Midea breathed in deeply, the motion deliberate and measured, a rhythm attuned not to his lungs but to the vast, unfathomable abyss of his soul. The act of cultivation required focus—a suspension of his awareness from the material world into the boundless expanse of his inner soul or at least how he conceptualized it. It was here, within the hidden depths of his being, that the intricate dance of numen and intent unfolded. A space most misunderstood by mortals, who often conflated the mind with the soul. Midea knew better. The mind, for all its intricacies, was but a fleeting shadow cast by the eternal light of the soul. Yet, the two were not wholly separate; the mind could etch its presence upon the soul, shaping and scarring it in equal measure.

His thought form materialized, a construct of will and clarity, manifesting as an ethereal observer within this inner domain. The vastness of his soul stretched endlessly around him, a twilight expanse where the ground was neither solid nor void but a paradoxical fabric that held the weight of his metaphysical existence itself. Rising from this abyss were seventy-six towering pillars, monumental structures that pierced through the low-hanging mists of the first veil, striving upward toward the storm-wreathed heavens of the next. Each pillar was colossal, their surfaces carved with an artistry that seemed to breathe, every detail imbued with purpose and meaning.

Rivulets of glowing purple numen coursed along the pillars, defying gravity as they cascaded both downward and upward simultaneously. The rivers shimmered with an iridescent brilliance, their light pulsing in harmony with the rhythmic cadence of his cultivation. These rivers were not mere streams of energy but living veins, conduits connecting his soul's depths to the celestial firmament above. Their flows carried the essence of his being—raw potential tempered by discipline—upward toward transcendence. They also acted as the representation of his lineage.

Each pillar bore images etched with supernatural clarity, a pantheon of archdemons rendered in intricate bas-relief. These were not mere depictions; they were embodiments, avatars of the primal forces that defined the highest echelons of demonkind. At the core of this formation, central to all, was the image of a woman whose presence radiated dominion. Her wings stretched wide and dark as night, her hair cascading in an amethyst torrent, her eyes gleaming with an unearthly purple light that seemed to see through the veil of all worlds. Lilith. His lord. His Archdemon and sovereign. She was the axis upon which this inner world revolved, the fulcrum of his cultivation.

Surrounding Lilith in a balanced trifecta were three additional archdemons, their forms radiating equal majesty and terror. The first was a classical demon of infernal flame, its red skin glistening like molten magma, its horns curling upward like the spires of a cursed cathedral, its skeletal visage a reminder of the fire’s relentless consumption. The second was a serpentine figure, its naga-like body coiled with sinuous elegance. Emerald scales reflected the numen streams in a kaleidoscope of shadowy hues, its humanoid upper body exuding a commanding physicality. This was the Archdemon of Shadow, a master of concealment and subterfuge. The third was the most grotesque—a being covered entirely in mouths, each gaping maw whispering secrets, chanting mantras, or screaming truths too terrible to comprehend. This was the Archdemon of the Abyss, an embodiment of chaotic hunger and infinite depth.

These four figures repeated their symphony of power across each of the seventy-six pillars, forming a lattice of interconnected might. Eight times they appeared on every column, their arrangement deliberate, their synergy absolute. It was a formation born of balance and domination, an acknowledgment of the vast hierarchy of demonkind that reached from the infernal depths to the starlit heavens.

Midea’s thought form exhaled, and with that breath, the ambient numen of the external world responded. Motes of seven-colored light—scarlet, azure, emerald, gold, violet, silver, and obsidian—filtered through the barrier between the physical and the spiritual. They descended into the abyss, a cascading aurora drawn into the gravitational pull of his soul’s maelstrom. The light flowed like rain caught by the rivers of his meridians, pooling in the bases of the pillars before being drawn upward in defiance of all logic.

The archdemonic images drank deeply of the numen, each filtering the energy through their respective daos. The infernal flame incinerated impurities, leaving only pure, potent energy in its wake. The shadow coiled and compressed it, refining its density. The abyss devoured the remnants, drawing forth hidden potential from the chaos. And at the center, Lilith oversaw it all, her image channeling the refined streams into an unending flow that ascended toward the heavens.

Each cycle brought the energy higher, closer to the culmination of his efforts. The ambient light dimmed momentarily with every breath, evidence of the world yielding its power to his will. Yet, as the pillars absorbed more numen, their glow did not remain constant. Instead, it began to shift subtly, the rivulets of purple numen now tinged with a faint golden hue. It was a sign that his soul’s vessel was reaching its limit, the pressure building with each passing moment.

Amid the steady rhythm of cultivation, a new image began to take form on the pillars. A ninth image, indistinct and shrouded, its features still incomplete, yet its presence undeniable. The carving etched itself onto the surface with agonizing slowness, as though reality itself hesitated to manifest what would come next. Each stroke of the image brought him closer to evolution, closer to the third layer where his soul and being would ascend beyond their current state.

Midea's thought form continued its steady breathing, the world around him trembling faintly with each exhalation. The air of his inner realm grew heavier, charged with an almost tangible anticipation. The ninth image beckoned him, a promise and a challenge rolled into one. He would break through, or he would falter and fall. There was no in-between.

The pillars pulsed, the rivers surged, and the image drew nearer to completion. When that occurred, he would break through into the third layer and thus evolve.

Midea’s breath came slow and measured, the rhythm of his cultivation a dance between focus and necessity. Each inhale drew the essence of the surrounding world into his body, and each exhale expelled impurities, refining not only his energy but his thoughts. His soulscape pulsed with life as he delved deeper into its recesses, where his existence took on a form entirely his own.

The rivulets of purple numen coursing along the towering pillars were not just energy—they were his bloodline, the essence of his heritage flowing freely through the structures. The pillars themselves were how his mind chose to conceptualize his meridians, each one a bridge between the foundation of his being and the heavens above. Seventy-six in total, they stood as testaments to his innate power and unparalleled talent. Few in the Scelus bloodline could claim such a number. Fewer still could have wielded it with the grace and precision Midea had cultivated. He was the most gifted demon his family had produced in over a million years—one of a rare few to rise so far, so fast.

Yet, for all his pride in his accomplishments, there was another. Her. Always her. The thought stirred something deeper in him, but he buried it swiftly. The path forward demanded clarity, and sentiment was a distraction he could not afford.

The first sky the pillars had pierced represented his first breakthrough—the Darkling Realm, more commonly referred to as the Accumulation Realm. It was here that he had laid the foundation of his power, gathering numen to fill his soul, his body, and his mind. His Scelus bloodline had given him an innate affinity with four daos, an advantage that had accelerated his progress through the first layer of cultivation. It had also shaped him, leading to his Dark Satyr evolution—a transformation that deepened his connection to his heritage but came with its own challenges.

Midea sighed, the sound barely audible in the vast silence of his soulscape, and focused on his breathing. He followed the Devil Carving Sutra, an ancient and exacting technique that had been passed down through his family. Each breath was deliberate, drawing in ambient numen and refining it through the intricate lattice of his meridians. The images of archdemons carved into the pillars pulsed faintly, their power growing stronger with each cycle. The ninth image was nearly complete, its lines faint but discernible growing clearer everyday. When it was finished, he would ascend to the third layer—the Spirit Projection Realm. Evolution awaited, but so did tribulation.

Tribulation.

The thought lingered like a shadow at the edge of his mind, its presence both inevitable and daunting. Passing it was not in question. He was Scelus, after all, and failure was not an option. But the cost of success would be steep. He would be weakened for a time, vulnerable in a way that unsettled him deeply. And in this village, with its instability and myriad threats, weakness was a luxury he could ill afford.

There were Vampyrs on the horizon, their predatory presence a constant, looming danger. Then there was the goblin horde—a threat as unpredictable as it was imminent. And as if that weren’t enough, there was the boy. Peter, son of Remulus. The child had asked him about the teleportation arrays hidden within the village, his curiosity tinged with something more—something Midea couldn’t quite place. He had lied to the boy, of course. It was safer that way. But the entire situation left him uneasy.

And then there were that feeling he got looking at Remulus. The mans presence and arts had stirred an unsettling sense of familiarity within him. He had tried to dismiss it, but the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind. There was simply too much happening all at once.

Midea’s thought form exhaled one final time, the act carrying a weight of resignation and resolve. The soulscape around him dimmed, the towering pillars receding into the abyss as his awareness returned to the physical world. He opened his eyes, and the transition from the vastness of his inner soul to the confines of his small, dimly lit room was jarring.

The bed beneath him was crude, its rough fabric little more than an insult to the word "bedsheet." Beast pelts hung haphazardly on the walls, their musky scent barely masked by the cold night air that seeped through the cracks in the wooden structure. He exhaled, a puff of black smoke escaping his lips as he expelled the impurities left over from his cultivation session. The smoke coiled lazily in the air before dissipating, leaving behind a faint acrid smell that mingled with the earthy scent of the room.

He turned his gaze to the window, where three moons hung in the night sky, their pale light casting long, uneven shadows across the room. The sight should have been calming, but instead, it only deepened his unease. Everything seemed to be building toward a crescendo—the threats to the village, his impending tribulation, and the growing tensions that no amount of planning could fully prepare him for.

A pulse of numen rippled outward from him, invisible to all but the most attuned. He felt the familiar signatures of the house—steady and warm like embers banked for the night. Surya and Tarak were gone, their presences absent from the home. Likely off gallivanting with Hati or Garran, as they were wont to do. The new moon was still far off, and with it, the Vampyr threat. For now. But the goblins… They could be just as dire, if not worse.

Midea sighed, rubbing his temples with a tired hand. His thoughts turned briefly to prayer, a whispered invocation to Lord Satan for good fortune. It was a gesture born of habit more than faith, but he felt the faint flicker of something in response. Lord Satan had heard him.

And Lord Satan had answered.

Just not in the way Midea would have wanted.

Yells echoed through the village, sharp and panicked, slicing through the stillness of the night. Midea’s eyes shot toward the window, catching the eerie orange glow creeping across the horizon, painting the thatched rooftops with the ominous hue of approaching disaster. The faint acrid scent of burning wood and resin reached his nose before his sluggish mind fully processed the scene. A dull roar filled the air, broken by the sound of shattering timber and the desperate cries of men rushing to combat the spreading chaos.

He stepped to the window, his body still weary from his cultivation session. The world outside was a frenzy of movement and destruction. From the heavens, rocks wreathed in fire descended like a vengeful rain, each impact shaking the ground with a muffled thud. The meteor storm they had prayed to their wolf god to avoid had struck regardless, the heavens heedless of their supplications. As the glowing rocks landed, their surfaces cracked and hissed, revealing their true nature.

The fiery globules shifted, reshaping themselves into vaguely humanoid forms—fire spirits born of flame and molten stone. They lumbered forward, their movements erratic but purposeful, striking at the wooden houses of the village with mindless persistence. Out of the village the flame spirits bagged at the walls trying to climbe them sparks flying with every blow, the wood groaning under the assault. The numen infused into the structure shimmered faintly, struggling to hold back the onslaught. But wood, no matter how fortified, was vulnerable to fire. And with only a single coat of resin applied, the walls were already beginning to blacken and curl under the relentless heat. Naturally they wouldn’t fall but the spirits would find it easier to enter and the walls would need to be repaired after this small calamity.

Midea stepped outside, the biting chill of the night mingling with the oppressive warmth of the fires. Men poured from their homes, some half-dressed, clutching crude weapons and buckets of water. A handful of warriors wielding numen-imbued blades shouted commands, trying to organize the chaos. The village’s defenses, rudimentary at best, were barely holding. Flaming tendrils lashed out as the spirits clambered up the walls, their searing touch igniting anything they brushed against.

The fire spread quickly, licking hungrily at the wooden structures with a feral intensity. A thatched roof collapsed in the distance, its timbers crackling and groaning as flames consumed them. Midea’s sharp eyes caught sight of a group of villagers struggling to douse the spreading inferno with buckets of water drawn from the communal well. It was a futile effort; the fire spirits were relentless, and the flames seemed almost alive, darting and curling as if resisting the villagers’ attempts to quell them.

One man—a burly blacksmith with soot-streaked arms—charged at a fire spirit with a war hammer. The creature stumbled under the force of his strike, its molten core splintering and hissing. But as the man stepped back to survey his success, the fragments coalesced, reforming the spirit in seconds. The blacksmith roared in frustration, swinging again, even as the heat blistered his skin and the hammer’s metal began to glow red-hot.

Nearby, a young boy scrambled to gather water from the well, his small hands trembling as he fought to carry a bucket nearly his own size. An older woman—his grandmother, perhaps—shouted at him to stay back, her voice desperate and cracking, but the boy ignored her, determined to help.

Midea’s gaze swept over the scene, his sharp mind assessing the situation with cold precision. While the resin had slowed the spirits’ progress, it couldn’t withstand the relentless heat indefinitely. More troubling was the nature of fire itself—it spread, devoured, and destroyed indiscriminately. Even if the spirits were kept at bay, the flames would continue their rampage. It was the same troublesome spirits he had encountered bringing Surya and tarak to the village. The fire had a dao imbued in it, he’d know fire was one of his daos.

The fire spirits continued to batter the walls, their molten limbs leaving charred indentations as they climbed higher. Some managed to crest the barricades, their bodies flaring brighter as they reached the dry, vulnerable interior of the village. Warriors intercepted them, slashing with numen-infused blades that hissed and smoked as they cut through the fiery constructs. For every spirit felled, another seemed to take its place, rising from the molten remains of the fallen.

He tilted his head back, his sharp features catching the glow of the fires as he muttered a prayer under his breath. “Lord Satan, why must you test me so? Have I not proven my worth time and time again?” His voice carried a note of wry exasperation, though the weight of sincerity was undeniable. “Tribulation after tribulation, trial after trial… Surely, even you must grow weary of this.”

The hells offered no answer, save for another fiery projectile streaking across the sky before slamming into the earth just beyond the village walls. The impact shook the ground, and a fresh wave of heat washed over Midea’s face. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his composure.

Opening them again, he let out a long, resigned sigh. “Of course,” he muttered to himself. “It wouldn’t be tribulation if it were easy.”

___________

Tanya shook her head in irritation, her amethyst eyes narrowed in quiet disdain for her current predicament. She sat on the edge of a crude wooden bed, its scratchy linen sheets bunching beneath her as Hati worked with all the fervor of a woman possessed. A collection of clothing—none of which Tanya would have voluntarily touched, let alone worn—was strewn across the room in a chaotic explosion of fabric and color. Her hair, which had once been neatly brushed, now sprouted from her head in two voluminous pigtails that gave her the distinct appearance of a particularly irritated Anne of Green Gables. Tanya scowled.

The worst part? She was here entirely by choice—or rather, due to her one undeniable weakness. Rannhorn milk. The liquid ambrosia had been promised as payment for what Hati had enthusiastically called a "playdate," though Tanya was quickly discovering the woman’s definition of play involved little more than forcing her into every abominable piece of clothing the village had ever produced. They say the first step to overcoming an addiction is acknowledging you have one. Tanya fully acknowledged hers but found it damnably hard to care in the face of freshly chilled milk.

“Ooohh! How about this one? Isn’t it so pretty?” Hati exclaimed, brandishing a dress that could only be described as a war crime against fashion. Puffy and hideous, it boasted an eye-watering palette of colors that looked like they’d been finger-painted by an unhinged toddler.

“I made this last year,” Hati added proudly, her short crimson hair bouncing with every giddy hop.

Tanya’s eyes dragged across the horror in Hati’s hands, her face blank but her thoughts screaming. Yeah, that tracked. She sighed, her gaze drifting longingly to the small, smudged window. Beyond its frame hung the three moons, their light painting the sky in soft silvers and blues. Somewhere out there, her brother was likely enjoying his freedom while she was held captive by this crimson-haired menace. Tarak had disappeared the moment Hati arrived, and while Tanya couldn’t entirely blame him, it left her as the sole victim.

It was her responsibility, she supposed, as the elder sibling with decades more life experience to ingratiate herself with the villagers. That, and the milk. She coughed internally at the thought of her future self—a fifty-foot monstrosity stomping across the heavens. Considering her mother’s height that was indeed plausible. Hopefullyshe could get there faster thanks to a childhood spent guzzling nutrients. Maybe then Hati wouldn’t try to dress her up like some doll. Puberty could not come fast enough.

“Hup!” Hati exclaimed, slamming a cap onto Tanya’s head. The thing was ridled with holes for wolf ears, though it seemed poorly designed for feathers. Tanya’s silver-grey feathers poked out awkwardly from among her golden-blonde hair, and Hati began tugging at them with all the care of a butcher handling raw meat. Tanya raised a brow, biting back a sharp retort. If she were an ordinary child, she’d probably be bald by now.

“Are you done, Hati?” Tanya asked dryly, her voice laced with the resignation of someone who’d endured too much.

“Not until you put on this dress!” Hati declared, grinning in a way that sent a chill down Tanya’s spine. The dress—a true violation of art—hung in her hands like a weapon of war as she advanced with unsettling determination.

Tanya stiffened, her sharp senses honing in on the woman’s movements. It was in that moment she understood—truly understood—that combat was the only viable role for a woman like her in this village. If Hati thought she’d fold like a meek child, she had another thing coming. Tanya was a soldier for years and had survived man-eating Viernes trap obstacle courses. She wasn’t about to be defeated by fabric.

Hati lunged, her hands grasping for Tanya like claws, but Tanya was faster. Years of military training surged through her muscles as she flipped backward, planting her feet squarely on Hati’s back. The woman let out a startled yelp as Tanya used her as a springboard, launching herself to the opposite side of the room with acrobatic precision.

“Surya!” Hati gasped, spinning around, the dress flapping in her grip like a flag of impending doom. “Hold still, you little angel!”

Tanya smirked, her sharp teeth glinting as she crouched low, ready for the next attack. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Hati lunged again, her arms outstretched, but Tanya ducked under her grasp, darting toward the window. The room was small, but Tanya’s movements were sharp, precise. She twisted and dodged, her blonde pigtails whipping behind her as she vaulted over the bed and rolled beneath a swiping arm. Hati was quick, but Tanya was quicker, her small frame weaving through the room with a soldier’s grace.

The dress flew past her head, Hati having thrown it in desperation, but Tanya caught the fabric mid-air, twirling it around herself mockingly before tossing it aside. “Nice try,” she taunted, her amethyst eyes gleaming with amusement.

Hati huffed, her crimson hair sticking to her forehead as she pointed an accusing finger. “You’re impossible!” She said picking up another dress.

"Just get naked and put on this dress, Surya!" Hati shouted, her voice cracking with mock exasperation as she lunged forward again, the offending garment held high like a banner of relentless determination.

Tanya's lips twitched in a suppressed laugh. "You should be put on a watchlist," she thought, weaving effortlessly around the lunge. Hati’s momentum carried her forward, and with a loud thud, she collided face-first with the hard wooden floor. The force was enough to leave her with a bloody nose, the crimson staining her freckled face. Clearly, the woman hadn’t bothered protecting herself with numen, for some reason or another.

They continued their little game for a while, Hati throwing even more of the insane fashion touting clothes with the precision of a drunk archer while Tanya ducked, dodged, and wove through the chaos like a seasoned combatant. The crude wooden room echoed with laughter, curses, and the occasional sound of fabric smacking against walls. Eventually, Hati slumped onto the bed in defeat, groaning theatrically as she rolled onto her back.

“Fine, then,” she muttered, arms spread wide in surrender. “But no milk for you.”

Tanya smirked, flicking a stray blonde hair from her face. “I’m fine with that—for today.”

The room, lit by the gentle flicker of candlelight, settled into a rare moment of calm. Tanya stretched her arms above her head, feeling a bit light from the time despite her complaints abou the woman. But the quiet didn’t last. The warm, golden glow of the candlelight was suddenly overshadowed by a much harsher, more vibrant orange.

Hati’s wolf ears twitched, her body going rigid as distant yells pierced the stillness. Tanya’s own ears caught the sound even faster, twitching instinctively toward the noise. Her sharp amethyst eyes darted to the window, and she quickly rose from the bed, her boots silent against the floor. As she approached the pane, the faint acrid scent of smoke reached her nose, stinging and earthy.

Sliding the wooden panel aside, Tanya peered out into the chaos. Flames danced across the village rooftops, their blue-green thatched coverings crackling under the relentless assault. Sparks swirled in the air like fireflies, carried by the erratic wind. Figures darted through the streets below—men shouting orders, women rushing to gather children, and soldiers scrambling to the walls. The molten glow of flame spirits began to take shape, their cores pulsing like miniature suns as they emerged from the falling embers. Vaguely humanoid in form, the spirits lumbered forward, their molten hands reaching for anything combustible.

The wooden walls of the village, despite their thin coat of resin, struggled to hold back the invaders. The spirits clawed and pounded at the barriers with mindless determination, breaking through the first layer and spreading fire as they climbed. The village's defenders—armed with spears, axes, and shields—fought valiantly, striking at the spirits before they could gain too much ground. Numen-infused weapons flared with faint light as they sliced through the spirits, but the damage was temporary. Fire spread regardless, devouring homes and threatening to overrun the village.

“Fucking Fenrir!” Hati cursed, spinning on her heel and darting to the closet. She threw it open, revealing a set of armor crafted from carapace and simple leather. It wasn’t the finest gear, but it would do. Pulling on the armor with practiced speed, she grabbed her spear and turned toward Tanya, her amber eyes blazing with a mix of determination and fear.

“You don’t do anything, Surya! This time, let the adults handle it,” Hati said firmly, her tone carrying the weight of responsibility. She stepped closer, pointing her spear at Tanya for emphasis, then jabbed a finger to her nose. “My mom will be up soon. You go with her and evacuate to the square, all right?”

Tanya raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting Hati vent her protective instincts.

“Stay safe,” Hati added, softening just slightly. “I’ll look for Tarak or tell Garran to send men to do so.”

Tanya nodded obediently, watching as Hati rushed out of the room, her armored boots clanking against the floorboards. The door slammed behind her, leaving Tanya in silence. She exhaled slowly, shaking her head.

Naturally, she wouldn’t listen. While she couldn’t gauge the exact strength of the flame spirits with no numen or real sense of the energy, she was confident she was stronger than Hati. If the girl thought she could handle the situation, then the spirits couldn’t be too formidable on their own. And besides, she had her own priorities. She needed to find Tarak—not because she feared for his safety, but because she feared for everyone else’s.

Her brother had mellowed slightly in recent months, but his violent tendencies were far from gone. If the chaos of the battle whipped his instincts into a frenzy, who knew what kind of destruction he might unleash? Clicking her tongue at the thought, Tanya moved to the window.

With one smooth motion, she opened the panel wide and hopped out, her wings giving a faint flap to soften her landing. She hit the ground without a sound, her feet pressing lightly into the dirt. Straightening, she reached up and tugged at the twin pigtails atop her head, letting her blonde hair fall freely around her shoulders.

The air outside was heavy with heat and smoke, and the chaotic cacophony of battle filled her ears. Sparks danced on the wind like glowing insects, and the sky above was a kaleidoscope of oranges and blues, painted by the glow of the fires and the light of the three moons. Tanya clenched her fists, her sharp gaze sweeping across the burning village.

She undid the last of her hair ties, letting the strands cascade as she took a steadying breath. It was time to move.

Not far away, a small boy scrambled desperately across the ground, tears streaking his dirt-smudged face as he fled from one of the fire spirits. He clutched a stone in his hand, throwing it over his shoulder with all the strength his tiny body could muster. The rock sailed through the air but passed harmlessly through the creature’s flickering form, landing with a dull thud far behind it. The boy stumbled and fell, crying out in fear as the spirit advanced, its glowing form casting dancing shadows over the scorched earth.

Tanya stepped forward onto the paved path, her gaze narrowing as she took in the scene. Hati must have missed the boy in her rush, she mused, though that was hardly surprising given the chaos. But now, with the boy’s cries echoing in her ears, she could focus on the creature itself.

Under the cold light of the three moons and the calming glow of the nearby aspar, the fire spirit burned with an angry orange-red radiance in contrast. Its form flickered erratically, shifting between a humanoid shape and a towering pillar of flame. Wherever it stepped, the ground blackened and cracked, thin trails of smoke rising from the scorched earth. The air around it shimmered with heat, and its sulfurous heart pulsed faintly at its core, like a malevolent ember feeding the creature’s fiery life.

Tanya’s hearts thudded in her chest, her blood rushing with a familiar thrill. This was the same feeling she’d experienced when battling the vampyrs outside the village, the same primal drive she’d felt consuming the pipla in the flux. It was instinct—a deep, inescapable compulsion to kill, to devour, to conquer the strong.

But could she? The thought gave her pause. These creatures were made of fire, an element that could not easily be subdued with fists or feet, no matter how strong she was. She had no weapon, no tools—only her body and her wings. The boy’s terrified screams cut through her hesitation, the sound sharp and raw, pulling her back into the moment. The spirit loomed closer to him, its fiery limbs reaching out.

Well, in the end… she could regenerate anyway, right?

Tanya leaned forward, her decision made. With a sharp breath, she spread her wings wide and propelled herself forward, the force of her leap cracking the earth beneath her feet. She was a blur of motion, her body cutting through the air like an arrow loosed from a bow. The principle was simple: you could wave your hand through fire without being burned, so long as you moved fast enough. She would do the same—with her whole body.

The world seemed to slow as she closed the distance. The fire spirit turned, its flickering form responding to her sudden movement, but it was far too slow. Her grin widened unconsciously, her sharp teeth gleaming as they elongated into fangs. The heat of the creature washed over her as she collided with its form. To her surprise, it had mass—its fiery body resisted her like molten rock, solid and unyielding. But she didn’t stop.

Her fist plunged into its core, striking the sulfurous heart with a force that shattered it into glowing fragments. The fire spirit let out a high-pitched wail, its form collapsing in on itself like a dying star. Heat and light exploded outward, momentarily blinding her as the creature dissolved into a cloud of embers.

Tanya landed gracefully, shaking her head to clear her vision as the boy’s cries fell silent behind her. She patted herself down, half-expecting burns or injuries, but felt nothing. Her skin was untouched, her body completely unscathed. Only her cap showed signs of damage, its edges singed and curling from the intense heat. She shrugged it off, letting it fall to the ground as she bent to examine the shattered remains of the sulfurous heart.

The fragments pulsed faintly, their heat radiating into the air like dying coals. Her mouth watered, and she found herself physically salivating. Her instincts roared, urging her forward, and she gave in without hesitation. Picking up the fragments, she shoved them into her mouth one by one, her sharp teeth crunching through the burning material as if it were nothing more than hardened bread. The molten heat didn’t burn her. On the contrary, it seemed to spread warmth through her entire body, a comforting sensation that left her feeling stronger, sharper, more alive.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should hold back. She could feel her instincts influencing her thoughts, pushing her into this primal frenzy. But in that moment, she simply didn’t care. The taste, the sensation—it was too intoxicating to resist.

Swallowing the last fragment, Tanya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood, turning toward the boy. He was still on the ground, his face smudged with dirt and streaked with tears. His wide eyes stared up at her, filled with something between awe and disbelief.

Unbeknownst to her, the boy wasn’t just seeing a girl. He was seeing a warrior—a beautiful figure with glowing amethyst eyes and shimmering silver wings, her golden hair catching the firelight in a radiant halo. She was a goddess in his eyes, a vision of strength and salvation.

The boy scrambled to his feet, his small body trembling as he moved toward her, arms outstretched for a hug. Tanya watched him, her sharp gaze softening slightly as she registered his intent. But as he got closer, her instincts flared. In one fluid motion, she sidestepped, spinning out of his reach with effortless grace.

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“What is wrong with these people and trying to touch me,” Tanya muttered under her breath, her voice laced with exasperation.

“You really are a sun angel!” the boy shouted, his eyes glowing with wonder as he opened his arms wide for another hug.

Before he could close the distance, Tanya swiftly palmed his head, her fingers pressing firmly against his skull to hold him at arm’s length. The boy’s legs scrambled fruitlessly as he tried to close the gap.

“Right,” Tanya said dryly, looking at him with a raised brow. “I do indeed feel the influence of the sun. Spread that message and go evacuate, and I’ll… uh, I’ll bless you.” She released him with a small shove, her tone adopting an air of importance as she improvised.

The boy’s eyes lit up further, his awe multiplying. Not only had she saved him, but she had also apparently performed some divine act. If he already thought she was an angel, better to lean into it. At least it wasn’t a wasted effort on her part, and it might make things smoother when Midea eventually presented her Shade-slaying plan to Remus. The villagers’ cooperation would be crucial. Considering it was beneficial for the village in the first place.

She rubbed her nose thoughtfully as the boy nodded enthusiastically and took off running, shouting praises of the “sun angel” as he disappeared into the distance.

With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the chaos. The crackling of flames and the distant clang of weapons filled the air, underlined by the acrid scent of smoke and ash. Tanya exhaled sharply, her sharp ears twitching as they caught faint cries from nearby.

She wanted to not only raise her position with the plan and see her capabilities but she also wanted to eat. Her mind briefly lingered on her instincts—the ever-present urge to hunt, kill, and consume. It wasn’t just hunger but something deeper, more insistent. The more she killed and consumed the more energy she got and a lot of that given energy just disappeared inside of her. She actually had some theories about what was happening. She had spoken about puberty earlier and she thought it may have been something similar. A transformative process of some kind perhaps. Something as simple as a growth spurt or something deeper. She didn’t know but she wanted to do something about it. She knew her brother struggled with them more than she did. She wondered to somet was it a precursor something greater? She didn’t know, but it gnawed at her curiosity. Whatever the answer, it would come eventually.

Tanya shook the thought from her mind and turned to continue her search for Tarak. He wouldn’t be harmed—she was sure of that. He was as strong as she was, if not stronger, and far too stubborn to let himself be overrun by these creatures. Still, she worried not for his safety, but for the people who might end up in his path.

Just as she was about to take off, a piercing yell cut through the chaos, coming from a burning home not far from her. She hesitated, debating for a moment whether to ignore it. Tarak could wait—he wasn’t some mindless beast. He wouldn’t go on a rampage out of nowhere.

The cries grew louder, more desperate. Tanya clicked her tongue, veering sharply to the left. Flames licked at the wooden frame of the small house, the blue-green thatches of its roof collapsing into ash and embers. A child stood outside, a little girl no older than eight, her tear-streaked face contorted with fear.

“My grandma is in there,” the girl sobbed, her small hands clutching desperately at Tanya’s dress. “Hic-ca-can you please help her!”

Tanya looked down at her, unsure how to respond to such naked desperation. Awkwardly, she reached out to ruffle the child’s hair, forcing a smile she hoped looked heroic.

“Of course I can. I am an angel, after all.”

The words tasted sour in her mouth, and she swore a piece of her soul withered at the lie. But duty called, and she couldn’t back down now. After all when she saved the girls family it would all roll back on her positively.

She turned and punched the burning door, the wood splintering under the force of her blow. Flames roared as the door fell inward, and she stepped into the inferno, her wings unfurling slightly to shield herself from the falling embers.

The heat was intense, oppressive. The air shimmered with waves of heat, and the smoke mildly irritated her throat with every breath though the feeling soon after dissapeared. The walls, once sturdy and proud, were charred and cracked, threatening to collapse at any moment. She moved quickly, her sharp eyes scanning through the haze for any sign of life.

Her ears twitched at a faint sound—a low groan coming from deeper within the house. She pushed through the flames, her bare feet leaving scorch marks in the ash-coated floor as she followed the noise.

In a smaller room near the back of the house, she found an older woman pinned beneath a fallen wooden beam. Her body glowed faintly with the protective shimmer of numen, but it was clear she wouldn’t last much longer. The woman’s eyes widened as she saw Tanya, her gaze a mixture of shock and relief and anger.

The older woman’s voice was a mix of anger and concern as she yelled, "Girl, what are you doing! Go! Get! You don’t even have any cultivation to protect yourself!” Despite the sharp tone, Tanya could tell it came from a place of kindness and worry.

“I’ll be fine,” Tanya replied calmly, brushing off the woman’s panic. She stepped over to the fallen beam pinning the woman down and, with a singular hand, lifted the charred and splintering wood as if it weighed no more than a sack of grain. Her other hand grasped the older woman firmly but gently, pulling her up and onto her feet.

The old woman let out a string of protests and yells as Tanya hoisted her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Ignoring the woman’s indignation, Tanya sprinted out of the collapsing house, her feet moving with unerring precision across the uneven and ash-strewn floor. Embers rained down from the ceiling as the fire roared around them, the heat intensifying with every second.

The house groaned and shuddered behind her as Tanya emerged into the open air, just in time to hear the structure collapse with a deafening crash. She set the older woman down carefully, her amber eyes scanning the woman’s soot-covered face.

The little girl ran forward with a wail, her small arms wrapping tightly around her grandmother. The two embraced, tears streaming down their faces as they clung to each other in relief and joy. Tanya allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile at the sight. See she could also do good deeds as long as it garnered mutual benefit.

“Thank you so much for saving me, girly!” the older woman said, looking up at Tanya with tearful gratitude.

“No problem. You should probably go, though,” Tanya replied with a slight wave, already turning away.

A thought had struck her, sharp and urgent. Luna. Could she even leave her house? Her agoraphobia was a prison of its own, and Tanya knew that her mother was also sickly and couldn’t search for help. Luna might very well sit frozen in fear, unable to save herself.

Tanya’s feet carried her swiftly across the village, weaving through the chaos. Her sharp ears picked up the distant cries of villagers, the clash of weapons against the fiery forms of the spirits, and the roar of the spreading inferno. Her golden hair trailed behind her like a comet as she ran, her wings flicking instinctively to avoid embers in the air.

Her path brought her through the thick of the battle, and she made no effort to avoid the flame spirits. Each one burned with an angry, pulsing light, their forms flickering between man-like shapes and jagged pillars of molten rock. The air around them shimmered with heat, distorting the surroundings like a mirage. Their sulfuric hearts glowed menacingly at their centers, exuding an overwhelming aura of fire and destruction.

Tanya didn’t hesitate. Her first strike came like a thunderbolt, her legs coiling like springs before she launched herself at a spirit. The impact of her fist against its molten chest sent shockwaves through its fiery form, shattering the sulfuric heart within. The creature dissolved into harmless flames as her body absorbed its essence, a strange warmth spreading through her veins.

She didn’t stop. She moved from one spirit to the next, her speed turning her into a blur of motion. Soldiers and civilians alike stopped in their tracks, their mouths agape as they witnessed her divine movements. Her limbs were like golden whips, striking with precision and fury as each blow crushed the hearts of the flame spirits.

The creatures tried to retaliate, swiping at her with molten claws, but her reflexes were too fast. She danced between their strikes, her feet skimming the ground as she wove through their attacks with ease. Her wings unfurled briefly to propel her forward, adding to her already blinding speed.

Each time she struck down a spirit, she scooped up the shattered fragments of its sulfuric heart and popped them into her mouth without hesitation. The fiery essence burned with an intensity that should have been unbearable, but Tanya felt nothing but exhilaration. Her body seemed to hum with newfound energy, her instincts urging her to consume more.

The warmth spreading through her body intensified with each fragment she devoured. Her muscles felt lighter, stronger. Her senses sharpened, and her movements became even more fluid. She barely registered the startled gasps and murmurs of the villagers as she passed—she was too focused on her goal.

Her path led her out of the village and into the rural fields beyond, where the air was thick with smoke and ash. The fields, once vibrant and green, were now scorched and blackened, the aspar trees casting eerie shadows against the orange glow of the fires. Tanya pushed herself harder, her wings twitching as she accelerated.

At last, she reached Luna’s house. Her eyebrows rose at the sight. As expected. The home was already engulfed in flames, the blue-green thatches of its roof collapsing into embers. The fire roared hungrily, devouring everything in its path. Tanya slowed to a stop, her amethyst eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation.

“AAAGGGGHH!! UHHHH!!” Luna cried.

The little girl’s screams echoed across the charred and burning field, piercing the oppressive roar of the flames that consumed the remnants of Luna’s home. Her voice was raw, choked with pain and terror, as she struggled against the iron grip of the man dragging her by the arm.

"Stop crying. This was your fate. No one will find you," the man said coldly, his tone devoid of empathy. His milky eye stared unseeingly ahead, a twisted reflection of the apathy in his soul. The spear he held glinted ominously in the firelight, a weapon meant for destruction. He didn’t falter, dragging the girl as if she were nothing more than a rag doll.

The girl’s burned flesh glistened in the flickering light, her tears carving paths through the soot and ash on her unmarred cheek. She whimpered and screamed, the sound growing weaker with each step. Her tiny legs scrambled against the ground, kicking up dirt and embers as she tried to resist.

And then, like a predator sighting its prey, Tanya appeared.

Her eyes glowed with an unearthly light, twin beacons of amethyst fury that pierced the darkness. Her teeth were bared, jagged like the fangs of a beast, glinting as though they were forged of steel. But it was her expression that struck terror into those who might have seen her—a savage smile stretched wide across her face, a feral snarl that spoke of violence and bloodlust. It was a look untamed, primal, and devoid of reason, born not of calculation but of raw instinct.

Her wings flared behind her, their silver sheen hardening like blades of celestial steel. The light of the fires reflected off their edges, making them gleam with a deadly sharpness, as though they could carve through the very heavens. Her movements were a blur, her body a tempest of motion as she launched herself forward with unrelenting ferocity. It was sudden and unlike her but the night had whipped her instincts into a storm somewhat like what she had been afraid of for Tarak. So she blazed toward the man toward Hathor

And even if she did not know it had Midea seen her right then and there the only words to come from his mouth would be.

“The apple does never fall quite far from the tree.”

_________________

Sol sat cross-legged in her small room, her silhouette illuminated by the gentle glow of the aspar lamp hanging overhead. Its soft, blue-green light danced across the roughly hewn wooden walls, creating shifting shadows that seemed alive with quiet movement. The faint hum of the lamp added to the stillness of the night, blending with the occasional creak of the house settling. Sol closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, her breath soft but steady, matching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she sank into the disciplined focus of cultivation.

Her palms rested lightly on her knees, fingers relaxed but poised, as if she were holding onto something unseen. With each breath, she inhaled the faint strands of numen that filled the air, guiding them through her body according to the complex pathways of the Solgaleo Sutra. This new technique was different—its flow heavier and far more intricate than the Great Wolf Sutra she’d grown up with. At first, it had felt almost unnatural, the unfamiliar patterns like a new language she was forced to learn. But now, there was something magnetic about it.

The numen carried a subtle warmth, each thread pulsing faintly with a light she couldn’t see but could feel deep within. It resonated with her, like the glow of the sun on her skin during the day—a distant, ancient melody that seemed to sing to her alone. There was something more, something almost alive about it. This wasn’t just a superior technique; it felt personal, as if the sun itself whispered secrets into the depths of her soul.

Her brows furrowed as the energy stuttered, slipping away from her control. Sol’s breathing hitched, the flow faltering as her thoughts intruded, scattering her concentration like leaves caught in the wind. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her skin damp and clammy. The room felt suddenly stifling, the still air heavy against her skin. She opened her eyes with a frustrated sigh, the familiar weight of her surroundings pressing in on her.

Cultivating at night, she mused, was proving harder than expected. The Solgaleo Sutra thrived under the light of the sun, drawing strength from its radiance. The moons' glow lacked the power she needed, their light muted and cool. She sighed, unfolding her legs and letting them dangle off the side of her bed.

Her gaze drifted to the single window that overlooked the village. Beyond the rough wooden frame lay a world cloaked in darkness, the three moons hanging above like sentinels. The largest glowed faintly blue, its light mixing with the distant orange fires that still flickered in some parts of the village, remnants of the recent chaos.

Sol rested her chin on her hand, her thoughts wandering again, this time to her family. Her mother had grounded her for sneaking out to visit Luna, her punishment swift and uncompromising. Sol had wriggled free for a single day to enjoy Resin Day with her friends, but her brief reprieve had been short-lived. Now, her confinement resumed, and with it came a gnawing sense of restlessness.

Her friends had noticed too. Amoux and Reina had pestered her endlessly, whining about her sudden absence. She could still hear their playful complaints echoing in her mind. Tarak, her steadfast companion, had been more understanding. Despite not being required to attend classes, he showed up every day just to see her.

She smiled faintly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the windowsill. Tarak’s devotion warmed her heart. He’d always taken her advice seriously, treating her words as law. It was endearing in a way she didn’t often admit, even to herself. His declaration about promises still lingered in her mind, a reminder of how deeply he valued her. Though part of that was because his sister told him promises should be valued. If he treated her words as law his sisters were the divine mandate of creation itself. She shook her head with a smile.

The thought of her little sister also brought a small smile to her lips. Their bond was another source of light in her life, a glimmer that cut through the weighty shadows of her home. Despite everything, despite the ever-present heaviness that seemed to cling to this house, she found solace in these small moments of connection.

Sol’s gaze turned skyward, her amethyst eyes reflecting the brilliance of the stars scattered across the dark canvas of the heavens. She reached out, her slender fingers stretching toward the infinite expanse, as if she could pluck a star from the sky and hold its light in her hand.

“Like stars in the night sky,” she whispered, her voice soft and dreamy. Her lips curled into a faint smile, her heart swelling with the simple, childlike wonder of the moment. She turned walking back to her head her eyes closing in slumber with warm memories playing through her mind. But peaceful sleep never lasts.

The stillness of the night shattered without warning.

Sol awoke with a jolt, her heart racing as the world around her trembled. A deafening crash echoed through the air, and her small room lit up with an unnatural orange glow. Her breath caught in her throat as she scrambled upright, disoriented and stunned. She ran to the window, yanking it open to see a scene of chaos unfolding outside. Fiery streaks tore through the sky, meteors crashing into the earth with resounding booms. Villagers screamed as flame spirits, their flickering forms made of molten cores and fire, spread destruction in their wake. The once-familiar world of her village was now a hellscape of orange and black.

A sudden flare of heat snapped her attention back to her immediate surroundings. A lick of flame surged toward her window, and she stumbled backward with a sharp scream. Her house was on fire! Smoke began to seep into the room, curling in tendrils that stung her eyes and throat.

Panic gripped her as she coughed violently, stumbling toward the door. She wrenched it open, the thick, acrid smoke rushing to meet her. Sol instinctively coated her body in numen, the energy forming a protective layer as she staggered down the stairs.

“Mom!” she yelled, her voice hoarse as she squinted through the haze.

From the corner of the room, her mother emerged, framed by the flickering orange glow of the encroaching flames. Terra stood firm, her father’s old spear gripped tightly in one hand, and a numen-coated string in the other. Her expression was sharp and unyielding, a warrior's determination burning in her eyes as she faced down one of the flame spirits that had breached their home.

The creature lunged at her, its molten form crackling as it lashed out. Terra moved with precision, weaving around its fiery strikes. The string in her hand glowed faintly as she lashed it forward, wrapping it around the spirit’s sulfuric heart. With a sharp pull, she dragged the core toward herself and drove the spear through it with a practiced, brutal efficiency. The heart shattered, the fragments falling to the floor and burning holes into the wooden planks.

“Air wave, girl!” Terra shouted without looking back, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Sol reacted immediately, inhaling deeply before exhaling a concentrated blast of numen-infused air. The flames licked and flickered but receded under the force, retreating as she and her mother worked in tandem. Together, they moved swiftly, quelling the fires room by room.

By the time the flames were subdued, their home was in ruins, but it stood. A portion of the wall had collapsed, leaving the house exposed to the outside, but much of their belongings remained intact. It was a victory, though a small and bitter one.

Terra turned to Sol, her expression unreadable, but before she could say anything, Sol darted toward the door.

“Sol!” Terra called after her, but Sol barely heard her. Her focus was on the village outside. She stepped into the night, and the sight that met her stole her breath.

The world was ablaze. The orange glow of firelight painted everything in hues of destruction, the blackened remains of trees and buildings casting stark silhouettes against the burning sky. Villagers ran frantically, some fighting the flame spirits with whatever weapons they could muster, others dragging injured loved ones to safety. The screams of the wounded mingled with the crackling roar of the fires, a cacophony of despair.

Sol sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, fear gripping her. But not for herself. Her mind raced, thoughts immediately snapping to Luna. What was her little sister doing? Was she safe? Sol’s chest tightened as she imagined Luna trapped, terrified, unable to flee.

Without hesitation, she bolted forward, weaving through the chaos. A fiery tree collapsed ahead of her, and she skidded to a halt, dodging to the side just as another gout of flame erupted from a spirit nearby. Her body moved on instinct, her numen-clad form weaving and darting through the village like a dancer through the flames.

As she rounded a corner, a hand shot out and grabbed her arm. She was yanked to a stop, and she whirled around to see her mother, her face set in a mask of anger and fear.

“What are you doing, Sol?” Terra demanded, her voice sharp.

“Let me go!” Sol yelled, struggling against her grip.

“No!” Terra’s voice was firm, her fingers tightening around Sol’s arm.

“Why?” Sol’s voice cracked, her emotions boiling over. “You never cared before! You don’t see me as anything but the remnants of Dad, right? You blame him being himself on me, don’t you? Like I wasn’t good enough, and that’s why he left to go court some other woman. That’s all I really am to you, isn’t it? An echo of his mistakes. A grim reminder. Just like you were to your father!”

Her words came out in a torrent, each one laced with raw pain. “Yeah, I heard. You don’t see me as family, so let me go save my family!” she screamed, pulling against Terra with all her strength.

Her mother recoiled as if struck, her face paling. For a moment, her mouth opened, but no words came out. Finally, she tried, her voice faltering. “Sol, I—”

But before she could finish, her head snapped to the side, her attention drawn to a burning fire not far away. Her grip loosened, and Sol didn’t hesitate. She wrenched free and ran, her feet pounding against the dirt as she disappeared into the chaos.

Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear but from determination. She had to find Luna. She had to find her family. Nothing else mattered.

____________

The village burned, chaos twisting through every corner as fire spirits danced with destructive glee. Terra's lungs burned as she inhaled smoke, her body aching from exhaustion. She had only just managed to deal with the flame spirit that had invaded their home, its sulfuric heart shattered beneath the weight of her husband’s old spear. The fragments of its fiery core had singed through the wooden floor, leaving charred scars in its wake.

Her hands shook slightly, still gripping the weapon tightly as she stumbled forward. But then she saw Sol—a flash of golden-blonde hair against the orange haze. Her daughter was running headlong into the chaos, her small frame weaving through the flaming wreckage. Terra’s heart clenched in fear, the primal terror of a mother overtaking all else. She surged forward, her boots crunching against the scorched earth, her voice sharp and cutting through the roar of the inferno.

“Sol!” Terra shouted, her voice hoarse from the smoke clogging her throat. She pushed through the smoldering debris, her hand darting out to grab Sol’s arm just as the girl darted past. Her grip was firm, unyielding, fueled by desperation.

“What are you doing, Sol?” Terra demanded, her voice trembling with both anger and worry. The flickering firelight illuminated the strain in her face, her features hardened by the weight of fear.

Sol spun around, yanking at her mother’s hold, her black eyes blazing with fury and pain. “Let me go!” she screamed, her voice raw and desperate. She tugged and clawed at Terra’s fingers, but the woman held fast, her grip a lifeline she refused to release.

“No!” Terra snapped, her tone biting, though her chest ached with the conflict brewing inside her. “You’re staying here where it’s safe!”

“Why?” Sol’s voice cracked, thick with tears and the weight of years of bottled emotion. “You never cared before!” she shouted, her small fists pounding weakly against Terra’s arm. “You don’t see me as anything but the remnants of Dad, right?”

Terra froze, her grip faltering for the briefest moment as the words hit her like a physical blow.

“You blame him being himself on me, don’t you?” Sol continued, her voice rising with every word, each syllable like a dagger twisting deeper. “Like because I wasn’t good enough, he left to go court some other woman! That’s all I really am to you—an echo of his mistakes and yours!”

Terra’s breath hitched, her fingers trembling as she fought to keep her composure.

“Just like you were to your father!” Sol’s scream cut through the night, her voice raw and filled with pain. “Yeah, I heard! You don’t see me as family, so let me go save my family!”

The firelight reflected off the tears streaming down Sol’s soot-streaked cheeks, her small body trembling with a mixture of rage and sorrow. Terra’s face twisted, shame and regret battling with pride and a mother’s fierce protectiveness.

The words she wanted to say stuck in her throat, choking her as Sol’s accusations echoed in her mind. How could she respond to that? How could she undo years of distance, of harsh words and cold silences? But even so her pride warred with her shame and so did her anger. But she was a mother. Her love for her daughter overcame all. She just didn’t want the girl to live as she did. In a way maybe that is why she always pushed her to be better. Like Caela once was. To do something with herself. But that twisted with her misplaced anger. Terra was broken but she had always considered her daughter her family. And comparing her to how that man had treater her hurt. In the deepest way one could imagine.

“Sol, I—” Terra’s voice cracked, her words faltering under the weight of her emotions. Her grip loosened slightly, the spear in her other hand dipping as her strength wavered.

Terra’s head snapped toward the flames roaring not far from where she stood. A presence loomed heavy and oppressive, drawing her gaze to the heart of the inferno. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him—a figure standing amidst the fire, his form framed by the flickering light of destruction.

The boy had brown skin, though the flames cast it in a haunting orange-red glow. His eyes, crimson with slit pupils, gleamed like molten rubies, reflecting the fire in a way that made them look more like windows into hell than the eyes of a child. His hair, dark at its roots but flaring to pale white at the edges, rose wildly in the updraft of the fire. It moved as though alive, a crown of untamed flame. His expression was eerily blank, but his wide eyes burned with an intensity that was almost primal—a promise of violence and certainty.

The flames licked hungrily at his flesh, wrapping around his limbs, but they could not burn him. They clung to him like an obedient servant, emphasizing his horns, which rose from his head like a demonic crown. His tail flicked lazily through the fire behind him, slicing the air with a faint, deliberate rhythm, as if mocking the chaos around him. The boy didn’t need to move or speak; his very presence screamed danger. Every fiber of Terra’s being told her this was not just a child but a predator—a beast who had inherited its name too well.

It was Tarak.

Her knees almost buckled as she locked eyes with him. His gaze was unwavering, unblinking. There was no rage or gloating, only a calm, terrible inevitability. Those crimson eyes promised death. If she continued to cling to Sol, she would die. There was no hesitation in his stare, no mercy in his posture. The message was clear.

A memory surfaced unbidden, her husband’s voice echoing in her mind with a clarity that made the moment even more surreal.

“Sometimes you just know you’re outmatched,” Juraf had said, his tone lighter than the weight of his words. They had been sitting in their small home years ago, his spear leaning against the wall as he cleaned it with practiced ease. His smile was warm, but his eyes carried the wisdom of someone who had seen things most wouldn’t understand. “Like a bunny staring at a wolf. It’s not just strength—it’s something deeper. A fundamental gap in life level. Your body will know when it’s facing something it can’t handle. You’ll feel it, deep down in your blood. Hell, even in your soul.”

She had laughed nervously back then, not fully grasping the gravity of his words. “And what do you do when that happens?”

Juraf had leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “That’s when you run.”

Now, staring into Tarak’s unblinking, hellish eyes, she understood exactly what he’d meant. Her blood turned cold, her heart pounding as if trying to escape her chest. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, to abandon all reason and run as fast and as far as possible. The oppressive weight of Tarak’s presence was suffocating, far heavier than the heat of the fire she’d been shielding herself from with numen.

And then, as if granting her reprieve, the boy began to fade. His form receded into the flames, his eyes still locked on hers until the very last moment, like a shadow dissolving into the fire. The crimson glow of his gaze lingered for an agonizing second longer before it, too, disappeared.

Terra’s fingers loosened, and she felt Sol peel away from her grasp. Her daughter ran, her golden-blonde hair catching the flicker of the flames as she disappeared into the distance. Terra wanted to call out to her, to stop her, but her voice caught in her throat, silenced by the oppressive terror still gripping her.

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped her lips in a shaky exhale. Her back was drenched in cold sweat despite the numen she’d used to protect herself from the heat. Her legs felt weak, as though they might give out at any moment. Slowly, she straightened, her eyes darting back toward the flames where Tarak had stood.

She couldn’t see him anymore, but the memory of his gaze burned into her mind like a brand. Her chest ached with a mix of fear and guilt as she turned her gaze toward Sol, her daughter’s small figure growing smaller in the distance.

"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling, "please be safe."

Even if she hadn’t been a good mother, even if her choices had been flawed and her love tangled with bitterness, she hoped Sol would be safe. She hoped, deep down, that this one small hope would redeem her failings.

Right?

________________________

Tarak faded back into the flame, his form dissolving into the flickering shadows. Once he was sure the woman couldn’t see him, his nose wrinkled slightly in annoyance. She had been a thorn in his side for a while now, always keeping Sol away from him, always acting as a barrier. He’d snuck into her house a few times, quietly observing her while his mind wrestled with his instincts. Part of him—no, most of him—wanted to simply end the inconvenience. His body urged him to devour her, to strip away the problem entirely.

But Tarak held back.

His sister would be mad, and Sol… Sol might be sad. The thought of either of them being upset filled him with a strange sensation he didn’t entirely understand. It was uncomfortable, like a rock lodged in his chest, heavy and immovable. He didn’t like it. And there was another reason, one that gnawed at him in the quiet moments—an echo of that same strange feeling he’d experienced last time he’d eaten one of the wolf people. It had been fine at first. Bu then after that when people glared at him and made eyes at him or ran from him.

It had hurt.

Tarak struggled. He struggled a lot. His body told him to do one thing, and his sense and others told him to do another. But his sister had told him that struggle was what defined life. Struggle meant he was alive. And Tarak liked being alive. He figured that meant this inner conflict was normal, something everyone went through. His sister was really smart, so she was probably right.

But tonight was different. Tonight, he wouldn’t need to struggle as much.

His crimson eyes snapped toward Sol’s form as she sprinted through the chaos of the burning village. Her movements were frantic, weaving around falling embers and collapsing beams. Tarak didn’t hesitate. His legs moved effortlessly, carrying him through the devastation with an eerie calmness. The fire seemed to part for him, the flames licking at his skin but leaving no marks, no burns. Within moments, he had caught up with her.

“Tarak!” Sol exclaimed, gasping as she saw him appear beside her. Her black eyes, wide with relief, locked onto his.

He nodded, his expression as impassive as ever. “You are going to find your family, right?”

Sol nodded quickly, a light igniting in her soot-streaked face. It was a light Tarak liked. He didn’t know why, but seeing it made his chest feel strange again. Not heavy, but… lighter. Warmer.

“Can you help me, partner?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly but carrying a small, hopeful smile.

Tarak’s eyes widened ever so slightly, a rare shift in his usually stoic demeanor. His hearts began to thrum faster, pounding against his ribs like a war drum. The unfamiliar sensation spread through him, an emotion he couldn’t name and didn’t know how to process. Was Sol doing this to him? Should he stop it? Should he kill her?

The thought flashed through his mind, sharp and instinctual, but he dismissed it just as quickly. He didn’t want to.

“I will clear the way,” he said simply, his tone flat and resolute.

Sol’s smile grew wider, her trust in him clear as she nodded. Tarak turned his gaze forward, his crimson eyes scanning the chaos ahead. The village was a maelstrom of destruction, fire spirits prowling through the streets with malevolent intent. Their molten forms twisted and flickered, shifting between vague human shapes and towering pillars of flame. They burned everything they touched, their sulfuric cores radiating an oppressive heat that scorched the earth beneath them.

But Tarak didn’t flinch. His emotions, chaotic and storm-like beneath the surface, channeled into his instincts. He didn’t understand what he felt, but he knew how to act. These creatures, like the vampyrs before them, were enemies. They hurt the wolf people. Killing them would make him admired—proof that he was strong.

And it would satisfy him. He would not need to think. He would just do as his body commnanded with no strange feelings.

This was what he was good at. Killing.

Tarak launched himself forward with an almost predatory grace, his powerful legs cracking the scorched ground beneath him as he dove headlong into the flaming form of a spirit. The creature's mass was strangely dense, like molten stone given life, but it offered little resistance as his claws and teeth tore through it. He shattered its sulfuric core with a savage bite, the taste bitter and acrid, but his body thrummed with warmth as he swallowed it down.

The flames danced around him, the air alive with heat and the acrid scent of sulfur. Two more fire spirits noticed him, their flickering forms surging forward in unison. Tarak didn’t pause. His fist lashed out with terrifying speed, the raw force of his punch sending a wave of air that extinguished the first spirit like a snuffed candle. The second stumbled as its form dimmed, and with two swift grabs, Tarak crushed its core in his hand and tossed both fragments into his mouth. He chewed with an almost mechanical precision, each bite sending another rush of power through his veins.

He was moving now, his body a blur of darkened flesh and flashing claws as he cut through the chaos of the village. Behind him, he could hear Sol's footsteps, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as she struggled to keep up. Tarak barely noticed. His focus was absolute, his instincts driving him forward like a relentless force of nature.

A sudden burst of flame to his left drew his attention as another spirit materialized from a burning pile of debris. It lunged at him, its molten arms reaching out with a terrifying speed that caught him off guard.

“Tarak!” Sol’s voice rang out, sharp with alarm.

Before he could fully react, several more spirits erupted from nearby flames, their forms converging on him in an almost coordinated assault. They wrapped around him, their burning limbs coiling in what felt like a smothering, searing group hug. Tarak snarled, his teeth bared as his body tensed against the oppressive heat.

With a violent jerk of his head, one of his sharp, curling horns pierced straight through a spirit’s core, the impact sending a fiery shockwave through its form before it dissipated into embers. Spinning sharply, Tarak used the momentum to throw the others into the air. His tail, suddenly sprouting vicious spikes along its length, snapped upward in a lethal arc. The serrated edges let out a visible air blade that serrated cleanly through the spirits mid-air, their cores shattering into molten fragments that rained down like falling stars.

The remnants barely hit the ground before Tarak crouched and leapt, snatching the cores mid-fall and devouring them whole. His chest heaved, his body thrumming with an almost primal satisfaction as the energy from the cores flowed through him. He let out a breath, smoke curling from his nostrils like steam from a forge.

“That was so cool! It looked like some kind of sword move!” Sol’s voice bubbled with excitement as she ran up to him. Without thinking, her hands reached out to pat his shoulder, only to jerk back almost immediately.

“Ah!” she gasped, her palms reddened from the heat radiating off his body.

Tarak flinched, his hands instinctively stretching toward her before pulling back, unwilling to cause her any more pain. A memory from his sister’s teachings surfaced in his mind, and without hesitation, he dropped to the ground and began rolling, his larger form shifting awkwardly on the scorched earth.

“What are you doing?” Sol asked, her voice bright with laughter as she tilted her head, her black eyes crinkling into crescent moons.

“Stop, drop, and roll,” Tarak replied matter-of-factly, his deep voice muffled slightly as he twisted to douse the heat. “My sister said to do this if I catch fire. I don’t want to burn you.”

Sol’s laughter grew louder, a melodic sound that contrasted sharply with the chaos surrounding them. “It’s fine, you see?” She coated her hands in a thin layer of numen, the faint light shimmering faintly as she reached down to help him up. “I’m actually really tough, you know.” Her grin was infectious, that familiar light shining in her soot-smudged face.

Tarak’s nostrils flared as he exhaled another puff of smoke, causing her to giggle.

“Whoa, dragon boy!” she teased, her voice playful as she tapped his arm.

“I think it’s just the heat,” he replied, his tone flat but not unkind.

They continued forward, the village a blazing labyrinth of chaos. Tarak moved with relentless efficiency, his tail whipping through the air like a bladed weapon as he cut down a dozen more spirits. Each strike was calculated and brutal, his claws ripping through their molten forms with ease. He hurled clumps of hardened earth at distant spirits, the makeshift projectiles shattering their cores with terrifying precision.

The heat and destruction seemed to fuel him, his movements growing sharper, more fluid, with each spirit he consumed. The shattered cores left behind a residual warmth in his body that made his muscles hum with renewed strength, the energy driving him forward. He could fel his instincts riling inside his flesh as the hunting.

Sol followed close behind, her dark eyes wide as she watched him work. The spirits, which had seemed so terrifying only moments ago, now looked insignificant in the face of his overwhelming strength. Together, they carved a path through the burning village, their goal clear in both their minds.

Luna’s house loomed in the distance, the flickering orange light casting eerie shadows on its collapsing frame. Tarak’s gaze narrowed, and his pace quickened.

He smelt his sister. And he smelt blood.