Necromancy.

Of course. How could Burn have overlooked one of the demon lord's most infamous abilities? The stories from five centuries ago should have been enough to warn him about the likelihood of this exact nightmare.

And yet, here he was—realizing just how personal this particular twist was. This wasn’t just necromancy; it was tailored to crack his psyche wide open, to drag him down, step by step, into the predictable, tragic spiral of a textbook villain.

“It seems… fate has allowed us to meet yet once again, Burn.”

It spoke.

“It was scary, the darkness,” it said, its voice low and strained, as though dredged up from some pit of torment. “When my eyes opened, this body—or whatever this is—brought me to your presence.”

The thing standing before Burn wasn’t entirely him. A head stitched onto a patchwork body, black and unfamiliar, crafted from some grotesque substance that pulsed with life. Nerves threaded with precision to mimic strength and skill, the very foundation of a warrior. It even came with a sword.

This thing was made to fight. Designed specifically to fight Burn.

How considerate.

“Even now, even in death,” the man said, voice tight with bitterness, “I manage to be nothing but a burden to you.” He raised his head slowly, locking eyes with Burn.

“I thought, just once, I could help you carry it—the weight of sovereignty.”

Through betrayal, with unshakable loyalty.

“But instead, I am awakened in a body forced to betray you instead.” Black liquid spilled from his eyes, slow and viscous, as though mocking the concept of tears. “Brother—if it means anything now, forgive me.”

CLASH!

***

“What do you mean we can’t meet our children? We are their parents!” Bianca Lumine snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension choking the air.

The headmaster of Saint Lucia Academy, who also happened to be the Princess of Luminus, was no stranger to command. She glared at the guards stationed at Wilderwood Mansion as though daring them to defy her further.

“We came the moment we heard about the First Prince and the Elven Princess being kidnapped. Now, you will let us see our children, or—”

Her threats, laced with both royal authority and maternal fury, weren’t interrupted even by the arrival of another figure.

Duke Padparadscha, standing a few feet away, caught sight of Marquis Mossflower descending from his carriage. The man moved with purpose, though his usual poise was betrayed by the pallor of his face. Whether from fear or fury was anyone’s guess.

“Marquis,” the Duke greeted with a brief nod.

“Duke.” The Marquis returned the nod, his brow furrowed deeply. “Why are we here? Where are our sons?”

“The Wilderwood and the Sator are keeping us in the dark. They’ve refused to let us see them. No explanations,” the Duke replied, his frustration simmering just below the surface.

“And where is he?!” Bianca’s voice cut through again, sharper this time. “Where is Morgante di Sator?! Where is Finneas Wilderwood?!” Her face, usually composed, was drawn tight with worry. She stepped forward, trembling with both urgency and rage. “Let me see my son!”

As if summoned by her anger, a figure emerged from the towering mansion.

At first glance, the person approaching them seemed almost unreal.

A woman, devastatingly beautiful, with long black hair cascading down her back, her face carved with the kind of symmetry that could make angels weep—or devils take notes, except one singular mole under her right eye, like a sinful, salacious imperfection.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Yet the parents who had gathered to demand answers froze the moment they noticed her condition.

It was the hole in her chest that did it. A bloodied, gaping wound that turned the air colder than it already was.

“Greetings, Princess. Duke. Marquis.” Bunny Fay di Sator inclined her head slightly, her movements deliberate, as if her entire body were holding itself together through sheer willpower. Her pale skin was drenched in blood—her own—and her trembling limbs were slick with cold sweat.

“Madame!” Bianca gasped, rushing forward instinctively, her hands outstretched to catch her.

Bunny raised one trembling hand to halt her approach, the gesture somehow commanding despite her state.

“Stop,” she said, her voice calm, measured, and just shy of icy. “Please, listen to me.” She drew in a shaky breath, wincing ever so slightly, though she showed no intention of collapsing.

“The kidnapping of the Prince and Princess, followed by an attack from an unknown entity, has forced me to declare a lockdown of this mansion. Your children are inside. They are safe. But I cannot—and will not—let you in.”

Her words carried the weight of unyielding authority, though it was impossible to miss the exhaustion in her tone.

“The Princess, Blair Inkor, was targeted and gravely injured during the attack. She is alive, but only barely. The situation is far more precarious than any of you realize. Letting anyone into this sanctuary—even you—poses an unacceptable risk. I am not in the habit of gambling with lives, especially not when the stakes involve children entrusted to my care.”

The parents stared at her in stunned silence, their protests momentarily stolen by her candor.

“And before you ask—no, I cannot provide further information. My husband, Morgante di Sator, and Lord Finneas Wilderwood have left to join the search for the Prince and Princess. They are not here to explain this to you, which leaves me to manage this crisis.” She gestured faintly toward her blood-soaked chest. “I believe my current state speaks volumes about the seriousness of the situation.”

Her lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it was as bitter as it was fleeting. “You may be royalty, esteemed nobles, and, yes, concerned parents, but right now, none of those titles outweigh the need to ensure the safety of this mansion and everyone in it. If that means refusing you entry, so be it.”

Bunny Fay di Sator straightened, ignoring the trembling in her legs. “I would say I appreciate your patience, but given the circumstances, I’ll settle for your compliance. You will remain outside until further notice. This conversation is over.”

With that, she turned and began walking back toward the mansion, each step leaving faint traces of blood on the cold stone path—

“Wait!”

The voice, frantic and raw, cut through the tense air. Bunny stopped mid-stride. Slowly, she turned back, her pale face impassive, though her sharp eyes locked onto the source of the plea.

Bianca Lumine stood there, desperation etched into every feature. The commanding presence she wielded so effortlessly moments before was now overshadowed by something painfully human: worry.

“We understand,” Bianca said, her voice trembling but resolute. “Tell us how to help. Tell us how to make this situation better, so we can meet our children faster. Or tell us how you can let us in—anything. Just tell us what to do.”

Her words poured out, stripped of the fire she’d hurled at the guards earlier. Now, she was nothing more than a mother pleading for her child. Genuine, raw emotion swirled in her wide eyes.

Bunny—Morgan watched her in silence. For a moment, her expression didn’t shift, her striking azure gaze scanning not just Bianca but also the Duke and the Marquis standing behind her.

Morgan’s mind raced, but her face betrayed nothing. This woman, Bianca Lumine, came from Luminus—a kingdom that prided itself on its holy lineage, its connection to Romeuf the Apostle.

And after the Pope’s death, the Lumine family had only grown more influential.

Was it possible this woman had ties to the demon lord? Morgan’s instincts whispered no, but instincts alone weren’t enough. She decided to test the waters.

“Lance Inkor,” she said abruptly, her tone sharp and calculated.

The parents froze, their expressions snapping from worry to confusion. Bianca blinked at her, frowning deeply. “What? Why…”

Morgan studied them closely, searching for the tiniest flicker of recognition, the barest hint of guilt. There was none. Only confusion.

“Corrupted mana,” Morgan added, her voice dropping slightly, like a blade being drawn.

Again, no response beyond furrowed brows and faint unease. Whatever suspicions had wormed their way into her mind began to dissipate. If these people had secrets, they weren’t ones she could unearth now.

Satisfied—or at least willing to set the matter aside—Morgan nodded. “One thing to consider,” she said, her voice steady and cool as ever. “If I let you in, understand this: you won’t be able to leave until I decide it’s safe. Once you’re inside, you are under my protection, my rules. No exceptions.”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, pressing down on the trio like an invisible force.

Bianca opened her mouth to reply but hesitated, glancing back at the Duke and the Marquis. Both men exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions a mirror of their shared hesitation.

None of them liked the sound of what they were hearing, but they were also painfully aware of the alternative—staying out here, powerless, while their children remained beyond their reach.

Bianca squared her shoulders, turning back to Morgan with the same desperate resolve she had shown before. “If that’s what it takes to see our children and keep them safe,” she said firmly, “then so be it. Just let us help.”

Morgan’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before shifting to the men flanking her. Their faces were grim but equally determined. For all their bluster and privilege, it seemed these three still knew how to prioritize what mattered most.

Finally, Morgan let out a slow, deliberate breath. “Very well,” she said, gesturing faintly toward the mansion. “Follow me.”