medallion.
Her medallion.
Or, rather—one exactly like hers. One she knew did not belong to him.
She had tracked it here. Searched for it across the vast nothingness. Chased it into this burning world, guided only by whispers of its existence.
And now, here it was.
Held within his grasp.
The emblem was unmistakable—the same symbol etched into its surface. A man, and behind him, a beast. And beyond them both…
An endless starry sky.
Lervea's lips curled downward ever so slightly.
Her wings folded against her back, her feet planting lightly against the planet's empty surface. Her tail flicked once, cutting through the silence.
And then, without a single word—
She stared into the shadowed depths of his hood.
Her gaze was cold. Calculating.
"The medallion. Give it to me."
Lervea's voice was smooth, but beneath it lay the weight of something unshakable, something absolute. Her four slit-pupiled eyes ignited with energy, the intricate rings within them shimmering like miniature galaxies collapsing inward. A pulse of power rippled through the space around her, distorting the air, making even the barren landscape tremble in response.
Across from her, the cloaked man tilted his head slightly.
"Well, that's not something you see every day."
His voice was deep—rich, a baritone that carried the kind of self-assurance that only those utterly unafraid of death possessed. There was humor laced in it, an easy, relaxed kind of amusement, as though he were watching a particularly interesting scene unfold rather than being caught in the middle of it.
Lervea's expression didn't shift.
"Did I stutter?"
Her tone dropped, the heat fading into something glacial, something sharp. She was in no mood for games.
The man exhaled lightly, his unseen eyes no doubt twinkling with mischief beneath that infuriating hood.
"I don't know. Did you?" he mused. "Why are you asking me?"
Something about the lilt in his tone, the sheer audacity of it, made something inside her twitch.
She had heard enough.
Her wings flared.
The space between them vanished.
Lervea was in front of him in an instant, the motion so fast that space itself seemed to hiccup, struggling to register the sheer speed of her movement. Her fist snapped forward, a strike carrying the force of a collapsing mountain, the kind of raw, unrelenting power that could obliterate entire cities in a single motion.
And yet—
A hand caught hers.
Not gently. Not as though it were effortless.
No, there was strain.
But he stopped her.
A bare hand. No energy reinforcement. No numen.
His fingers wrapped around her knuckles, halting her strike with nothing but sheer, physical force. And beneath them—
The planet shattered.
The moment of impact sent a violent tremor through the ground, cracks spiderwebbing outward in every direction, deep fissures splitting the surface like the fractured shell of a broken egg. The sheer shockwave of their collision sent debris hurtling into the void, massive chunks of bedrock flung like pebbles, their jagged edges still steaming from the residual force.
Lervea's eyes narrowed.
Not because he had blocked her attack.
But because he had done so barehanded.
What the hell kind of body cultivator is this?
Her arm trembled slightly, her muscles flexing as she tested the weight of his strength against her own. She hadn't gone all out. But neither had he. The way his grip subtly adjusted, the tension rolling through his fingers—this was a struggle. A true contest of raw might.
Interesting.
The windless void of space carried no sound, but even so, she could feel the low chuckle that rumbled from beneath his hood.
"Damn." His grip tightened minutely, the weight of it like a coiled spring. "You're strong."
There was no fear in his voice. Only intrigue.
"I'm a bit shocked."
Despite herself, Lervea felt something stir inside her.
Not irritation.
Not frustration.
Something else.
Something dangerous.
Something thrilling.
It bubbled at the edges of her control, a creeping thing slithering beneath her skin, something that whispered of battle, of the kind of fight she had been starved for.
She swallowed it down, but not entirely.
Instead, her lips curled, her fangs glinting as she smiled.
"Let's see if you can keep up."
Her wings snapped once.
And then she moved.
The battle erupted like a storm without warning, a collision of raw, unyielding power that tore through space itself. Lervea's first strike had been the catalyst, and from there, the universe became their battlefield. They clashed in pure, unrestrained physical combat—no numen, no external forces, no techniques beyond what their own flesh and blood could produce.
Every blow they exchanged reshaped reality around them. Each strike was not just a contest of strength, but of skill, of precision. The sheer impact of their collisions bent the fabric of existence, distorting the space-time continuum as shockwaves rippled outward in cascading waves of destruction.
It was a war of martial mastery.
Lervea's azure four eyes flickered with a relentless, calculating gleam, analyzing the nuances of his stance, the way his muscles coiled before each attack, the minute shifts in his weight that telegraphed his next move. She dissected his technique in real time, absorbing it, adapting, adjusting. But as fast as she learned, he was learning too.
He was keeping up.
Each of his punches sank deep into her skin, fracturing bone, bruising muscle—but her body regenerated instantly, knitting itself back together faster than the damage could accumulate. And her own strikes? They did the same to him.
The first time her fist found his ribs, she felt them buckle under the pressure, heard the satisfying crack—but then, before she could exploit the opening, his body corrected itself, muscle reforming, bones resetting.
A lesser being would have been obliterated by now.
But he was not lesser.
And neither was she.
The duel stretched across the vast, rune-sealed battlefield she had prepared in advance. A necessity—without it, their battle would have shattered the very structure of the universe they fought in. Planets would have crumbled, stars would have flickered out, entire cosmic structures would have been reduced to dust in the wake of their clash.
And as the fight raged on, she felt it.
She was growing.
Her strikes became sharper, her footwork cleaner, her reactions honed to the razor's edge. Each injury—each bruise, each fracture—fed her, pushing her body further along the physical scale. That was how the bodies of her race worked after all. The gains were small, but when two titans and equals battled for what felt literal months, even the smallest increase became significant.
And yet—
So did he.
He scaled with her, adapting to her adaptations, his strength matching her own in a way that was almost intoxicating.
She refused to use anything beyond her body.
And he—he did the same.
There was no need to say it aloud, no spoken agreement between them. It was something deeper, something primal—an unspoken rule they both chose to follow. No tricks, no powers, no crutches. Only this.
Lervea's grin widened, her dagger-sharp teeth flashing with wild exhilaration.
For the first time in a long time, she felt something close to satisfaction. How rare was it that anyone could fight her in a battle of sheer physical might. Her instincts roared in exhilaration.
But as the battle stretched on, the realization settled in—
This isn't a fight to the death.
She hadn't truly intended to kill him, not after the first exchange. And he, for all his overwhelming strength, held no murderous intent toward her either.
It was a spar.
A test.
A war of will and endurance more than anything else.
And through the rhythm of their blows, through the raw physicality of their contest, she felt like she was coming to understand him.
It was strange.
But strangely enjoyable.
Her tail lashed out, exploiting a brief gap in his defense. It wrapped around his wrist in a blur, coiling tight, and with a single, seamless motion, she twisted—flipping his massive frame off balance and slamming him downward.
The air screamed as they plummeted.
A planet loomed beneath them, one of the few celestial bodies within the isolated battlefield she had crafted. It was a barren world, desolate and untouched, its surface a vast expanse of jagged rock and towering cliffs.
They crashed down hard.
The impact split the ground apart, sending an explosion of dust and debris into the sky. The surrounding mountain ranges crumbled under the force, their peaks reduced to nothing more than scattered rubble. The tectonic plates beneath them shifted, causing entire landscapes to fracture and cave in.
When the dust settled, Lervea was straddling him.
Their massive forms dwarfed the ruined forest around them, the once-great trees reduced to mere splinters beneath their sheer weight. Her metallic silver hair, streaked with black at the tips, fell in loose strands around her face as she loomed over him.
He was pinned beneath her grip, but she knew better than to assume victory.
This wasn't about winning or losing.
This had been something else entirely.
Her breath was steady, her expression sharp but amused as she met the unseen gaze beneath his hood.
She hadn't won. But neither had he.
And she knew—
This was enough.
"The medallion." she said simply holding out her hand.
"Fine, fine." He exhaled with amusement, his voice still laced with that rich, deep baritone. He held out the medallion, utterly unbothered, as if this entire battle had been nothing more than a passing distraction.
Lervea snatched it from his hand without hesitation, gripping it tightly, pressing it against her chest as a slow, shaky sigh left her lips.
She hadn't realized just how much tension had coiled in her muscles until now.
The medallion was warm against her skin, humming faintly with an energy that felt right. Her fingers tightened around it instinctively, as if afraid it might vanish.
And he noticed.
He definitely noticed.
His head tilted slightly, studying her reaction with an unreadable expression. He remained seated, propped up on his elbows, his massive frame still resting beneath her. Even now, pinned beneath her weight, he carried an air of complete ease, his presence unwavering, unshaken.
"You good?" His voice was lighter this time, almost casual, but there was an undertone of genuine curiosity.
Lervea's fingers curled tighter around the medallion.
And then—without warning—she reached out and ripped off his hood.
The heavy fabric was torn away in a single, effortless motion, fluttering to the ground in the wake of her movement. And in that moment, as his face was finally revealed, Lervea froze.
She hadn't been expecting—
Her breath hitched.
His hair.
It was red-gold blonde, but unlike any ordinary shade. It gleamed with a luster that seemed almost metallic, as if strands of molten gold had been shaped and tempered in a forge. The light caught on the edges, making each strand shimmer faintly with a radiance that was utterly mesmerizing.
And his skin—
Dark brown, rich and deep, carrying the warmth of sunlit forests and rolling hills. There was a vitality to it, a presence, as though his very flesh bore the echoes of endless battles and triumphs written in the marrow of his being.
But then—
Then there were his eyes.
A piercing crimson red, as vivid as fresh-spilled blood, gleaming with an intensity that made her chest tighten involuntarily. Beneath them, two sharp lines traced down his face, the same shade as his hair, like twin strokes of molten metal carved into his skin. They weren't painted, weren't ornamental—they were a part of him, something woven into his very existence.
His features were masculine—overtly so.
A sharp jawline, carved like stone but somehow elegant in its structure. A nose that was straight and strong. His lips curled slightly, drawing attention to the single deep dimple that appeared when he smirked—an expression that carried effortless charm, the kind that was as dangerous as it was alluring.
And then there was the scar.
A single, deep line ran through his right brow, a mark of battle, of survival. It didn't mar his face—it added to it almost, making him look even more like some ancient warlord carved from legend, a being who had fought and thrived. Though in context it likely came from pain.
Lervea's breath came shallow.
Her slit pupils dilated as she fully took in his presence, and realization slammed into her.
He was—
No way.
He was Tyrannius.
Everything in her body screamed it before her mind could fully process it. The weight of him, the effortless dominance that radiated from his existence alone, the power she had felt in their battle. The sheer physical might he possessed and his ability to keep up with her. It was something she had suspected—something that had whispered at the edges of her thoughts as they fought.
But to see it—
To confirm it—
It was shocking. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
Tyrannius.
One of the greatest hunting races to have ever existed. At least according to her parents.
A race of natural-born Tyrants. A race that was born free. The race she herself was part of and yet so unfamiliar with.
Her body reacted before she could rein herself in.
A slow, deep heat bloomed in her belly, twisting low and deep in a way she hadn't quite anticipated. It wasn't just admiration or excitement—it was something far more primal.
Her tail flicked behind her unconsciously, her wings twitching ever so slightly.
It had been so long since she'd fought someone like this. Someone who could match her. Someone who could push her.
And now she was straddling him.
Lervea inhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus.
Honestly, if it weren't for her self-control, a blush would have spread across her face, deep and unmistakable. But she had mastered herself long ago, and she wouldn't allow something so foolish, so primal, to dictate her body's reactions. Even if her instincts clawed at the edges of her mind, screaming at her to acknowledge what was happening.
She was in heat. Literal heat.
It happened randomly, with no real warning, no real cycle she could predict or control. It was just another quirk of Tyrannius nature—one she had thought she could control better. In fact it was why she didn't want to stick around Lilith too long. Because her heat cycle would have made her stay to indulge herself. But why was it reacting so strongly? Now, of all times?
Lervea nearly scowled at herself.
The first time she encountered a male of her species aside from her father—this was her reaction? This?
A sudden surge of irritation warred with the unwelcome warmth in her belly.
She had never once laid with a man. Not because she lacked attraction to them—far from it. But because none had ever met her standards. None had ever made her feel even the slightest pull toward them. And she had standards.
Ridiculously high ones.
She had only been with two women before. One was Lilith, of course. The other? A ghost of the past, a memory that did not resurface often. But it was different with them. She flirted with women freely. She was playful, teasing, indulgent. But men? She never flirted with men.
Lilith had always found it amusing. Had questioned it on more than one occasion.
"You're bold enough to tease the most dangerous demons in Hell, but you won't even look twice at a handsome man? What, are they beneath you?"
Lervea had laughed it off at the time, but in truth, the answer was yes.
She had expectations.
A man should be as strong as her, or even stronger.
He should be as good-looking as her.
And he should be taller than her.
He should be prepared to support her and always be on her side.
If he wasn't?
Then what was the point?
Her mother had taught her that. With a laugh on her lips and amusement in her golden eyes as her father grumbled in the background. "Why would I have wasted my time with a man who wasn't my match? It's a simple thing, daughter. Don't settle."
Lervea's lips curled slightly at the memory.
But the warmth that came with it quickly dimmed as her heart grew somber. She stared down at the Tyrannius beneath her.
He ticked every box.
Every. Single. One.
And her body knew it. Well at least the physical ones.
Her tail twitched behind her, betraying her, and she fought the urge to shift her weight where she sat, still straddling his waist as the dust from their battle slowly settled around them.
She shouldn't want to stay in this position.
She should get up. Move away. Put distance between them.
And yet, she didn't.
Because her instincts were whispering something insidious in the back of her mind. A quiet, dangerous acknowledgment.
She had met her match.
"You're a sub-adult, right?"
His voice rumbled beneath her, smooth and too casual, like he hadn't just caught her in the midst of some silent, internal war with herself.
His crimson eyes gleamed with something unreadable as he tilted his head up at her, his smirk still in place.
"Let me guess—2.3 million? Maybe 2.2?"
Lervea's lips twitched.
He was guessing her age?
She huffed, feigning nonchalance as she rolled her shoulders back, her posture casual despite the tension thrumming beneath her skin.
"Close," she said, voice even, carefully measured. "But not quite."
He exhaled through his nose, amusement flickering across his sharp features.
"So, not a hatchling, but not quite fully grown either."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Neither are you," she shot back, tilting her head. In all honnesty it was a wild guess.
The grin that spread across his face was slow. Easy.
"Fair enough."
Lervea knew she should move. Knew she should get off of him.
But she didn't.
Because her instincts wouldn't let her.
And because—despite herself, despite everything—she didn't want to.
"You really held back, huh?" His voice was steady, tinged with humor, but also with something else—an edge of knowing, of observation. "At first, I thought you were going to go all out with how pissed you looked. But you didn't use Overlord Body, or Acara, or even Halo." He tilted his head slightly, his golden-red hair catching the ambient glow of the ruined sky above. "Hell, you didn't even reinforce yourself." His smirk widened, sharp and lazy, like he was both teasing and genuinely impressed. "I had no intention of going all out on you either."
Lervea's fingers pressed subtly against his chest, her palm flat against the dense musculature beneath his cloak. Three heartbeats pulsed steadily beneath her fingertips, solid and unbothered. As if the battle that had previously shattered a planet beneath them was nothing more than exercise.
Her mind turned over his words carefully. Overlord Body. Acara. Halo.
She knew what Halo was. She called it the same thing, and she could feel its dormant presence within herself, like a crown yet to be fully placed upon her head. But Overlord Body? Acara? She could hazard a guess—they were those abilities. She supposed she now knew they were innate abilities all Tyrannius had.
That was the most interesting part.
Tyrannius were a mystery, even to her. She had always known she was something different. A thing apart. And yet, she had never been surrounded by others like her, never had another to compare herself to. Not ever since that day.
And now—this. He was right here in front of her. Her mind drifted a bit.
Then she felt it before she saw it. A nudging sensation near her side, insistent but playful. Lervea had closed her lower set of eyes when she had first mounted him, instinctively focusing all her attention on his face. But now, the sensation drew her curiosity.
She cracked her lower lids open.
A tail.
Not just any tail—a monkey's tail, covered in thick fur the same metallic hue as his hair. It was longer than her own, flexible, and clearly prehensile, curling just slightly against her side before flicking away again.
She snorted. "You ape."
His smirk didn't waver. Instead, he lifted an eyebrow as he slowly opened his lower eyes, revealing crimson irises that burned like twin eclipses.
"Who's medallion is that?" His gaze flicked down to the object still clutched in her grasp. The medallion he had.
His expression shifted, the amusement still present, but something more genuine lurking beneath it now. Curiosity. Recognition. Even a slight sense of expectation.
"Is it yours?" he continued. "I was surprised to find one in my travels, honestly. It's damn near impossible to meet another one of our kind—especially one that carries one of those."
Lervea's grip on the medallion tightened slightly.
Rare?
The word echoed in her mind.
Not just the medallion—their race.
Her thoughts raced, pieces clicking together faster than she could fully process them. If it was difficult for even him to encounter another Tyrannius, if he thought their race was rare, then… just how rare were they?
She had always assumed there were others, many others, somewhere out there. But what if… what if that wasn't the case?
Her azure eyes narrowed slightly, calculation flickering behind them.
"Not mine," Lervea said, her voice quieter than before, her grip tightening slightly around the medallion. "It belonged to my parents."
The Tyrannius tilted his head slightly at that, his crimson eyes sharp with curiosity.
She could already see the questions forming in his mind before he even spoke.
"Also, you said sub-adult. What do you mean by that? When do we become adults exactly?"
His brow furrowed slightly. The way he looked at her—it was as if she had asked something obvious. As if she had spoken words that no Tyrannius should have needed to say.
For a brief moment, she was reminded that this was his normal. That for him, there had always been a sense of knowing. Of understanding where he came from, what he was, what he would become.
Not for her.
For her, everything had always been a question. A mystery. A long, stretching road of discovery with no clear answers.
"2.5 million years, give or take, is when we reach full maturity," he said finally, watching her reaction. "That's when we grow into our full height."
Lervea's wings twitched slightly.
That meant… she wasn't even fully grown yet.
And him—
"I myself am around the same age as you at least I guess from looking at ya," he continued smoothly. "I'm 2.3."
She knew from what he had said before. But to hear a confirmation almost brought a certain peace to her. He wasn't an adult he was just like her. Still within her age range. Still developing. Still learning. Even if he knew more.
It was… oddly comforting.
But before she could dwell on it, he pressed on.
"And your parents lost it?" He gestured slightly at the medallion still clutched in her grasp. "Why didn't they just go find it themselves?"
A pause.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly, sharp with an almost accusatory confusion.
"And shouldn't you know this?"
Question after question, one after another, each laced with genuine curiosity, but also an undercurrent of expectation.
And perhaps that was what made something within her shift.
Maybe it was the fact that he was of her kind—the first one she had ever met, aside from her parents.
Maybe it was because his body bore a scar—a mark of something past, something painful.
Maybe it was something else entirely.
But she spilled.
Not everything.
But enough.
"Lost it is one way you could put things. They couldn't get it even if they wanted to." she said softly, her voice distant.
Her head tilted upward, her eyes staring at something unseen.
And her heart—
Her heart erupted with pain.
A pain that never truly left. A pain she had mastered, had buried, had woven into herself like a second skin.
But even buried things had a way of rising.
And in that moment, she felt it—her scar trying to resurface.
She clenched her jaw, exhaling slowly through her nose, forcing herself to breathe. Control it. Contain it.
But he'd had already seen.
His crimson eyes widened, recognition flashing through them.
And then—
His expression softened.
The humor, the teasing, the arrogance—it didn't vanish, but it settled into something quieter. Something understanding.
"I see."
His voice was lower now, steady, but carrying a weight that most would have crumbled under.
"I'm sorry."
He didn't ask.
Didn't pry.
Because he understood.
"That is a pain that is hard for our race to endure."
She blinked.
For a moment, the world around them—the shattered ground, the ruined atmosphere, the wreckage of their battle—it all faded.
And there was only that moment.
Only those words.
He understood.
A strange feeling twisted in her chest. She wasn't used to that.
But she pushed it down, exhaling once more before speaking.
"I'm Lervea."
He leaned up slightly, his red eyes meeting her blue directly.
"Vanar."
Their gazes locked.
And indeed, they mixed well.