Tanya pressed a trembling hand against her chest, feeling the slowly closing hole where Hathor's spear had pierced through. The wound still throbbed with dull, persistent pain, but her body—true to its nature—was already working tirelessly to repair itself. Her amethyst eyes flicked toward Midea, who stood nearby, his expression focused and severe. He drew a thin line of blood from his chest, dark purple droplets welling up and clinging to his clawed fingers. With deliberate precision, he traced arcane symbols in the air, each one glowing faintly before hanging suspended in space. The symbols shimmered like molten metal, shifting and twisting into intricate patterns as they arranged themselves around Luna's unconscious form.
Tanya watched the ritual unfold, her mind racing with questions and theories. The air felt heavier now, thick with an almost palpable energy that made her skin prickle. Each rune Midea conjured seemed to hum faintly, resonating with the very fabric of reality. The flames from nearby lamps flickered erratically, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. Outside, the faint murmurs of villagers tending to the aftermath of the battle could still be heard, mingling with the occasional crackle of burning debris.
"A devil of the moon?" Tanya murmured quietly, repeating the words Midea had uttered moments earlier. She placed a hand on her chin, her sharp gaze narrowing thoughtfully. "What exactly are you doing there?" she asked, her voice calm but clear, cutting through the tense atmosphere.
Midea turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes flashing with mild irritation at being interrupted. Still, he didn't stop his work, his hands moving with practiced ease as more runes formed in the air. "I am using my bloodline to make her into my kin," he explained curtly, the annoyance in his tone barely concealed. "I think it's something of a waste, honestly. But I'm no genius in the healing arts, and this is the only way I can give her a chance at survival." He let out a weary sigh, his voice carrying both resignation and determination.
Tanya's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "So you're giving her your bloodline, then?" she asked, tilting her head slightly as she tried to piece together the significance of what he was doing.
Midea's hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing their intricate dance. "More than that," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "I'm making her a demon."
The runes in the air began to shift, their shapes folding in on themselves in ways that defied normal perception. They twisted and spiraled into geometric fractals, some of which seemed to exist in spaces beyond three-dimensional reality. Tanya could feel a faint pull from them, as if the symbols were tugging at something deep within her own being. It was her curiosity gnawing at her. A desire for knowledge. She tried to suss out the purpose of the complex wards before shaking her head.she lacked a knowledge base. she turned her attention back to the conversation at hand.
"Giving her a bloodline and changing her into a demon…" Tanya murmured, her brows furrowing. "That's fundamentally different, isn't it?" Her tone was more thoughtful than accusatory, but the weight of her words hung in the air.
Midea didn't answer immediately. Instead, he continued his work, the runes now forming a complex circle around Luna's prone body. The symbols pulsed rhythmically, each pulse sending out ripples of energy that seemed to weave themselves into the fabric of the room. The temperature dropped slightly, the air becoming colder with each passing moment.
Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying a mix of disdain and grudging respect. "This girl is lucky. Subpar talent, yet she's about to gain the body of a demon and the innate bloodline of the Scelus. She would likely have only gained a bloodline through the bone or heart-drawing methods if she ever managed to escape this backwater village and broaden her horizons. Luck truly does come to the undeserving," he muttered bitterly.
Tanya ignored his rant, zeroing in on the information that piqued her interest. "What exactly is the difference between your bloodline and becoming a demon?" she asked, her voice steady, her gaze unwavering.
"Hmmm?" Midea's voice carried a tone of mild surprise at her question, his fingers never ceasing their delicate work. Runes continued to spin around Luna's prone form, glowing faintly in the dim light of the room. The symbols pulsed rhythmically, each beat sending a soft hum through the air as if resonating with some ancient force. Shadows flickered across the walls, dancing in tandem with the shifting shapes suspended in the air.
"Ahh, I suppose you wouldn't know, now would you?" He spoke as though to himself before refocusing on her. "Bloodlines are… unique, I suppose, would be the best way to describe them. Unique to one's race, that is. The demon race originates from hell. Because of that, regardless of which circle we hail from, every demon shares a certain affinity with darkness, the abyss, and flame." He moved his fingers in a precise pattern, more runes materializing in a spiral, their shapes forming geometric sequences that folded into fractal patterns beyond normal perception. "Some demons possess far stronger affinities than others, like myself, but no demon lacks these traits."
Tanya's gaze flicked to the symbols forming in the air, her amethyst eyes narrowing as she took in the intricate patterns. The runes weren't just symbols—they radiated a primal, ancient essence, one that sent faint shivers down her spine. They seemed to exist partially outside the confines of the room, distorting the space around them in subtle but disconcerting ways.
"We also possess the ability to evolve at each layer," Midea added offhandedly, his tone betraying a hint of pride despite his obvious exhaustion. Sweat beaded on his brow, though whether from exertion or the intensity of the numen art he was performing was unclear. His voice remained steady, however, as he continued, "These traits are innate to the demon race. None of them qualify as a bloodline."
Midea's eyes flicked to her briefly, a glint of something unreadable passing through them. "Simply put," he began, his tone shifting into something more instructive. "They grant abilities, traits, sometimes even memories, passed down through generations. But they don't change what you are at your core. A human with a dragon bloodline is still human. A wolf with a phoenix bloodline remains a wolf. They gain power, yes, but their essence remains unchanged."
Tanya's mind worked quickly, processing the information. So, in essence, innate abilities were traits shared by all members of a race, while a bloodline was something unique—an inherited power that set certain individuals apart. A demon couldn't possess a 'demon bloodline' unless it was acquired unnaturally, through external means. Yet bloodlines could still arise naturally among demons, passed down within specific families. It was like certain human families being taller on average, except amplified to an absurd degree. Bloodlines, it seemed, were the defining factor that elevated individuals beyond the norm.
Midea's hands never stopped moving, drawing more runes into the air, their glow intensifying as the shapes began to fold inward, forming complex three-dimensional structures. Strange, unearthly whispers filled the room, the sounds faint yet persistent, as if the runes themselves carried some forgotten will.
"If you were to take the blood of an ordinary demon," Midea continued, his tone sharper now, as if annoyed by the very thought, "and use the heart or bone drawing method to extract its essence, you could integrate that blood essence into one of this Canid clan and grant them a demon bloodline. But it would only be a fraction of what true demons possess."
Tanya's head tilted slightly as she considered his words. So even though bloodlines could grant incredible power, they were inherently inferior when acquired through these methods. It was a fascinating distinction—true demons possessed innate abilities far beyond what a simple bloodline could replicate. But another term he mentioned caught her attention, and curiosity bloomed in her mind.
"The heart and bone drawing method," she said, her voice calm but insistent, tilting her head slightly. "You've mentioned it a few times now. What is it exactly?"
Midea finally glanced up from his work, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. For a moment, annoyance flickered across his features, but it quickly gave way to something more contemplative. He seemed to weigh whether it was worth answering her before sighing and giving in.
"It is a method," he said slowly, "to forcibly acquire a bloodline from another living being. Technically, it is classified as a dark numen art, though it's used so commonly across the realms that no one cares anymore. It often results in the death of the creature being harvested, as the process involves crushing and compressing their heart or drawing out bone marrow to extract the essence."
Tanya frowned, the explanation conjuring grim images in her mind. The idea of crushing someone's heart or extracting their marrow to steal their lineage was barbaric, even by the standards of this world.
Midea noticed her reaction and sneered slightly. "Not all lifeforms have hearts or bone marrow, of course," he added, his tone dismissive. "There are other methods for those beings—methods I don't particularly care to elaborate on. It's a crude practice, as I said. The bloodlines acquired through such means are crippled—mere shadows of the original. They can grant power, yes, but never to the same degree as a naturally inherited bloodline or the inherent ability of a race."
He shook his head in disdain, the disgust in his expression palpable. "It's a shortcut, nothing more. And shortcuts like that always come with a price."
Tanya remained silent, her mind racing as she absorbed the information. The concept of bloodline theft was fascinating in a morbid way, but it also highlighted something important—this world valued strength, power, and heritage above all else. To those who lacked talent or fortune, stealing the bloodline of another might seem like the only path to greatness, no matter how flawed the result.
Her gaze drifted back to Luna's still form, surrounded by the spinning runes and bathed in the soft glow of Midea's numen-infused blood. The air around her felt heavier now, thick with the weight of ancient power and the faint scent of sulfur. Each rune pulsed with a rhythm that seemed to echo in Tanya's chest, a steady beat that grew more insistent with every passing second.
"This way right here is much more viable and complete," Midea said, his voice carrying a faint hint of pride as the final symbols hovered in the air, pulsing rhythmically. The runes cast a soft, shifting glow across the dim room, their light reflecting in Midea's crimson eyes as he directed them with precision. The atmosphere was heavy, thick with numen-infused energy, and the faint scent of iron from his blood lingered in the air.
Tanya's gaze remained fixed on the formation spinning around Luna's form, each rune folding into strange shapes that seemed to bend reality itself. Despite the tension in the room, she kept her voice calm, controlled. "Why didn't you tell me this?" she questioned, her amethyst eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded him.
Midea barely spared her a glance, his focus never wavering from the intricate work before him. "Was it important?" he quirked a brow, his tone dismissive. The runes continued to spiral inward, drawing closer to Luna's comatose form, their glow intensifying.
Tanya crossed her arms, her fingers absently brushing the edges of the still-closing hole in her chest. The pain had dulled somewhat, but the sensation of her healing flesh left a strange discomfort in its wake. Her body was resilient—beyond resilient—but the thought of what she was about to suggest made even her hesitate.
"I can bear losing a heart," she said quietly, more to herself than to Midea. Her voice steadied as she continued, surprising even herself with the next words. "It should regrow. My body can pump blood effectively regardless. You could have used this method to grant Luna a Tyrannius bloodline, no? Our survivability and regenerative abilities seem to outstrip demons. It would have been better in this case, right?"
Midea paused, his fingers halting mid-air as he turned to look at her with incredulity. For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the faint hum of the runes. Then, with an almost disbelieving laugh, he shook his head. "You're serious?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. "You were really about to offer up one of your hearts for this wolf child?"
Tanya didn't answer immediately. Instead, she found herself staring at Luna's fragile form, the layers of runes gradually enveloping her in a protective cocoon. The fact that she had even considered such a thing felt surreal. Tanya wasn't kind. She wasn't a hero. She didn't go around saving innocents unless it ultimately served her own interests. And yet, here she was, offering something as vital as one of her hearts for this child's survival.
Her fingers tightened slightly against her arm. What the hell is wrong with me? she thought bitterly. The dissonance was jarring—her mind telling her this was madness, while her body latched onto the thought and refused to let go. It wasn't just instinct anymore; it was something deeper, something she didn't fully understand. She had thought she had a handle on her Tyrannius instincts, but perhaps she needed to rethink that. Maybe even consider meditating to sort through the tangled mess of emotions coursing through her.
Midea's laughter pulled her out of her thoughts. "First off," he said, smirking slightly, "I had no idea you had that many hearts. And even if I did, I wouldn't rip out your heart to save some random wolf child I don't know." He waved his hand dismissively, guiding another set of runes into place. "Secondly, how the heart drawing sutra would even work on your body is beyond me. The process involves pumping numen into the creature's body and creating wards to compress the heart blood, life essence, and fragments of the outer soul. That's what creates a replica of the creature's unique traits. The bone drawing sutra is much the same. But your body?" He paused, giving her a pointed look. "Your body is a void. A sinkhole. Numen moving from the outside in can damage you like anyone else, but numen pumped directly into your body just… vanishes."
He gestured sharply, his expression growing more serious. "And thirdly—this is important—compatibility with the body matters just as much as the art used. There are different versions of these arts tailored to specific races—demons, dragons, kovri, and so on. Some are even more specialized for certain bloodlines. Part of the art involves adapting it through one's numen to ensure proper integration. Coloring their blood with your essence through the heart drawing sutra. But adaptability and compatibility still matter, one must have a body befitting that bloodline and specific techniques to integrate it on top of that inherent talent. And nothing is really known about the physiology of a Tyrannius. No sutra exists for your kind. The girl would pop like screaming souls on Satan Day."
Tanya arched a brow at the odd phrase. Screaming souls on Satan Day? She decided not to ask. Instead, her focus remained on his explanation. It made sense, in a way. Even if she could offer her heart, there was no guarantee it would work. Her body's unique nature wasn't just an advantage—it was a mystery, one that even someone as knowledgeable as Midea couldn't fully grasp.
Meanwhile, Midea's formation neared completion. The runes wrapped themselves around Luna in layer after layer, each one shimmering briefly before settling into place. By the time the ninth layer formed, the air around the child shimmered with a faint, otherworldly glow. The oppressive weight of numen filled the room, pressing against Tanya's senses like a tangible force.
Midea exhaled slowly, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "There," he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with exhaustion. "It's done. If she survives this, she'll have the body of a demon and the bloodline of the Scelus. Her chances are slim, but… better than they were. Just a few more wards here to enhanceher chances."
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Tanya nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on the cocooned form of Luna, now fully encased in Midea's intricate wards. The layers of symbols glowed faintly, shifting in complex, mesmerizing patterns, each movement casting fleeting shadows across the dimly lit room. The air was thick with the scent of iron, blood, and something older—something primal, as if ancient forces had stirred to witness this transformation.
Her thoughts churned as she considered Midea's earlier explanations. In simpler terms, it seemed the heart and bone drawing sutras were general but adaptable, crude in execution yet capable of remarkable variation depending on the target species and even specific bloodlines. However, there was an inherent limitation. A second stage in the process tailored the recipient's body to properly integrate the bloodline, and it was precisely this stage that rendered the sutras unusable on her. Well that and the first. Her Tyrannius physiology, with its void-like nature and its rejection of external numen, would simply negate the process entirely.
Her eyes flicked down to her chest, where the gaping hole from earlier had mostly closed. Only a faint scar remained, its edges faintly tinged with silver as her skin regenerated further. The scar tissue was also disappearing as if her body despised imperfection. If she gave it a hour there would be no mark the battle had ever even happened on her form. But despite her remarkable healing, the ordeal had left her feeling drained, hunger gnawing at the edges of her awareness. She frowned slightly. It's a shame, she mused. If that girl could gain these kinds of benefits, she might have had a better shot at survival. Even with the drawbacks. But Midea's earlier words tugged at her curiosity once more.
"The outer soul?" she asked, her tone thoughtful, her amethyst eyes narrowing slightly as she tilted her head. "I thought the soul was a cohesive whole, like you mentioned before?"
"Hmmm," Midea murmured, sparing her a glance as he worked, his blackened fingers tracing the final symbols into place. "Ah, you remembered that. Yes, the soul is a cohesive whole, but… it has layers, so to speak. Think of it like this: the soul is a single entity, but different aspects of it serve different functions. The Vitra is one such aspect—it's the part of the soul that intertwines with the body, akin to meridians. It's what allows us to interact with numen through our physical forms."
Tanya's eyes narrowed in concentration, absorbing the information. Vitra—soul channels fused with flesh. Makes sense, she thought.
Midea continued, his tone now more instructive. "Then there's the Spectra, a fusion of the soul and the mind. It's how we visualize numen, sense it, and comprehend our own cultivation. For high-level cultivators, when they lose their bodies, the Spectra actualizes into what you'd call a spectral form. You've seen them before, haven't you? Shades, spirits, spectral beings—they're manifestations of the Spectra, intangible to ordinary physical force."
Tanya nodded faintly, recalling the shades she had encountered. They had been ghostly, ethereal figures immune to most mundane attacks, but they hadn't been intangible to her. Of course, she thought wryly. My body can touch ghosts directly. Because that definitely tracks with being a part of a race of absolute units who are too angry to die.
"And finally," Midea said, pausing briefly as he adjusted a rune that flared brightly before dimming, "there's the Atman. That's… well, no one really understands it. The Atman is the fundamental core of a being, untouchable except by those beyond the ninth layer. It's said to be the essence of existence itself, the core by which we interact with creation through cultivation. Destroying the Atman means true death—no reincarnation, no lingering spirit. It's why you, your brother, and your mother are so dangerous."
He turned to her fully now, his crimson eyes gleaming with a seriousness that Tanya hadn't often seen from him. "You can destroy the Atman, just like that."
Tanya's expression remained impassive, though inwardly, she processed the weight of his words. The Atman—an untouchable essence, beyond even high-level cultivators—was something she could annihilate with ease. It explained why her mother was so feared. They didn't just kill; they erased. There was no coming back from their wrath.
Midea's pitch-black skin, which had once gleamed with an almost metallic luster, now looked dull and worn. He was clearly exhausted, though he made no complaint. Tanya's sharp eyes didn't miss the slight tremble in his hands as he finished the last set of symbols. Whatever this ritual had cost him, it wasn't insignificant. Considering he could only perform this particular transformation once in his entire existence, it was clearly special to him. Despite her usual wariness around him, she felt a flicker of gratitude. Even if he was doing this for his own benefit, he had still gone to great lengths to save Luna.
"Thank you," she said quietly, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. She wasn't one to express gratitude easily, but in this case, it felt warranted.
Midea waved her off with a tired smirk. "Save your thanks. I didn't do this for free. Besides, it's not done yet."
"How long will the… transformation take?" Tanya asked, her tone calm but tinged with urgency. "Will it be in time for the supposed trial?"
Midea slumped against the wall, exhaling deeply as he closed his eyes for a moment. "She'll be past the first stages by then," he said, his voice quieter now, weariness creeping into his words. "For her to fully acclimate to being a demon? That will take much longer. But she should be awake in time for the trial."
He opened one eye, regarding her with a tired but calculating expression. "However, I can't say what she'll look like by then. The transformation is unpredictable. Her appearance, her abilities—they'll change. From now on, she's as much my child as she is her parents'. She's my responsibility now, just like the two of you."
Tanya raised a brow at his casual declaration. Responsibility? She wasn't sure how to feel about that, but there was something oddly comforting about the way he said it. Despite his abrasive nature, Midea had proven himself reliable. In this world, aside from Tarak, he might be the only person she could truly trust—for now, at least.
Then she did a double take.
Tanya snapped her head toward Midea in shock, her sharp amethyst eyes narrowing as she processed his words. A child? She supposed she should have known. He had emphasized how significant this act was, but she hadn't fully grasped its weight until now. Midea, for all his airs of superiority and smug condescension, never gave off the impression of someone who wanted or had children. He carried himself with the detached arrogance of someone who valued power above all else, not a man interested in parental responsibility. Yet here he was, claiming Luna as his child through this strange, ancient ritual—and it was all at her request. A flicker of guilt gnawed at her, sour and unfamiliar.
Her expression twisted into a grimace. She might actually owe the demon quite a bit.
"You can pay me back in power and souls, little monster," Midea said with a sly grin, his voice laced with a teasing lilt that was uniquely his. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, clearly enjoying her reaction.
Tanya's grimace deepened. The demon had read her like an open book, and she didn't like it one bit. She let out a quiet breath, pushing away the gnawing sense of obligation. Fine. I'll pay him back eventually. But on my terms.
Suddenly, a radiant silver light burst from the cocoon, illuminating the room in a pale, ethereal glow. Tanya and Midea snapped to attention, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they fixed their gazes on the cocoon. The light was brilliant, cold and serene, resembling the full moon on a clear winter's night. It bathed the entire room in its luminous sheen, casting long, shifting shadows on the stone walls.
The light faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind an eerie stillness in the air. But its presence hadn't vanished entirely. Where the light had once been, a simple yet intricate symbol now glowed faintly on the surface of the cocoon—a ward in the shape of a crescent moon, delicate and pristine, as if etched by celestial hands.
Tanya's sharp gaze lingered on the symbol. It looked… familiar. Her mind quickly connected the dots, and her eyes flicked toward Luna's neck. The pendant. The symbol was strikingly similar to the pendant the girl always wore around her neck, the one she had clutched so tightly even in her unconscious state.
"Is this normal for someone with a yin-attributed physique?" Tanya asked, her voice calm but edged with curiosity.
Midea frowned, his expression thoughtful as he examined the symbol. He shook his head slightly, crimson eyes narrowing in contemplation. "This is my first time performing this ritual, obviously, but from the records I've studied—no. This is not normal. People with certain physiques do tend to awaken with affinities corresponding to their nature, but I've never heard of anything like this."
His tone carried a note of genuine surprise, which was rare for him. Tanya exhaled sharply, her wings shifting slightly in a restless motion. It's always something, she thought, a hint of irritation creeping into her mind. Whether this was related to the pendant or simply a sign that Luna had more innate potential than Midea had initially believed didn't matter—not right now, at least. What mattered was whether this would affect the transformation process and delay her recovery in time for the trial.
Tanya glanced at Midea, trying to gauge his thoughts, but his face betrayed nothing beyond mild concern. He likely didn't know either. That uncertainty only added to her growing unease. She tilted her head back, running her hands through her tangled hair and feathers in a gesture of weary frustration. The trial. That looming event was the real reason she had suggested this whole ordeal in the first place.
Her thoughts drifted, analyzing the structure of the trial system in this world. Despite being in a completely different reality, the structure wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Funnily enough, it wasn't too different from the legal systems back on Earth. Evidence and witnesses were important, yes, but they weren't the deciding factors. The real power lay in the court of public opinion and the influence of those in power—specifically, the elders and prominent figures of the village. Their opinions would carry the most weight in determining the outcome.
She didn't know much about the elders, but she had some reason to feel confident. She had saved quite a few people during her time here, and thanks to Midea's efforts, she had inadvertently gained something of a legendary reputation among the villagers. She was also on good terms with Hati, who in turn was close with Garran, the current general. That relationship could prove useful.
And then there was the matter of Midea's deal with Chief Remus. While it was clear that the two weren't exactly on the best of terms, there was still a mutual understanding between them—a fragile alliance, perhaps, but one that might work in her favor. Furthermore, from her observations, Remus didn't seem particularly fond of Hathor. That could be another point in her favor.
Still, it wasn't a guaranteed victory. Hathor's status as an elder gave him significant influence, and there was always the possibility that he could sway the court in his favor. She couldn't afford to be complacent. She needed every advantage she could muster, every piece of leverage to ensure that the scales tipped in her favor.
Tanya exhaled heavily, exhaustion weighing on her as if every fiber of her being had turned to lead. Her mind felt hazy, dulled by the lingering pain of her wounds and the sheer mental toll of the past few hours. She tilted her head slightly, only for her ears to pick up the growing sound of hurried footsteps and frantic murmurs from beyond the dimly lit room.
"Oh no, Caela!"
"I heard she kept to herself… trapped in some delusional state since the death of the last general."
"She was too weak to do anything… her mind's been broken by trauma, right?"
"Can she even survive after this?"
"She was brilliant once. One of the most brilliant of us for a time."
Tanya's sharp hearing caught every word as the priestesses' voices melded with the clamor of approaching footsteps. Alongside them was a low, familiar growl that rumbled like distant thunder. Her brow furrowed slightly. She glanced toward Midea, who offered only a tired wave, his dark fingers flicking in silent acknowledgment, before leaning heavily against the wall. His normally sharp and sardonic expression had dulled, replaced by sheer weariness.
Without another word, Tanya stepped out into the hall.
The sight that met her was grim. Her brother, Tarak, stood at the forefront, his small yet powerful frame carrying a horribly burned and broken woman in his arms. Caela's once-proud form was reduced to something grotesque, a ruin of charred flesh and exposed bone. Her body was covered in large, fluid-filled blisters, her skin peeling away in places where the fire had licked too long. A deep, jagged scar marred her chest, blackened veins radiating outward like dark tendrils of corruption. Poison. Tanya recognized it instantly. The taint writhed beneath her skin as though alive, creeping toward her heart in a desperate bid to consume what little life remained.
The priestesses swarmed around Tarak, their faces pale with a mixture of horror and urgency. Sol darted ahead, her small hands trembling as she tried to guide them toward an empty cot. Despite the horrendous state of her body, Caela's eyes were astonishingly clear—sharp, lucid, and defiant against the odds. It was as though her spirit refused to yield, even as her flesh betrayed her.
Tarak turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes meeting Tanya's. There was no need for words; the faint nod he gave was enough to convey his acknowledgment. He moved with measured care, the weight of the woman in his arms seemingly insignificant despite her grievous state. As he set her down gently on the cot, Sol clung to the mother's hand, whispering soft, frantic pleas under her breath, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation.
The air was thick with the scent of burnt flesh and herbs, mingling in a nauseating blend that clung to the back of Tanya's throat. She grimaced inwardly, forcing herself to maintain a composed expression as she approached the cot. Her gaze flicked over Caela's ruined form, noting every injury with a clinical detachment born of necessity. The missing ear, the patches of exposed bone, the blistered skin—each injury painted a vivid picture of the horrors the woman had endured.
A pang shot through Tanya's chest, unexpected and unwelcome. She didn't care about Caela—she didn't know her, had no attachment to her. Yet the thought of Luna, that small, hopeful child who had already lost so much, stirred something in her. Luna might very well lose her mother, the one anchor she had left in this chaotic world. Worse, the girl would have to face the man who had shattered her life in court, her transformation into a literal demon adding another layer of trauma to an already broken existence.
And then there was Midea's comment. His claim that Luna was now as much his responsibility as her parents'. Tanya snorted quietly at the thought, a dark, wry chuckle escaping her lips despite the grim atmosphere. Gaining a new father out of this ordeal was a cruel irony, one she suspected Luna would come to realize soon enough.
How troublesome, Tanya thought, shaking her head slightly. She glanced toward Tarak, who stood silently by the cot, his expression unreadable but his presence steady and grounding. Whatever came next, they would face it together. This trial, this fight, this world—they would endure it all.
How troublesome indeed.