Lilith
Holly Palace
Raider city
Ardonia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
December 20th 6414
Weeks slipped by in a steady rhythm of repetition—days spent under the watchful eye of Greta, hammering glowing metal on the anvil, learning how to coax it into different shapes. At first, I had struggled to control the force and angle of each strike, to read the metal's response, to understand when it wanted to yield and when it needed more persuasion. But over time, I began to get it. The shapes stopped collapsing in on themselves. Edges held. Curves balanced. The clumsy thuds of my early attempts gave way to measured, deliberate impacts.
When I finally succeeded in forming the required shapes to Greta's satisfaction, I expected a break—a moment to breathe or bask in her approval.
Instead, she handed me a new bar of Shimmer steel—sleek, silvery, and faintly shimmering.
"Shimmer Steel," she said. "More responsive than the one's you've been working with. Also more temperamental. This time, you'll be infusing your mana into the hammer itself—and channeling it into the steel as you work."
I stared at her, blinking. "You want me to… what?"
"Beat your mana into the metal," she said, grinning. "Think of it as giving the steel a heartbeat."
It sounded ridiculous. And impossible.
The first attempts were disasters. Too much mana, and the hammerhead sparked violently, ricocheting my energy back into my wrist. Too little, and nothing happened—the steel remained inert, unimpressed. I had to walk a razor's edge of control, shaping the metal not just physically, but metaphysically—imprinting my intent into its very essence.
Even with my ability factor—designed for efficiency and control over internal energy—this was another level entirely. The mana had to be smooth, steady, harmonized with every motion of my body. A single moment of imbalance, and the whole process unraveled.
I gritted my teeth through each attempt. My arms ached. My soul burned. But beneath the frustration, something within me sparked—a memory of learning magic for the first time, fumbling incantations, grasping at the shape of spells in the dark. This was like that, but with fire and steel.
Greta didn't hover or scold. She watched in silence, occasionally adjusting my grip or correcting the flow of mana with a light tap on the wrist or a nod.
"You're not just shaping metal anymore," she said one day as I stood over the anvil, sweat dripping from my brow. "You're shaping your will into form. That's the soul of Forgemastery."
And somehow, even through the frustration and fatigue, I didn't want to stop. There was something quietly exhilarating about it—the rhythm, the challenge, the slow shaping of raw chaos into precision.
So I kept going.
Strike by strike, I honed my control. The feedback stopped jolting through my wrist. The mana in my core no longer flared erratically with each blow. I learned how to channel it steadily, to let it pulse through the hammer like a heartbeat, then into the steel with focused intent.
By the time Greta finally nodded in approval—her version of high praise—I had achieved a level of mana control that felt instinctive, refined. But it didn't stop there.
What I was learning wasn't just about controlling mana through the traditional four methods—flow, Counter flow, Release, and output. Greta was guiding me toward something deeper: manipulation at the atomic level. The shaping of mana not as energy, but as matter. Intent folded into structure. Precision so fine it bordered on artistry.
And to my surprise, I was beginning to grasp it.
Thanks to Greta, what was once unknown, was now known to me.
"How does it feel?" Greta asked, her tone calm but curious.
I looked down at my arms, slowly flexing my fingers. The mana lattice network within me pulsed with newfound vitality—its flow smoother, more stable, no longer sputtering with resistance. Strength thrummed through my limbs, not as a rush, but as a steady undercurrent—quiet, controlled, immense.
"My strength has increased… tenfold," I murmured.
Even my mana core—once stunted in growth, lagging behind the rest of me—had begun to catch up. When I awakened, my soul core had surged to the Master realm almost instantly, leaving my mana core underdeveloped by comparison. But now, I could feel it—denser, more stable, pushing past the nascent stage. It was well into the mid-tier now, nearly touching the threshold of a true Master core.
My body felt lighter, more limber. My movements had a refined ease, like tension that had lived in my muscles for years had finally been ironed out.
"I feel like I'm the one who got hammered," I said, cracking a grin.
Greta chuckled, arms crossed as she leaned against the workbench. "Good. That means the forge is doing its job."
"So, what's next?" I asked. "Do I finally get to start making actual items now?"
"Hold your excitement," Greta said with a smirk. She reached behind her workbench and pulled out two thick books, placing them firmly in my arms. "You've got some light reading ahead of you."
I glanced down at the covers. One was titled The Foundations of Forgemastery, the other Arcane Metallurgy and Technique. Both looked ancient, their leather bindings worn and marked by time.
"These books cover the core of what it means to be a Forgemaster," Greta said. "History, theory, techniques—the whole shebang. They're enchanted for accelerated learning. Once you finish reading, the knowledge should sink in deep enough for practical comprehension."
"Reading?" I groaned. "Seriously?"
"You do read, don't you?" Greta raised an eyebrow.
"I do," I muttered, reluctantly.
"Then you'll be fine," she said with a grin. "For now, finish those. With Yuletide coming up, the forge won't be running full swing anyway. Once you've read through and digested the material, we'll go over technique selection—choose the paths that resonate with you."
"Yuletide's almost here already?" I said, surprised at how quickly time had passed.
Greta nodded. "Yes. And trust me, you'll want to be rested when it comes. Things tend to... shift during the season."
"What do you mean?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"You'll see," Greta replied, her smile cryptic and annoyingly satisfied.
I didn't understand her meaning—until the twenty-fifth of December arrived.
The change began subtly. Ardonia, usually kissed by golden sunlight and brisk mountain air, shifted. Warm breezes gave way to a biting chill. Clouds rolled in, slow and silvery, and by morning, the entire region was dusted in white. Snow blanketed the streets and rooftops, transforming the landscape into a serene, glittering tapestry.
Ella was the first to react—bursting into childlike delight the moment she saw the snow. She ran out into it barefoot, laughing and spinning as if she were in some winter fairy tale. Her joy was infectious, and for the first time in weeks, I felt something close to peace.
Yuletide had come.
It was one of the few surviving holidays from the old era of Ashtarium, preserved through memory, tradition, and stubborn cultural rituals. Most didn't fully remember its origins, but fragments remained—rituals passed down and woven into the modern age. There was always a decorated tree, placed in a communal space or home, with gifts arranged beneath it. Fireplaces were lit not only for warmth but as a symbolic gesture. Plates of cookies were laid out alongside mugs of sweet milk—an offering to... someone or something, depending on which myth you followed.
To some, it was just a time for family and gratitude. To others, it was a sacred pause in the year, when the world softened and magic ran just a little closer to the surface.
Whatever it was, I was beginning to understand why Greta had smiled the way she did. Something about Yuletide made everything feel... lighter. Like the world was holding its breath for something beautiful.
"I thought Ardonia always had a sunny disposition," I said, watching the snowflakes drift outside the palace window. Ella had finally come back in after her snow-drenched escapade, her laughter still echoing in the corridors. "How did the entire Dome start snowing?"
"I have my ways," Jack replied from his seat by the fire. He was dressed in a green sweater, a red scarf loosely draped around his neck—almost as if the cold actually affected him. I gave him a side glance, amused by the seasonal commitment.
Moving away from the window, I settled into the chair beside him. I picked up a cookie from the plate between us and took a slow bite, studying him from the corner of my eye.
I still didn't know what to make of Jack. His presence stirred something uneasy in me, something I couldn't yet name. But despite that, I was grateful. He was training Ella—helping her refine her power, grow stronger. And that mattered more than my suspicions.
I had witnessed it firsthand: the awakening of Ella's Boundless Factor. Her mystic eyes had changed—etched with runic patterns that shimmered within her pupils, glowing with a radiance that didn't belong to this world. I had felt the raw potential in her, an energy that defied limits. A force without a ceiling—or perhaps one meant to shatter every ceiling that tried to contain it.
"Can I ask you something?" I said, still chewing the cookie.
"Sure," Jack replied, sipping his cocoa without looking at me.
"Your family… they're distant relatives of the Ashtarmel, right?"
He gave a brief nod. "Yeah. A distant blood branch."
"But you don't have the Sin of Radiance?"
"No," he said with a faint smile. "Unfortunately, my family doesn't carry Radiance. That gift's reserved for the main bloodline."
"Why are you asking?" he added, raising a brow. "Starting to take an interest in Ashtarmel bloodlines?"
"It's about the Sin of Radiance," I said quietly. "That power Ella used when she destroyed that will of Laplace… I felt it. It was the same as this." I summoned the glowing strand of energy Mary had given me—the one I hadn't fully absorbed yet. It shimmered faintly in the air between us, a divine pulse of warmth and authority.
"This was given to me by my aunt. A Seraph'ilim," I added.
Jack's eyes narrowed slightly with understanding as the energy pulsed faintly between us.
"Ah. Radiant Mana," he said, leaning forward to get a better look. "Also called Azural Radiant Force. That's not just any mana—you're holding a fragment of Grace refined into a usable form."
He sipped his cocoa again, letting the weight of that statement hang in the air.
"Grace?" I echoed, watching the light flicker inside the strand. It felt like the world bent slightly around it, like it didn't quite belong in the same plane as normal mana.
Jack nodded. "Grace is… difficult to explain. Think of it as Law-adjacent—a primordial energy that exists beyond elemental affinities. It doesn't follow the natural laws of reality; it writes them. It's what the angels of the First Astral Axis wield—the pure language of divine authority."
"And Radiant Mana?"
"That's what the Seraph'ilim did with it," he said. "Just like how mortals refine Od into mana, the Seraph'ilim learned to temper Grace into something their bodies could channel: Radiant Mana. Azural Force. It's still rooted in the divine, but it flows like mana. Usable. Sharper. More responsive to will."
I stared at the glowing thread again, a little more aware now of what I held.
"And Ella's power—her Boundless Factor—it has that in it?"
"Oh, it does," Jack said, his voice quiet now. "She's not just a fusion of Lionheart and Ashtarmel. That Radiant strain runs deep in her. And mixed with Boundless? That girl could change the fate of stars if she ever masters it."
He leaned back, folding his arms.
"You'll want to finish absorbing that soon," he added. "Because with what's coming… you'll need every law-defying edge you can get."
"You still haven't explained how a Vampire house has access to something like Radiant Mana," I said, keeping my gaze on Jack.
He gave a small, knowing smile. "Do you know why Ashtarium was one of the first targets during the War of Races?" he asked, his tone darkening slightly. "It wasn't random."
I leaned in. "I know the basics. After the Crimson Virus appeared, war spread through Europe. The Vampires, led by three of the Royal Houses, turned on the Seraph'ilim. Wanted to take the world back from the humans. That war dragged on for three centuries."
Jack nodded. "And when Europe fell into chaos, they turned their eyes to the New World—to Ashtarium. Not because it was rich in resources, though it was. But because of who lived here. At that time, Ashtarium wasn't a kingdom yet. The Ashtarmel didn't rule. It was still a republic, led by its people. But the dream was already there—the vision."
"What dream?" I asked.
Jack's expression turned solemn. "Unity. Coexistence. A sanctuary for Manaborn and mortals alike. The Ashtarmel were trying to build something no other Vampire house had ever attempted. They weren't interested in domination or blood supremacy. They wanted to create a civilization where power served purpose, not control."
I frowned. "But why would that make the other Royal Houses afraid?"
"Because," Jack said, leaning forward, his voice lowering, "the other Vampire Houses saw the Ashtarmel's vision as heresy. And worse—a threat. If the Ashtarmel succeeded, if their ideals took root and the world rallied behind them… it would make them the one and only Royal House. The rest would become irrelevant."
I sat back, the implications heavy.
"So they tried to erase them," I said quietly.
"But they failed," Jack said. "The Ashtarmel still exist."
"That still doesn't explain why they have access to such power," I pressed. "And then there's their Daywalker constitution—immunity to sunlight." I glanced toward the window where the pale glow of artificial sunlight poured through the Dome's sky. "Even in the Dungeon, where the artificial sun can still suppress or kill Vampires, Ella isn't affected. She's immune."
Jack nodded slowly. "The Ashtarmel are no ordinary Vampire House. Among the Nightborn, their bloodline is considered… taboo."
"Because of some connection to the Seraph'ilim?" I asked, recalling what the Avrams had once mentioned about a close bond with the Ashtarmel.
Jack's gaze drifted toward the fire. "Something like that," he said. "But it's deeper than mere alliance or history. It's in the blood. Somewhere along the line, something sacred was woven into their lineage—something not of the Abyss."
He looked at me again, eyes sharp.
"That's why the other Royal Houses fear them. That's why the Boundless Eye manifested in Ella—not just because of the Lionheart legacy, but because the Ashtarmel blood never truly belonged to the dark."
There was a beat of silence.
"They were touched by the Light," he said. "And the Night has never forgiven them for it."
Touched by the Light.I turned the phrase over in my mind. What did that even mean? Was it like the House of Kain—a Seraph'ilim bloodline touched by the Night? Somehow, I didn't think so. This felt different. Deeper. Older. As if it wasn't just a union of opposites, but something more profound. Something… destined.
Before I could follow that thought any further, a voice cut in.
"What are you guys talking about?" Ella said, stepping into the room with snow still dusting her boots. Ben and Eduardo trailed behind her, their faces flushed red from the cold.
Well—mostly Ella. Judging from the way Ben looked half-frozen and Eduardo's flat expression, it was clear they'd been roped into standing outside while she played in the snow like a wild thing.
Jack gave them a lazy grin. "Let me guess—you made them stay out the whole time?"
"She said it was 'team bonding,'" Eduardo muttered, shaking frost from his sleeves.
"I bonded just fine from the window," Ben added, pulling off his gloves. "I think my soul tried to hibernate."
Ella just beamed, eyes bright. "Snow days are rare! You have to enjoy them properly."
I smiled despite myself. The air in the room warmed a little—not from the fire, but from her presence. Even in winter, she carried the kind of energy that made everything around her feel just a bit more alive.
Greta's head popped into the room, her auburn braid swinging as she glanced around and called out, "Lunch is ready."
"Ha! Finally," Jack said, practically leaping from his chair like a man starved.
The others followed him with varying degrees of enthusiasm—Ella bouncing ahead, Eduardo sighing as if it were a royal summons, and Ben muttering something about "finally thawing."
****
That night, my dreams spiraled into something darker.
I was trapped inside a tube. A thick, translucent wall of reinforced glass encased me in a stasis chamber suspended in liquid. Every breath was agony, my lungs aching with the pressure. Wires slithered through my skin like parasitic veins, anchoring me to unseen machines.
Mechanical voices echoed around me—cold, sterile, droning as if part of a language not meant for human ears. Their words meant nothing, yet every syllable filled me with dread. Pain radiated through my limbs, not from injury, but from invasive presence—as though something was being drawn out of me… or forced in.
I tried to move, but even the effort of thought made my head throb.
Then my eyes opened wider. Through the cloudy glass, I saw other tubes. Dozens—maybe hundreds—lining a vast chamber like coffins waiting for mourning. Within them, others floated. Unmoving. Faces contorted in sleep. Or death.
And in one of the nearer tubes—just across from mine—I saw…
I gasped.
I shot upright in bed, heart pounding, sweat clinging to my skin despite the winter chill in the room.
Moonlight spilled through the frosted windows of Holly Palace, casting a pale glow across the linens and walls. I glanced to my side—and froze.
Jen lay beside me, her chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. She looked exactly the same as she had before I… before I'd stabbed her.
Her soft red curls framed her face in waves, and the constellation of freckles across her nose made her look younger than I remembered. Her emerald eyes sparkled as they fluttered open, and she smiled.
"Hey," she whispered, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
I stared, unsure if I was awake… or still trapped in the dream. But when I blinked, she was gone.
The ache in my head returned—sharp and pulsing, like something clawing from within. I sat up, rubbing my temples as the pain worsened, then pushed myself out of bed.
I needed to do something. Anything.
I made my way into Aeternum's pocket space, to the familiar silence of the forge lab.
Aeternum materialized beside the glowing runes etched into the floor. "Can't sleep?" it asked, its voice gentler than usual.
"No," I murmured.
I moved through the lab, scanning the benches until I found what I needed. I picked up a hammer and made my way to the furnace, where the comforting heat pushed back the cold that clung to my skin. Reaching into my satchel, I pulled out a few bars of Shimmer Steel I'd collected. Without another word, I began Greta's forging exercise—rhythmically hammering the steel, letting each strike pull me away from the pain in my head and the haunting image of Jen's smile.
-
Royal Palace
Pandemonium city, Royal capital city
Hudsonia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
April 16th 6412
"So, you're getting married off?" Lilith asked, her voice laced with just enough sarcasm to mask genuine concern.
She and Ariella were sprawled across the sofa bed in Ella's room, a bowl of popcorn between them and half-empty drinks on the side table. On the screen, a movie played—something dramatic involving a lost artifact and an impending world-ending catastrophe.
"It seems like it," Ella replied, casually tossing a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
"And you're not mad?" Lilith pressed, raising an eyebrow.
Ella shrugged, eyes still on the screen. "What's the point of being mad? It's politics. Royal daughters get married off. It's not like I didn't know this day would come."
Lilith turned toward her fully now, brow furrowed. "Yeah, but you're not just some royal daughter, Ella. You're you. Smart, stubborn, scary when provoked… You deserve more than to be packaged and shipped off because someone thinks it's a good trade."
Ariella smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "It's not decided yet. Mother's furious, Father's weighing the options, and I'm… stuck in the middle. Again."
Lilith scoffed. "That's not an answer."
Ella sighed and finally looked at her. "What do you want me to say, Lil? That I'm heartbroken? That I want to run away and abandon my duty? I can't afford to think like that. Not with the throne, the court, and now this moonstone thing breathing down my neck."
Lilith's jaw tightened. "I just don't like the idea of you being given away. Especially not to some guy we've never even met."
A beat passed. The movie continued playing in the background, but neither of them was watching anymore.
"You mean you don't like it," Ariella said softly.
Lilith looked at her—eyes sharp, guarded—but didn't speak.
Ariella didn't push further. Instead, she leaned back against the cushions and sighed again, softer this time. "I'm not mad. Not yet. But I'm definitely not ready to be someone else's pawn."
Lilith stared at her a moment longer, then reached into the popcorn bowl and grabbed a handful. "Good. Because if anyone tries to treat you like one… I'll break their jaw."
Ella smirked. "Thanks. I'll add that to my wedding vows."
Lilith chuckled softly at Ella's joke, but the sound faded into a quiet lull. The bowl of popcorn sat untouched now, the screen casting soft light across the room. For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
Then Lilith shifted, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. "You know… you don't have to go through this alone."
Ariella turned her head slightly. "I'm not. I have you."
"You say that," Lilith murmured, "but every time something serious happens, you put on that calm princess face. Like the world could collapse and you'd just nod politely and offer tea."
Ella smiled, but it faltered at the edges.
"It's easier," she said quietly. "Easier than letting it all show. If I start feeling everything, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop."
Lilith slowly leaned back, watching her. "Then let me help you carry it. Even if it's just for a little while."
Ariella's breath caught slightly—so subtle Lilith almost missed it. Almost.
"That's dangerous talk for a Royal Guard," Ella said, voice softer now, more exposed.
Lilith held her gaze. "I'm not saying this as your guard."
The air between them shifted.
Ariella looked away first, blinking back something that had started to rise behind her eyes. "Lil… we can't—"
"I know," Lilith said, cutting her off gently. "I know. That's why I haven't said anything. And I won't. Not unless you want me to."
Silence again, but this time it was full. Full of tension, of meaning, of unspoken histories and things that had lingered far too long in the spaces between words.
Ariella exhaled slowly, turning back to her. "You're the only thing that makes me feel like I'm not drowning in all of this."
Lilith's voice dropped to a whisper. "Then I'll stay right here. As long as you need me to."
And in that moment, the palace, the court, the expectations—they all faded.
There was only the quiet hum of the screen, the glow of warm light on their faces, and two girls sitting side by side, bound by something deeper than duty. Something unnamed.
Ariella didn't respond right away. She simply leaned her head against Lilith's shoulder, eyes still on the flickering screen but no longer watching. Lilith didn't move, didn't speak—only let her stay there, steady and warm, the one unshakable presence in a world spiraling with expectation and uncertainty. Outside, the moonlight filtered through the balcony window, casting a soft silver glow over them both. And for a while, neither said another word.