Tarak stood silently, his crimson eyes fixed on Sol as she fretted over the badly burned woman he had pulled from the wreckage. The acrid scent of charred wood and scorched flesh still hung heavy in the air, mixing unpleasantly with the faint tang of herbs wafting through the building. Around them, priestesses in white robes moved hurriedly, tending to the wounded and muttering soft prayers under their breath. Despite the noise and motion, Tarak's focus remained unbroken.
He hadn't thought much when he first caught the scent of burning meat. His stomach had growled faintly—an instinctive reaction, nothing more. Their hard-earned meal had been stolen away, and he'd felt the gnawing hunger keenly. Still, he would have let Surya take the larger share of the kill. She was his big sister, and she had fought harder than anyone during the battle. That was only fair.
Yet instead of food, he had found something unexpected when he dug through the collapsed house—a woman, half-dead, clinging to the last shreds of life. Well she was still viable food to him but he knew better than to randomly take bites of people now. He'd stared at her for a moment, assessing her condition, before Sol had rushed over, her face pale and tense. She hadn't worn her usual expression of warmth and light; instead, there had been something different—something heavy in her eyes that Tarak didn't fully understand at first.
It wasn't fear.
It was blame.
The emotion hung thick in the air between them, cold and bitter. Tarak recognized it from not so long ago, when some of the villagers had looked at him the same way after he was first born. They didn't fear him; they resented him. Surya had taught him that much. Blame was a close cousin to hatred—different, but just as sharp.
Yet Sol had overcome that feeling, brushing it aside as though it were nothing, and instead worried about the woman lying broken in the rubble. Tarak knew why. She didn't help the woman necessarily because she wanted to—she helped her because she was important to Sol's family, and Sol's family the girl Luna had been hurt in this battle. That made this woman worth saving in Sol's eyes. And Sol was important to him, so that meant the woman was important too. It was simple logic.
Without hesitation, Tarak had picked up the woman, careful not to jostle her too much. She weighed little to him, her frail, burnt form barely registering in his arms. Sol had guided him here, to this building filled with priestesses and injured villagers, the scent of blood and herbs mingling in the cool air. The village itself still bore the scars of the attack—the charred remains of buildings, the rubble littering the streets—but signs of recovery were beginning to show. People moved with purpose, repairing what they could, their faces lined with exhaustion but determined.
Tarak's nose twitched as he caught a familiar scent, and he turned slightly, his sharp eyes landing on Surya as she entered the hall. She looked better—much better—than she had before. The gaping hole in her chest had mostly closed, leaving only faint traces of the brutal wound. Her amethyst eyes gleamed with their usual sharpness, though fatigue lingered in her posture. Tarak gave her a brief nod of acknowledgment before turning back to Sol.
"I have to go with Surya. Ok." His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, as if stating an unimportant detail rather than announcing his departure.
Sol turned toward him, her large ears twitching slightly as tears still clung to the corners of her eyes. "Ok, but… when will you be back?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly despite her effort to sound steady.
Tarak blinked at her, confusion flickering across his normally stoic face. "I have never left," he said simply.
Sol tilted her head, her ears twitching again in bemusement. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, puzzled.
Tarak's expression remained utterly serious as he explained, "I am with you even when I am not here physically. I only leave you when I no longer care about you."
Sol stared at him, her eyes wide for a moment before she snorted, laughter bubbling up unexpectedly. "Who taught you to say stuff like that? I'll give them a good beating," she said between quiet giggles, a hint of her usual brightness returning.
Tarak tilted his head slightly, considering her question. "Is this not how you talk to girls?" he asked, his voice as dry and serious as ever. "Midea said this is how you should talk to them."
At that, Sol let out another peal of laughter, this one louder and more genuine. The sound echoed softly through the hall, drawing a few curious glances from nearby priestesses. Tarak found himself pausing, his sharp senses registering every nuance of her laughter—the rise and fall of her voice, the way it seemed to lighten the air around them, the faint warmth it stirred in his chest.
He realized then, with a quiet certainty, that he really liked that sound.
He really liked that sound a lot.
____________
Tanya walked alongside her brother, the air thick with the faint scent of soot, blood, and charred wood lingering in the aftermath of the recent battle. The village, though still bustling with activity, had grown quieter as night settled over the landscape. Dim lanterns flickered weakly from a few surviving posts, casting a soft glow that painted long, wavering shadows across the cobbled streets. Tarak gripped her hand tightly, his smaller but surprisingly strong fingers clinging to hers as his eyes darted over her form, scanning her for any lingering wounds. His gaze was sharp, far too sharp for someone his age, yet there was an unmistakable note of worry in his expression that softened his otherwise serious demeanor.
Tanya let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head gently before reaching out to pat one of his horns with her free hand. The texture was cool and smooth beneath her fingers, a slight curve leading to a sharpened point. "I'm fine," she said softly, offering him a reassuring smile. Children needed comfort, after all, and despite Tarak's outward stoicism, he was still a child. He might have been born into strength, but that didn't mean he didn't need someone to ease his worries now and then.
Not that there was much for him to worry about. Tanya wasn't in any real danger—not from the wounds she had sustained, at least. Her body, as far as she could tell, was more of a miniature juggernaut than anything. So long as she got some food and a bit of rest, she'd be back at full strength in no time. Still, the thought crossed her mind briefly—what if her body was a ticking time bomb? What if all these traits she had observed so far were just the surface of something far more unstable? She shoved the thought aside quickly. No point in fretting over something she couldn't control, not right now.
Though, speaking of things she couldn't control… her stomach let out a low, disgruntled growl, the sound barely audible but enough to make her frown slightly. She was starving. Her mind wandered briefly to Midea's home, where they had intended to return. If she remembered correctly, he didn't have any stored food—at least, nothing substantial. In fact, the entire village struggled with storing food properly. They knew how to ferment and brew alcohol, which was something, but they lacked basic preservation techniques like making jerky or drying meat. Apparently, they relied on something called preservation wards, but those were difficult to produce, and there weren't many of them to go around.
Sure, everyone had some stored food, but most of it consisted of carcasses from prey hunted only a few days prior. Even so, she had to give credit where it was due—meat here took far longer to spoil than it did back on Earth, even in such wild and unregulated conditions. She suspected it had something to do with the metaphysical energy that permeated the entire planet, affecting both the flora and fauna in subtle but significant ways. It was fascinating, really, though not immediately helpful to her current predicament. Right now, all she wanted was something edible, preferably without too much hassle.
As she walked, lost in thought, she felt Tarak come to an abrupt stop beside her. The sudden motion pulled her out of her musings, and she turned her head, following his gaze. There, standing a few paces ahead, was Hati. Her vibrant red hair shimmered faintly in the dim light, catching the last fading embers that drifted lazily through the air. Her amber eyes shimmered in the flickering light of the dying embers scattered across the village path, casting a faint warmth on the cool ground. They gleamed with a faint wetness, a barely restrained emotion flickering behind them. Tanya's gaze slid downward, quickly noting the large burn injury on Hati's arm. Blood trickled slowly from the wound, dark rivulets trailing down her tan skin and staining the fabric of her ripped and cracked armor.
Tanya's eyes narrowed slightly as a sudden, unexpected wave of protectiveness surged through her. She didn't know why, but seeing Hati wounded like that stirred something primal within her, a fierce need to protect that she couldn't quite shake. It was irrational, perhaps, but undeniable. She glanced over at her brother and saw a similar flicker of emotion in his eyes. Tarak, ever stoic, was trying to mask it, but Tanya could tell—he felt the same. They were both reacting to something deeper, something instinctual. She sighed inwardly, knowing she really needed to get a handle on these instincts before they overwhelmed her entirely.
Before she could say anything, Hati rushed forward, her movements swift despite the clear pain she must have been in. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around them, pulling Tanya and Tarak flush against her chest in a firm, almost desperate embrace. Tanya felt the warmth of Hati's body through her cracked armor, the faint tremble in her limbs as she held them close. The scent of burnt leather and singed flesh clung to Hati's form, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood. Yet beneath all that was something familiar—something comforting. The steady, rhythmic beat of Hati's heart, strong despite everything, echoed faintly in Tanya's ears as they stood there, enveloped in the warmth of the woman's embrace.
"I'm so glad you both are okay!" Hati said, her voice filled with genuine relief, carrying the warmth and tone of a mother scolding and doting all at once. Her amber eyes shimmered in the flickering light of the dying embers scattered across the village path. Despite the grin on her face, Tanya noticed the slight tension in her posture, the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly as they gripped their shoulders.
"Hati, you're hurt. Let go and go to the place with the women in the robes," Tarak said in his usual deadpan tone, though Tanya, standing close enough, could catch the subtle shift in his voice—an unfamiliar note of concern. It was faint, but it was there. He wasn't good at expressing emotions, but for those who knew him, the difference was unmistakable.
Hati's smile widened at his words. She let out a soft laugh, the sound light and musical despite the fatigue evident in her amber gaze. "Hehe! You mean the priestesses? Oh, Tarak, I'll have to teach you the proper words one of these days." She flexed her burnt arm in a show of bravado, wincing as a sharp jolt of pain lanced through her muscles. Still, she kept up her grin. "I'll be just fine. A girl with aspirations to devour the moon must be able to bear a few scars. Besides," she added with a playful smirk, "they'll look good, don't you think?"
Tanya snorted softly at her antics, but inwardly, she made a mental note to ask the priestesses for some kind of balm or salve in the morning. Not just to help Hati's recovery but also to solidify her own rapport with the woman. Connections like this would be crucial for the upcoming trial, and fostering goodwill could only serve to strengthen her position.
As her thoughts drifted, Hati leaned forward, cupping Tanya's face gently between her calloused hands. Her touch was surprisingly tender, and Tanya found herself momentarily frozen by the gesture. Hati brushed a few stray strands of Tanya's golden hair out of her face, her fingers lingering for a moment before she pressed her forehead against Tanya's.
"You look tired," Hati murmured, her voice soft and caring. "Let's go eat, hmm?"
Tanya blinked, a strange sensation rippling through her body. It wasn't the familiar tug of her adaptation process, nor was it the dull ache of lingering exhaustion. It was something else entirely—an unfamiliar warmth that made her feel strangely unsteady. Before she could fully process it, her knees wobbled slightly, and Tarak was there in an instant, steadying her with a worried look in his crimson eyes.
"Yes, let's," Tanya said quietly, her voice lacking its usual sharpness. She allowed herself to lean on Tarak for a moment longer to properly steady herself.
The three of them made their way back toward Hati's home. The village around them was still in a state of disrepair, with the aftermath of the fire spirits' rampage evident in the scorched buildings and the lingering smell of smoke in the air. Villagers moved about, some carrying buckets of water while others tried to salvage what they could from the wreckage. Despite the destruction, there was a palpable sense of relief in the air. They had survived, and now they could begin to rebuild.
As they walked, Hati began to recount her exploits during the battle, her voice animated despite the fatigue evident in her every step. "So there I was, facing down this massive fire spirit with nothing but a rope and half a spear. The damn thing was snarling and spitting embers everywhere, but I wasn't about to back down. I wrapped the rope around its neck, did a little flip—" she made a flipping motion with her hand, grinning all the while, "—and brought it crashing down into the dirt!"
Tanya found herself smiling despite herself. Hati's enthusiasm was infectious, and even though she knew the woman was likely exaggerating for effect, it was hard not to be entertained by her storytelling.
"Oh, and get this," Hati continued, her amber eyes gleaming with excitement. "A bunch of those fire spirits decided to do some sort of creepy little dance and combined into this supermassive one. I didn't even hesitate—just ran up to it and punched it right in its stupid, flaming face!"
At that, Tanya couldn't suppress a chuckle. The sound was quiet, barely more than a breath, but it was enough to catch Hati's attention. The red-haired woman spun around, eyes wide with mock astonishment.
"Is that a laugh I hear?" Hati exclaimed, her voice filled with playful glee. Before Tanya could react, Hati lunged forward and grabbed her cheeks, pulling them gently but firmly. "Oh, I knew you had it in you! Come on, laugh a little more for me!"
"Luhh mehh guhh," Tanya mumbled through squished cheeks, another chuckle bubbling up despite herself. She should have been annoyed—really, she should have—but for some reason, she just wasn't. Hati's energy, her laugh, and her genuine care were disarming in a way Tanya hadn't expected.
"Not until you promise to keep laughing more often!" Hati teased, her own laughter ringing out as she finally let Tanya go.
Tanya rubbed her cheeks, shooting Hati a half-hearted glare that lacked any real heat. "You're insufferable," she muttered, though the faint smile on her lips betrayed her true feelings.
By the time they reached Hati's home, the sun had fully set, and the village was bathed in the soft glow of the moon. The air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of charred wood and distant wildflowers. The home itself was modest but sturdy, built from the same old blue-green wood and stone with a sloping roof that looked like it could withstand even the harshest storms.
As they stepped inside, they were met by a tall, imposing woman with crimson hair much like Hati's. Her features were sharp and stern, her eyes a deep amber that gleamed with a mixture of worry and relief as they landed on Hati.
"Mother," Hati said, her voice softening as she stepped forward. Before Tanya could fully process what was happening, the older woman closed the distance between them and enveloped Hati in a tight embrace. Despite her stern appearance, there were tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.
"You're safe," the woman whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She pulled back just enough to cup Hati's face in her hands, much like Hati had done to Tanya earlier. "Thank the Suns you're safe."
"This stupid girl!" Hati's mother scolded after the moment pulling back with a mean face although her voice was sharp yet laced with undeniable love. Her amber eyes gleamed fiercely, as though daring her daughter to argue. "I let you become a soldier, but you must take care of yourself. I've already lost too many to war. We lost your father to war. I don't want to lose another of my family. Understand me?" Though her words were harsh, they were drenched in deep, protective affection, each syllable carrying the weight of someone who had seen far too many losses.
"Yes, Ma," Hati muttered sheepishly, her voice small as she hugged her mother tightly. Despite her embarrassment, there was a hint of softness in her tone. It was clear that, for all her bravado, Hati valued moments like these—being enveloped in familial care. The two stayed locked in an embrace for a few moments before finally pulling apart.
"Now go apply some balm to those wounds. Scram!" her mother barked, though her tone had softened considerably. She punctuated her command with a playful slap to Hati's rear, eliciting a startled yelp from the girl, who darted up the stairs with a grin, rubbing the spot where she'd been smacked.
As Hati disappeared upstairs, her mother turned her attention to Tanya and Tarak. Her expression shifted, concern etched into her features as she took in their exhausted appearances. "Now look at you two," she said, shaking her head with a mix of worry and exasperation. "You both look entirely too drained after tonight's chaos. I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help, even though I'm supposed to be an adult and all. But there's one thing I can do—feed some children!" Her tone brightened at the end, her amber eyes sparkling with determination.
She stepped forward, clearly intending to lift them both into her arms. However, she stumbled slightly, catching herself before reinforcing her legs with numen. A hearty laugh escaped her lips. "Well, well, it seems you two might eat more than I expected."
Tanya couldn't help but snort internally at the sight. Despite her weariness, she allowed the woman to scoop her up. Tarak, in typical fashion, remained stoic but didn't resist either after seeing her accept it, letting himself be carried without complaint. Hati's mother deposited them at a sturdy wooden table, its surface worn but clean, with faint carvings of runes etched into its edges—likely remnants of old preservation wards.
As they settled in, she busied herself in the kitchen. From a small pantry tucked into the corner, she retrieved a slab of meat that had been preserved using a rudimentary ward formation. With practiced ease, she placed it on a cutting board and began chopping it into sizable chunks, the rhythmic thud of the knife echoing through the cozy room. The faint scent of seasoned meat filled the air, making Tanya's stomach growl audibly. She glanced away in mild embarrassment, but the older woman merely chuckled, amused by the sound.
A simple fire flared to life beneath a sturdy clay pot as Hati's mother added the chopped meat, searing it briefly before tossing in a handful of herbs and spices. The rich, savory aroma intensified, blending with the earthy scent of the herbs. Steam rose from the pot as she poured in water and stirred, creating a thick, hearty stew.
Moments later, she ladled generous portions of the stew into two wooden bowls, each one brimming with tender meat and fragrant broth. She set the bowls in front of them with a satisfied smile. "If you ever want more meat, just ask," she said kindly, her voice carrying a sense of home that made the room feel just a little cozier despite the lingering chill of the night.
Tanya eyed the bowl ravenously, the scent alone enough to stir her animalistic tendencies. Without hesitation, she picked up a wooden spoon and began to eat, shoveling the stew into her mouth as though it were the first meal she'd had in days. The rich broth warmed her from the inside, and the tender chunks of meat practically melted on her tongue. Each bite seemed to infuse her weary body with a renewed vitality, her natural regeneration speeding up as the energy was absorbed via her innate ability.
As she ate, she noticed something peculiar—her bowl was filling up faster than she could empty it. Her brows furrowed in mild confusion before her eyes flicked to the side, catching Tarak in the act of transferring more meat from his own bowl into hers. He worked quickly and silently, stacking the meat into her bowl with meticulous precision.
"You need to eat to get back your strength," he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact, as though it were the most logical thing in the world.
Tanya opened her mouth to protest but found herself hesitating. She glanced at Tarak, noting the quiet determination in his crimson eyes. He wasn't doing this out of pity—he genuinely wanted to help her recover. She allowed herself a small, rare genuine smile in response.
"Don't worry about that, little one. Take all you need!" Hati's mother laughed heartily, her voice ringing through the room like a bell. She reached over and split the remaining meat between the two bowls, ensuring both children had plenty to eat. Tarak, ever the quiet protector, continued slipping more meat into Tanya's bowl whenever he could.
Despite feeling a twinge of guilt at accepting so much of the food, Tanya couldn't bring herself to stop. The warmth spreading through her body was too comforting, too necessary after the night's ordeal. Every spoonful fueled her regeneration further, replenishing the energy she had expended. Even though most of the food's energy seemed to vanish into the strange void that was her body, what little remained was enough to help her body finish the process faster than normal. She was sure that nothing would mar her frame after the meal.
As she continued eating, she glanced at Tarak again. His usually stoic face had softened slightly, his eyes shining with quiet happiness at seeing her regain her strength. Tanya found herself smiling again—something that felt increasingly natural around him, despite how strange it was for her. She supposed it was fine with him. It wasn't like she had another option anyway. She had no plans on dying so this was and would be her brother for all time. She would trust him as such. Well, she already had but that was beside the point.
She kept eating, savoring both the food and the rare sense of peace that had settled over the room.
"MOM! You didn't save any food for me!" Hati's voice rang through the house as she came bounding down the stairs, her footsteps hurried and her expression indignant. The balm on her burnt arm glistened faintly under the dim lighting, though it didn't seem to bother her nearly as much as the sight of empty bowls on the table.
Her mother crossed her arms, raising a brow as she shot a sharp glance in Hati's direction. "Are you a growing child? You're grown as hell already. Get married and get out!" she shouted back, her tone half-serious, half-teasing.
Undeterred, Hati grinned and sidled up to her mother, snuggling against her side with exaggerated affection. "C'mon, I know you don't mean that," she cooed, poking her mother's side playfully. "Where's the food for your favorite daughter, huh?"
Her mother huffed, pretending to ignore her, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Hmph! Do you even need more food? Your butt is looking thrice the size of your head these days," she shot back, her voice dripping with playful exaggeration.
Hati's eyes widened in outrage, and even Tanya, who had been quietly devouring her meal, coughed mid-bite, some of the food momentarily lodging in her throat. She pounded her chest lightly, struggling to regain her composure. "Mom, that's a gross exaggeration!" Hati shouted, her face flushed with embarrassment.
"And that's why that other girl has his eye," her mother continued, unfazed by Hati's reaction. She snorted, clearly enjoying herself. "Who'd want such a big eater? I bet you could eat the general out of house and home."
Hati pouted dramatically, crossing her arms in mock indignation. "Hmph! Whatever," she muttered. "My Surya and Tarak will feed me instead." With a haughty air, she wandered over to the table, opening her mouth wide as if expecting to be fed like a baby bird.
Tarak, ever the enigma, didn't hesitate. He calmly picked up a piece of meat from his bowl, his expression as stoic as always, and Hati's eyes lit up in anticipation. But just as she opened her mouth wider in expectation, he dropped the piece into Tanya's bowl instead, not even sparing Hati a second glance.
"I can't compete with anyone in my own home, huh?" Hati sighed, slumping exaggeratedly to the floor as if utterly defeated. She lay there, arms sprawled out dramatically, her amber eyes glinting with playful irritation.
Tanya, watching the entire scene with growing amusement, picked up a piece of meat from her bowl and shoved it into Hati's mouth before she could voice another complaint. Hati's eyes widened momentarily in surprise before softening in delight as she chewed. The playful glow in her eyes returned as she gave Tanya a grateful grin.
The rest of the night unfolded in a lively blur of chatter, laughter, and stories. Hati's mother shared tales from Hati's youth, many of which left the fiery redhead blushing furiously in embarrassment. Tanya couldn't help but chuckle softly at some of the more ridiculous stories, especially the one about how Hati had once attempted to ride a wild boar into the village square, only to be thrown off into a mud pit. Even Tarak's usually impassive expression softened, his lips quirking into a faint smile at the recounting of Hati's misadventures.
Despite the exhaustion clinging to Tanya's bones, she found herself enjoying the warmth of the family around her. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls and filling the room with a soothing warmth. The scent of herbs and cooked meat lingered in the air, mingling with the faint, earthy aroma of the balm Hati had applied to her arm. Outside, the distant chirping of nocturnal insects created a gentle backdrop to the lively conversations within.
Eventually, the night began to wind down. Hati's mother gathered the empty bowls, humming softly as she cleaned up the remnants of their meal. Hati yawned loudly, stretching her arms over her head before wrapping one around Tanya's shoulders with an affectionate grin.
"C'mon," Hati said, tugging Tanya gently toward the stairs. "You're sleeping with me tonight."
Tanya raised a brow but didn't resist. Tarak followed silently, his small but sturdy frame moving with quiet grace as he kept pace beside them. Together, they made their way upstairs, the floorboards creaking slightly beneath their steps. The upstairs room was simple but cozy, with a large, well-worn bed covered in thick furs and blankets. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, likely from the dried sprigs hanging near the window.
Hati flopped onto the bed with a content sigh, patting the space beside her. "Come on, don't be shy. It's warmer this way."
Tanya rolled her eyes but climbed into the bed nonetheless, settling into the center of the bed. Tarak took his place on her left without a word, his presence a silent but steady comfort. As they lay down, Hati's arm draped lazily over Tanya's midsection, and Tarak's tail slithered around her waist, coiling protectively.
Despite the weight of the two of them resting on her wings, Tanya didn't feel any discomfort. It seemed her body's absurd durability extended even to things like this, preventing cramps or blood flow issues. She glanced at her sibling, noting how quickly he drifted into slumber. Hati even snored softly, a faint, rhythmic sound that filled the quiet room. Tarak, ever the vigilant one, lay still, his breathing slow and even, but his tail remained wrapped securely around her, a silent promise of protection.
For a while, Tanya simply lay there, her mind refusing to rest despite the exhaustion weighing her down. Thoughts of the upcoming trial swirled in her head, each potential move and countermove playing out in her mind's eye like a complex game of chess. There was so much to prepare for, so much to consider. And yet, despite the weight of it all, a strange sense of peace settled over her.
For now, she would rest.
______________
Midea pushed himself up from the cold wood wall where he had essentially collapsed, his limbs aching with fatigue. His usually vibrant black skin, usually possessing a brilliant luster born from his vitality, now appeared dull and worn. The aftermath of the Valefor Ninefold Metamorphosis technique weighed heavily on him, both physically and mentally. He let out a long, slow breath, steadying himself as he processed the enormity of what he had done.
He now had a child.
The realization struck him again, harder this time. The ritual he had performed wasn't some simple numen art, nor was it something casually passed down. The Valefor Ninefold Metamorphosis technique was among the most guarded legacies of the the House of Valefor, a sacred art reserved for only the most significant members of the family. It wasn't meant for just anyone. No, this technique was designed to elevate those with immense potential—those from lesser races who could be molded into powerful allies, loyal retainers, or even kin, bound by blood and the weight of shared power. It was a way for Scelus elites to expand their influence, to create family where there was none and secure powerful ties for the future.
Typically, the technique was used by masters on their most promising disciples, a mark of ultimate favor and trust. To offer it was to give more than blood—it was to forge an unbreakable bond, a declaration that the recipient was now as much family as any blood-born child. Among the Scelus, this ritual was often seen as more significant than having biological children. After all, you could sire many children, but the Valefor Ninefold Metamorphosis could only be used once. Ever. It was a singular, irreversible sacrifice of one's heart blood essence, and for many, it represented the pinnacle of trust and legacy.
And Midea had just spent it on a random wolf child he barely knew.
He ran a six-clawed hand over his pounding head, feeling the weight of his decision settling in his bones. It wasn't regret—Midea wasn't the type to dwell on what-ifs. He made his choices deliberately, calculated every risk, and moved forward without looking back. But still, he couldn't deny the enormity of what he had done. By the customs of his people, he was now bound to treat Luna as his own daughter. Honor demanded it, and while Midea might have been many things, he was not without pride in his lineage and the traditions that came with it.
What a waste, he thought briefly, though the thought lacked true conviction. He knew why he had done it, why he had taken such a drastic step. It wasn't out of sentimentality or pity for the girl. No, Midea had bet everything on his future, on the potential rewards that lay ahead if he played his cards right.
He flexed his claws, watching as faint remnants of his own numen flickered around them before dissipating into the air. The girl mattered to Surya. Mattered enough that the Tyrannius had been willing to offer something as vital as one of her hearts—a gesture that had genuinely shocked him. If he hadn't saved Luna when Surya suspected he had the means to do so, it would have soured their relationship irreparably. And that wouldn't do. Not when he had so much riding on gaining their trust.
He glanced toward the closed door of the room where Luna was still undergoing the middle stages of her transformation. The air in the room still crackled faintly with residual energy from the ritual, the scent of iron and demon blood lingering stubbornly. He couldn't afford to lose the goodwill he had carefully begun to cultivate. If he played this right, Surya and Tarak would come to see him not just as an ally but as someone vital to their lives—someone they relied on, trusted, maybe even respected.
And why shouldn't they? Midea had no intention of betraying them. Quite the opposite. He needed them as much as they needed him, if not more. They were his ticket back to hell—not just as another son of a noble house albeit a very talented and handsome one but as someone with real power, real leverage. A literal hero of hell.
His crimson eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light as he leaned against the table, resting for a moment. If he succeeded in securing their trust, if he could truly endear himself to them, he would return to hell not as a mere Scelus but as someone with the ear of Lervea herself—the Tyrannius who could crush universes with her bare hands. His father might laugh at him now, might sneer at his current predicament, but would he still laugh when Midea whispered dark truths into Lervea's ear about his misdeeds? He imagined her giant foot crushing the old goat into paste.
A slow, predatory grin spread across Midea's face at the thought. His father had always been a looming shadow over his life, a figure of authority and derision. And even more then that. But power shifted easily in hell, and Midea had no intention of remaining at the bottom forever. With Surya and her brother by his side, he could rise. He could force the House of Valefor to recognize his worth, to acknowledge the power he had cultivated. And to free her to bring her back. And if they didn't…
Well, there are other ways to secure respect.
His grin faded slightly as weariness crept back in. The ritual had drained him more than he cared to admit. He could still feel the ache in his chest where he had drawn out his heart blood essence, the very core of his being. It would take time to recover fully, time he didn't have in abundance. The trial loomed ahead, and with it, the delicate game of politics and public opinion he would need to navigate alongside Surya.
But for now, he had made significant progress. Last night's events had already started to shift things in his favor. He had seen it in Surya's eyes—the flicker of something approaching gratitude. That alone was a victory. She wasn't the type to trust easily, but he had taken the first step in earning her favor. And once he had that, once he was truly embedded in their lives, there would be no going back.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Midea straightened, exhaling slowly as he steeled himself. The path ahead was treacherous, but he had always thrived in the shadows, weaving through danger with cunning and charm. He had made his move, placed his bet, and now all he could do was see it through.
Besides, he thought with a faint smirk, it wasn't such a bad thing to have a child. Even if she was a random wolf girl he barely knew, she was his now, in every way that mattered. And in hell, bloodlines meant everything.
Midea turned his head slowly, casting yet another glance at the cocoon where Luna lay encased in layers of wards and numen and blood crafted symbols. His crimson eyes narrowed thoughtfully before he let out a quiet sigh. He supposed no one had entered the room while he had rested; otherwise, the defensive alarms of the village would have been set off by the sight and the rumors would have spread like wildfire. It was luck. Still, it didn't sit well with him to leave it unguarded for too long.
Without hesitation, he extended a hand, drawing from the faint reserve of numen left in his weary body. Pure purple numen flowed outward, shimmering faintly in the dim light of the room as he etched protective wards into the very air around the cocoon. The symbols glowed faintly, radiating a soft, steady pulse that seemed to harmonize with the energy still lingering from the ritual. It was draining work, especially without proper objects or artifacts to help channel and strengthen the process, but he didn't dare cut corners.
Once he was satisfied, Midea took a step back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His mind drifted briefly to Lain—the woman he had knocked unconscious during the chaos of last night at the request of Surya. Strangely enough, she had left without a word. He frowned, his instincts whispering faint warnings at the edges of his mind. There had been something… off about her. He wasn't one to ignore such feelings, no matter how subtle they might be. Just in case, he decided he would send out shadows later to track her movements. Better to be cautious than regretful.
With one final glance at the cocoon, Midea turned on his heel and exited the room. His footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor as he made his way down the narrow corridor. A few priestesses, who had clearly not expected his sudden appearance, yelped in surprise and hurriedly stepped aside, casting wary glances at the dark-skinned demon striding through their midst. He ignored their reactions, his mind already shifting to other matters as he reached the building's entrance.
Stepping outside, Midea was momentarily inundated by the glaring brilliance of the seven suns hanging in the sky. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, the intense light casting long shadows across the village below. Despite the devastation wrought by the previous night's events, life had already begun to stir anew.
The village was a hive of activity. Men and women worked side by side, lifting beams and stones as they rebuilt homes reduced to rubble by the fire spirits. The scent of ash still lingered heavily in the air, mingling with the fresher, earthier scents of newly turned soil and cut wood. Here and there, he spotted villagers clutching each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces as they mourned the dead. Others embraced with teary-eyed relief, reunited with loved ones after the long, harrowing night. The cries of sorrow mingled with quiet murmurs of hope, creating a somber yet resilient atmosphere.
As Midea scanned the scene, his eyes caught sight of a man kneeling before a woman, a simple band of that strange glassy laser wood in his trembling hand. The woman gasped softly, tears welling in her eyes before she threw her arms around him and shouted a joyous, "Yes!" The surrounding villagers, despite their exhaustion and grief, erupted into cheers, their faces momentarily brightened by the display of love and hope.
Midea allowed a faint smirk to tug at the corners of his lips. People needed hope in times like these, he mused. It was a simple thing, really—something so fundamentally ingrained in sapient beings. No matter the race, no matter the world, the drive to find hope in the darkest moments remained constant. Perhaps it was because, at the most base level, all souls were structured fundamentally the same. Sapient beings might differ in countless ways, but there were always certain common threads woven through their existence.
Of course, not everything was the same. Nothing truly was. The differences between races, between individuals, were vast and undeniable. Yet, in moments like this, the similarities became glaringly obvious. Midea folded his arms, lost in thought. Perhaps… perhaps I can take advantage of this.
His mind shifted toward the center of the village, where a group of craftsmen worked under the watchful eye of Bardo, the village's chief smith. He remembered visiting the man previously and yelling at him about not allowing Surya to instruct his people. Midea's expression darkened slightly as he remembered the scene. Bardo's lack of mental acuity and his fatuous sexism had in a way cost the village dearly. As if the world hadn't seen enough powerful women who could reduce entire realms to ash with a single thought. The smith's narrow-mindedness had hindered progress—progress that could have saved lives.
The wards Midea had provided to Bardo had not been integrated into as many weapons as they should have been. While a few had been completed and distributed, most remained unfinished, gathering dust in the smithy. Many of his workers hadn't even mastered the basic rune-work. Had Bardo and his team been quicker, had they taken the task more seriously, things might have gone considerably better for the village during the battle.
Midea's crimson eyes gleamed at the oppourtunity. He could speed things along—force the man to work faster, perhaps—but that would only breed resentment. No, he needed to be more subtle. Influence was best wielded like a finely honed blade, not a bludgeon. He would find a way to push Bardo without making himself an enemy. After all, the village's survival depended on it. If he succeeded then the village would see his help in garnering them better weapons in a desperate time of need. That would be amazing for him and the children.
Midea's hooves thudded steadily against the packed dirt path as he made his way toward the smithy at the thought, each step kicking up faint clouds of dust in his wake. Midea's sharp crimson eyes caught glimpses of people as they went about their tasks—some stopped to stare, others offered hurried words of gratitude as he passed.
He acknowledged them with a faint nod, though his mind remained elsewhere. It was natural, after all. His actions the night before had not gone unnoticed. Even beyond his confrontation with Remus, he had been instrumental in slaying a significant number of flame spirits, his unique ability rendering the fiery entities unstable and causing them to collapse. Many had witnessed his power firsthand, and as a result, his standing in the village had grown. That growing rapport might prove invaluable in the upcoming trial—a fact that Midea was keenly aware of.
As he neared the smithy, the familiar sounds of wood clashing and shouting filled the air. Yet something about the voices caught his attention, making his ears twitch slightly.
"Ohhhhhh! So that's how it works?"
"This is really useful. Thanks!"
"She really is extraordinary!"
"A genuine sun child!"
Midea's brow furrowed as he quickened his pace, curiosity piqued by the excited exclamations coming from within the wooden building. He ducked slightly as he entered the low doorway, his horns brushing against the frame, and was greeted by the sight of a crowd of men gathered in a semi-circle around someone. The air inside was warm, tinged with the scent of sawdust and resin, mingling with the sharper tang of heated tools and numen residue. Light streamed in from a large open window, casting long rays across the rough-hewn floor and illuminating the dust motes that danced lazily in the air.
At the center of the gathered group stood Surya, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight like a living flame. She was holding a brush and a small pick-like tool in her hands, carefully painting and carving intricate runes onto wooden molds spread across a broad table. Her expression was one of calm focus, amethyst eyes gleaming with an intensity that seemed far too mature for someone so young. The men around her watched in awe as she worked, their voices a mix of astonishment and admiration.
"I can't use numen like you all can—yet," Surya said evenly, her voice clear and authoritative despite its youthful tone. She didn't so much as glance up from her work as she continued, "But my mental stamina is better. Drawing the runes drains mental energy, not numen. The shapes are complex, but repetition helps. I've made these molds for you to produce them faster. They will have no effect unless you make them however for obvious reasons."
She paused briefly, using the pick to etch a final rune into one of the molds before holding it up for the men to see. The rune gleamed faintly in the sunlight, its sharp angles and curves forming a pattern that seemed almost alive with latent energy.
"Just place the appropriate materials here," she instructed, tapping a specific spot on the mold, " trace what i have drawn and carved and imbue your numen with intent. Voilà. The mold will do the rest. Eventually, after enough repetitions, you'll gain a better handle on forming the shapes yourselves. These molds are only useful a few times—accumulated numen and residue will degrade them—but I've made over a hundred. That should be enough for now."
The room erupted in a chorus of impressed murmurs and excited chatter as the men examined the molds more closely. Even Bardo, the gruff and skeptical smith, stood off to the side with a begrudgingly impressed expression. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his thick brows furrowed in thought as he watched Surya with a mixture of respect and reluctant acceptance.
Midea's gaze shifted back to Surya, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as she finally looked up and met his gaze. Her amethyst eyes were steady, unblinking, and unnervingly sharp. For a split second, he felt a faint shiver run down his spine—a reaction he hadn't experienced in a long time. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was… recognition. She was different.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering her words and the scene before him. He hadn't thought of creating molds to simplify the rune-making process, primarily because it would have drained his own mental stamina too quickly. More importantly, his training as a genius of House Scelus had always emphasized rigorous discipline and precision in warding, avoiding shortcuts wherever possible. Even when he had dumbed things down for the Canid clan, it had never occurred to him to take this particular approach. Yet here was Surya, barely a few weeks old, devising solutions he hadn't considered.
Her mind astounded him. But it wasn't just her intellect that caught his attention—it was something deeper. The words she had spoken yesterday about death still lingered in his mind, unsettling in their clarity and weight. They weren't the words of a child, not even one as unique as her. There was something… off about her, something he couldn't quite place. It wasn't a topic he wanted to broach—not yet, at least.
Instead, he kept his expression neutral, offering her a brief nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention to Bardo. "Looks like you've got some help after all," he said, his tone light but laced with subtle meaning.
Bardo grunted in response, his gaze flicking between Midea and Surya before he muttered something under his breath and turned back to his work. The men around them continued to examine the molds, their excitement palpable as they discussed the potential uses and applications.
However at Midea's brief nod of acknowledgment, a few of the other men finally noticed his presence. Their reactions were immediate—wide smiles, loud shouts, and heavy claps on his shoulder with hands still slick from working with animal fat. The strong, earthy scent of tanned hides and saw dust clung to the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood used as material for the runes. Their voices rose in jovial camaraderie, words of praise and thanks spilling over one another as they lauded his efforts in the battle against the flame spirits.
Midea grimaced slightly, his upper lip twitching in irritation as he tried to avoid further smudges of grease and fat on his darkened skin. He was a demon of high birth, not a butcher, yet these villagers seemed intent on treating him like one of their own. His crimson eyes flicked toward Surya, who watched the entire scene unfold with an amused twinkle in her amethyst gaze. She didn't bother to hide her smirk, clearly enjoying his discomfort. With a subtle wave of her hand, she parted the crowd like water, stepping through them effortlessly before falling into step beside him as they exited the smithy.
The village beyond was still bustling with activity, though the mood had shifted slightly. The earlier air of somber recovery had given way to something lighter, more hopeful. People worked side by side, rebuilding homes, tending to the wounded, and preparing for whatever challenges lay ahead. Children ran through the streets, their laughter cutting through the stillness like a welcome breeze after a storm. Well no rather there was a literal storm, a meteor storm. Overhead, the seven suns hung low in the sky, their seven colored rays casting long, dappled shadows across the worn paths.
"It's a good idea," Midea said at last, breaking the silence between them. His tone was measured, but there was a grudging note of respect beneath it. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, noting the way her gaze remained steady, unyielding. "I suppose great minds think alike."
Surya inclined her head slightly, acknowledging his words without arrogance. "Yes, it will help significantly with public opinion," she agreed, her voice calm and precise. Her steps were deliberate, as though each movement carried purpose. "That's not all. I've spent some time convincing those I saved to spread my reputation in a positive manner. You should do the same."
Midea arched a brow at her, intrigued by her calculated approach. "I heard of your battle last night," she continued, her tone light but probing, her gaze flicking toward him briefly before returning to the path ahead. The wind caught a few loose strands of her golden hair, sending them fluttering across her face before she brushed them aside with an absent hand. "It was… impressive."
Midea didn't respond immediately. Instead, he allowed her words to hang in the air, considering her carefully. She wasn't wrong—his efforts the previous night had earned him a fair amount of goodwill among the villagers. But he hadn't gone out of his way to cultivate that reputation. He had fought because it was necessary, not because he sought recognition. Yet Surya's words carried an undeniable truth. Reputation mattered, especially with the trial looming ever closer. If he played his cards right, the goodwill he had earned could be leveraged to tip the scales in their favor. It was an unexpected gain.
"I'm assuming you have other plans?" he asked, his voice low, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her.
A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, sly and self-assured. "Just a few," she said lightly, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. Her gaze remained forward, focused on the path ahead, but there was a gleam of something more in her eyes—something sharp, calculating, and relentless. "I do need you to do something for me while I go study."
His brows rose at that, curiosity mingling with suspicion. "And what is that, exactly?" he asked, his tone dry but wary. He wasn't in the habit of taking orders, especially from children, no matter how extraordinary they might be. Even if they were Lervea's
"To capture a shade, of course," she said simply, as though it were the most mundane request in the world.
___________________
Tanya wandered through the village, her steps light but purposeful as she made her way toward the center of knowledge. The sky above was tinged with a pale multicolored hue, the seven suns casting warm light across the cobbled paths and wooden buildings. Despite the lingering air of recovery after the recent attack, the village buzzed with activity. The wolfmen's forms moved about, their tails swishing and ears twitching as they rebuilt what had been damaged. Children played near a well, they splashed water on one another imitating the actions of soldiersduring the meteor storm, and vendors shouted about fresh meat and herbs brought in from the morning hunt despite the recent calamity.
Her eyes scanned the surroundings, noting the lingering signs of the battle—the charred remains of homes, the faint scent of ash still clinging to the air, and the occasional solemn expression on the faces of villagers who had lost loved ones. The weight of the recent events hung over the village like a shroud, but there was also a sense of resilience in the air, a quiet determination to move forward.
Tanya's thoughts, however, were focused elsewhere. She had a plan, a strategy to strengthen her position before the impending trial. Positive public perception was key. She knew Hathor would attempt to use her brother's actions after his birth as a weapon against them, painting Tarak as a dangerous creature and by extension, her as a threat. The thought of that arrogant elder made her sneer. He would try to see them both executed—or at least exiled. But she wasn't going to let him win. No, if anyone was going to be cast out, it would be Hathor. Her fingers twitched slightly at the thought, a faint spark of irritation flaring before she forced herself to calm down.
Part of her plan involved doing things for the village, proving her worth not just through strength but through service. It was why she had made the molds for the smithy and it was why she was doing what she was now. She had heard whispers among the villagers, concerns about the increasing skirmishes with the goblins. Though it wasn't exactly a war, the tension was undeniable. The frequency of attacks had risen, and the village leaders were growing increasingly worried. Wolvenblade had always prided itself on its mastery of the forest, yet somehow, the goblins were pressing them for resources and outmaneuvering their patrols. That was strange—too strange to ignore.
Arriving at the center of knowledge, she pushed open the heavy wooden door, the scent of aged paper and polished wood washing over her. Shelves lined the walls, packed with scrolls, tomes, and brittle manuscripts. Dim light filtered in through narrow windows, casting soft shadows across the stone floor. A few villagers sat at wooden tables, their heads bent in quiet study. The atmosphere was serene, almost sacred—a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world.
Tanya moved toward the far end of the room, where older, dust-covered books were stacked haphazardly on shelves that looked as though they hadn't been touched in years. She ran her fingers along the spines, brushing away a thin layer of dust before pulling out a thick volume bound in worn leather. Flipping it open, she found a detailed sketch of a goblin on one of the pages.
The goblin in the illustration had green-gray skin, six distinct ears that fanned out from either side of its head, and large black eyes—completely devoid of iris or sclera, just pure, unnerving blackness. Its mouth was filled with sharp teeth, its jaw slightly elongated, giving it a feral, predatory appearance. Despite their monstrous features, goblins were relatively small. According to the chart beside the sketch, the average goblin stood around 5'5"—significantly shorter than the average male wolfman, who was listed as 6'4".
Tanya narrowed her eyes as she read further. The text described goblins as a race known for their rapid proliferation and their reliance on old and primitive practices, one of which was something referred to as marring. She frowned, flipping through several other dusty tomes in search of more information on the term, but came up empty-handed. Whatever it was, it seemed to be a practice that either hadn't been widely recorded or was deliberately omitted from these texts. She set the thought aside for now.
Her fingers drummed lightly against the table as she continued to read. Even with their numerous shadow cores, which granted them an affinity with darkness and stealth, goblins were physically weaker than the average wolfman. They shouldn't have been able to consistently outmaneuver the soldiers of Wolvenblade on their own territory—not without external factors tipping the scales. Something wasn't adding up.
She leaned back in her chair, placing a hand on her chin as she pondered the situation. From what Hati had mentioned, the goblins hadn't outright defeated the clan in battle; they had outmaneuvered them, evading traps and ambushes with uncanny precision. Leading soldiers into traps of their own or clashes with creatures. Taking full advantage of the forest in hit and run strategems. But such a thing shouldn't have been possible unless the Canid clan was mind numbingly incompetent. Something must have changed.
There was only one significant change in the village's circumstances recently, something that might explain the goblins' sudden boldness: the increase in vampyr attacks.
Vampyrs were gathering around the village in unnervingly higher densities than before. These creatures were apex predators, instinctively drawn to anything that coursed with blood. They hunted with a voracious hunger, their senses keen and unrelenting, and now their presence felt like a thickening storm about to break. Tanya felt a spark ignite in her mind as she examined the maps she had gotten up to get spread before her, each one meticulously detailing territories outlined with the paths where various beasts and dangers roamed.
The routes were written clearly, marked by seasoned scouts who had calculated the best chances of avoiding hostile encounters. These paths had served well for excursions in the past, but with the sudden surge in vampyr activity, the delicate balance of the ecosystem would inevitably shift. Tanya's brows furrowed as her mind unraveled the likely chain reactions of this change. Prey animals would scatter in terror, fleeing far from their usual grounds. Predators who relied on those prey would either starve or be forced to migrate into foreign territories, provoking battles with other apex creatures. Even the unique flora—those rare plants that depended on specific animal interactions for pollination or seed dispersal—would suffer from this disruption. Every living thing would be affected by the vampyrs' encroachment.
Her eyes flicked over the maps again, noting the routes marked for soldiers and trade as well. These paths, once stable and predictable, had likely become gauntlets of calamity. It was no wonder that reports of ambushes and disappearances had been on the rise. Vampyrs striking with hit-and-run tactics, coupled with the chaos of displaced beasts, turned every route into a deadly gamble. Her mind turned to the goblins, known for their cunning and skill in alchemy. They could very well be concocting brews or potions to lure beasts into areas frequented by soldiers. Such a tactic would amplify the dangers tenfold, turning even the safest routes into death traps. Hell the routes may not even exist anymore. The goblins saw that struggle and were taking advantage of the chaos of the environment. Even further perpetuating it by refusing to sell them shadow cores.
With a determined exhale, Tanya moved to gather her tools. She picked up a pen crafted from wood with a bone tip, its worn surface smooth from years of use. Dipping it into a small pot of ink—likely made from crushed fruit, charcoal, or some other natural substance—she began to write her observations in quick, precise strokes. Each word felt like it anchored the swirling chaos of thoughts in her mind onto the papyrus. She reached for another sheet, then another, methodically recording her deductions.
Her focus deepened as she leafed through the books piled high around her, searching for any relevant information on vampyr behavior, local fauna, and flora. She immersed herself in their patterns, habits, and habitats, piecing together a model in her mind of how the world would shift under this new threat. Every calculation, every hypothesis, she documented meticulously, her writing a blend of swift notes and detailed diagrams. The world outside might have been silent, but in her mind, it was alive with movement, teeming with creatures forced into unfamiliar grounds.
The stack of books grew ever larger as the night stretched on, moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the wooden shutters, casting a pale glow over her workspace. She worked tirelessly, her fingers stained with ink, her mind racing ahead of her hands. People entered and left the room throughout the night, some pausing to watch her with curious eyes. None dared disturb her—her intensity was palpable, an aura of singular purpose surrounding her.
At one point, her brother stopped by, standing silently behind her for what felt like hours. Tanya barely noticed his presence, lost in her thoughts, until he finally spoke. "I'll wait for you outside," he said, his voice low but steady. She didn't look up, merely nodded as he left, his footsteps fading into the distance.
As dawn threatened to break, most of the onlookers had dispersed, leaving her in relative solitude. Tanya's mind continued to churn through possibilities, scenarios, and outcomes. Her analytical abilities were sharper than she had ever known in her previous life, yet this was beyond anything she had expected. She learned swiftly, absorbed information with ease, and applied knowledge faster still. It was as though her very being had been honed for this kind of mental warfare.
Finally, when she was satisfied with her work, she leaned back, her fingers somewhat satisfied with her mind alight with clarity. The last few sheets of her map lay before her, a sprawling depiction of the shifting world as she saw it. She glanced outside, noting the three moons shining brilliantly in the sky, their pale light waning as the night prepared to surrender to dawn.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves on wood echoed faintly, drawing her attention. Tanya turned, her gaze meeting the figure of the dark satyr standing in the doorway. His red eyes glowed faintly, a stark contrast against his jet-black skin, while his horns curved elegantly, giving him a larger-than-life aura. Despite his striking appearance, Tanya thought her brothers horns looked better. Still, the sight of him sparked a peculiar thought in her mind—she wished she had horns too. That would be pleasant.
"You've done it?" Tanya called out, her voice carrying through the quiet library with calm confidence.
"Naturally." Midea said calmly the moons shining across his ebony skin. "I am a genius from the noble House of Valefor, after all," he said with a smirk, his voice dripping with self-assured pride. He paused, his gaze drifting over the dozens of sheets spread across the floor, each one meticulously marked with notes, maps, and diagrams. "I'm curious—what is all of this?"
Tanya glanced up from where she knelt, adding the final touches to a particularly detailed map. The faint glow of the three moons outside illuminated the room, casting a silvery sheen over the papers. "Just more preparation," she said evenly. "I'll need your help with Garran, though, when it comes time to present this. The man respects you even if he doesn't like you."
Midea's smirk grew, clearly enjoying the idea of wielding influence over someone who held him in disdain. He knelt beside her, scanning her work with a critical eye. His sharp mind immediately picked out areas for improvement, and he began pointing them out with the precision of a seasoned strategist. "Here—if you shift this part of the route slightly, it avoids this cluster of vampyr sightings," he said, tracing a clawed finger along the map. "And here, you're wasting too much space. Streamline the notes."
Tanya frowned slightly but didn't argue. Instead, she leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized his suggestions. "Fair. But if we streamline too much, it might lose clarity for those unfamiliar with the layout."
The two of them fell into a rhythm, debating every detail, adjusting routes, and refining notes until the pale light of dawn began to seep through the cracks in the wooden walls. Their discussion was relentless, a meeting of two sharp minds that left no flaw unchecked. When they finally stepped back to survey their finished work, both felt a rare sense of satisfaction.
Midea stretched, the joints in his arms popping audibly as he let out a low sigh. "Done. Not bad, little sun child. Though I'll still take credit for making it viable."
Tanya rolled her eyes but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she reached for a nearby book, flipping through it idly as she spoke. "There's someone I should speak to as a backup plan," she murmured, half to herself. She closed the book with a soft thud, her gaze thoughtful.
Midea chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Always scheming. I like that." He straightened, shadows curling around his form as he prepared to depart. "Well, I'll leave you to your plotting. I have my own preparations to make. I'll be back before long."
With that, he vanished in a flicker of shadow and flame, leaving behind only a faint scent of burning air.
Tanya turned toward the door, her expression momentarily softening as she spotted Tarak sitting just outside the building. The early morning light bathed the village in a gentle glow, casting long shadows across the dirt paths. Tarak's tail swayed lazily above his head, weaving through the air in an almost hypnotic motion as he sat silently, guarding the entrance like a loyal sentinel.
A small smile tugged at Tanya's lips despite herself. She stepped forward, her wings shifting slightly as she approached her brother. "Sorry for making you wait, Tarak," she said, sitting down beside him. Her shoulder brushed against his as she settled in, the faint warmth of his presence calming her mind despite herself.
"No need to apologize. It's not like sleeping is something I need to do often anyway," Tarak replied, leaning against her in response. His voice was steady, his tone carrying the same calm certainty that always seemed to surround him.
Tanya chuckled softly, patting his horn affectionately. "I still need to see someone. After that, we can walk around with Sol. How does that sound?"
Tarak considered her words for a moment before nodding. "Do you want me to come with you?"
Tanya hesitated, genuinely pondering his offer. Tarak was a steady presence, a source of quiet strength, but given the delicate nature of her errand, it might be better to go alone. "Not this time, Tarak," she said at last, offering him a grateful smile. "But thank you for offering. And… thank you for saving me."
Tarak tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity. "Why thank me?" he asked, his tone devoid of arrogance—he was genuinely puzzled by her gratitude.
Tanya blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Hmmm?"
"Aren't we family? I thought that's just what family did for one another," he said simply, as if the answer were obvious.
Once again, Tanya felt something shift within her, something deeper than simple adaptation. It wasn't a physical change—it was emotional, just like what had happened with Hati. Family huh? That kind of thing wasn't in the cards for her in the past. But this would be her final life, no rather this was her first life. He was her first family. What an odd thought. Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward, gently knocking her forehead against the side of his horn under the growing light of dawn.
"You're not wrong," she said quietly. "You're not wrong at all."
She rose to her feet, brushing dust off her clothes as she stretched her wings slightly to shake them free of lingering debris. The moment of sentimentality left her feeling oddly unsettled, as though she were straying too far from the person she used to be. With a quiet sigh, she began walking toward the building frequented by priestesses near the core, her mind already shifting to the task ahead in an attempt to ward off a mild crisis.
The village was beginning to stir to life, the faint sounds of morning activity echoing through the air. Tanya weaved her way through the narrow paths, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings until they landed on a familiar figure. Lain stood near the entrance of the building, her long hair swaying gently in the breeze.
"Hello, Lain. How are you?" Tanya greeted, her tone polite but carrying a hint of curiosity.
Lain turned, her expression lighting up slightly at the sight of Tanya. "I'm fine, Surya. Do you need something?"
Tanya suppressed a sigh of relief. It seemed Lain didn't recall being knocked out by the demon—or if she did, she chose not to mention it for some reason or another. "Well, I need to meet with Head Priestess Baya. Can you help me?"
Lain tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. For a moment, Tanya wondered if she would refuse, but then the woman smiled, a teasing lilt coloring her voice. "Usually, I'd say no. But you are the Seventh Surya, after all. The divine child… even if you are friends with Hati."
Tanya snorted inwardly girls would be girls she supposed. Lain led her inside, the air growing cooler as they entered the dimly lit halls. The scent of incense lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of dried herbs and old wood. They made their way deeper into the building until they reached a room from which a loud, echoing laugh rang out endlessly.
"Bagyagyagyagya!"
Tanya's brows rose slightly at the sound, but she said nothing as Lain gestured for her to enter.