Trust had always been a weird luxury; to the rich, it came with connections, to the poor, it came with bonds.
To the wise, it became a tool to use, another piece of a never ending game, and to the poor, it offered a quiet comfort, an emotional outlet.
When this fragile sense of comfort snapped under the strain of ever-evolving emotions, when it is broken by choices people themselves made, they blame the heavens.
They blame the gods, fate, destiny, and every other celestial entity they could think of.
Astrid understood this better than most.
Yet knowing did not—would not—stop the faint tremble in her hands.
It didn't stop her breathing from becoming uneven.
Wave upon wave of emotions assailed her mind, yet she didn't crack; she couldn't. She was reminded yet again that some things, even the sharpest of minds, could not control.
She stood there, gazing blankly at the two cracked stone graves at her feet, her sapphire blue eyes unblinking.
She pulled out a dozen black roses from the pocket of her coat, placing them with measured gentleness on the head of the tombs.
It had been more than ten years since the incident, ten years of constant risk and survival. Ten years of fighting against prejudice and insults.
She had persisted not because she wanted to but because she had to. Because satisfaction required patience. Before revenge came pain.
Astrid had been planning her revenge from the day she turned 13, and today was the first step forward, towards her goal, towards salvation.
Astrid stared at the graves again, melancholy creeping back in, but she pushed it back to the very pits of her blackened heart; today was not about grief; it was about transition.
The past would no longer hold her back; the last vestiges of the crying girl were about to be erased.
In her place would stand a new woman.
A woman reborn through her own ashes.
A woman tempered by grief, refined by experience, and unshaken by sentimentality.
Free from guilt, removed from emotions.
Morality was relative and fear useless.
Astrid whispered farewell to the corpses buried in the ground, to the dead that watched her, and to the living who would soon join them.
The night was still young, and work had yet to be done.
She closed her eyes, her conscience brushing against the worst foe a sentient being could face: themselves. She descended into her mind, taking a final trip down memory lane.
. . . . . .
The grand estate of the Di Diavolo family stretched endlessly in every direction, a landscape carved from darkness itself. At each corner of the territory stood a massive black spire, four in total, rising like colossal spears meant to pierce the heavens. They looked as if they had been forged by Satan's own hand, weapons powerful enough to wound the gods.
Hundreds of horned demons patrolled the spiked walls encircling the estate. Their steps were steady, their posture unyielding, and their eyes never flickered away from their duty. Each one carried the unmistakable flame of battle within them, a silent promise of violence to any who dared approach with hostile intentions.
The main manor was just as fearsome as the structures that guarded it. It rose from the earth with the presence of a living monstrosity, a creation shaped not by architects but by something far older and far darker.
Its polished black marble walls gleamed like obsidian soaked in moonlight, giving the impression that the building had grown upward through some ancient demonic ritual. Crimson windows lined every surface, glowing faintly like blood captured in glass and watching the world with a quiet, predatory hunger.
Yet despite the oppressive grandeur, the innocent sound of laughter spilled through the mansion like sunlight slipping through a fierce storm.
A small child, barely ten years of age, was running around the hallway, a wooden sword in her hands, shaking it with the kind of joy only children could possess, racing as if the world were perfect.
She had pale white skin, long midnight black hair that shimmered faintly in the moonlight, and blue eyes that glimmered with intelligence and mischief. At first glance, the child looked like an ordinary human girl, but the tiny azure stubs betrayed the truth.
She was a demon.
Astrid Di Diavolo was having the time of her life; her father and older brother were about to come back from the border, and the housemaids were preparing her favorite meal. There could have been nothing better than this for a child her age.
"Miss Astrid, don't run around so much; you might get hurt," a soft voice called out from behind Astrid.
Astrid turned her head, a pout forming on her face, her puffy eyes already starting to burn with innocent defiance.
She glanced at the woman who had just ruined all her fun: her maid, knight, and best friend, Stella Di Diavolo, a retainer of the family, and someone who had sworn her life to serve the young lady.
Long white hair fell over her shoulder like fresh snow, framing a face dominated by two orbs of the same hue—eyes that held no malice, only serene warmth. Two golden horns jutted out from her snowy hair, giving her an almost divine presence.
A form-fitting white armor hugged her figure, accentuating her curves without overshadowing her humble nature.
A legendary figure, a Synergist with a potential for growth that was nothing short of terrifying. Yet here she was, just a common knight in a household of demons, serving a girl who wasn't yet a teen.
Astrid quickly walked over to her knight, her small body swaying slightly. Stella leaned down on one knee to match the eye level of her lady.
"Stella, I'm a grown woman. I know how to walk, it's not like I'll just trip on the air."
Unfortunately for Astrid, the universe chose this exact moment to prove her wrong.
A flash of blue lightning tore through the air, its sound echoing through the courtyard of the nightmarish estate.
Astrid, startled by the sudden sound, caught her foot in the mud, slipped, and fell face-first toward the dirt-stained ground.
Before she could fall, however, a pair of thin, feminine arms wrapped around her body, gracefully catching her.
Stella gently lowered Astrid back to the ground, her tiny feet descending toward the earth like moonlight touching the surface of a still lake.
Astrid quickly pushed Stella away, covering her face with her hands, heat crawling up her cheeks, turning her ears red.
Stella looked at her young lady and, once again, was glad that Astrid was the one she had to protect.
Lady Astrid is so cute... she looks like a tomato. Just imagining a tomato for Astrid's face brought an amused smile on Stella's face
Astrid peeked through her fingers, her blue eyes glowing with embarrassment.
"I didn't fall, okay... I was just checking to see how fast your reflexes were."
When Stella just chuckled at her reaction, Astrid turned an even brighter shade of red.
"Don't make fun of me," she muttered, her voice small.
Stella bowed gracefully as if she were speaking to the King himself. "I would never, Lady Astrid."
But the faint tremble of her shoulders gave away a laugh she was desperately trying to hide.
Stella's gaze softened as she looked at Astrid, her source of light in this bleak and infernal world.
Astrid had saved her in her darkest moments, even if it was the result of mere curiosity, and Stella owed her everything.
And she would die before letting anything happen to her.
Stella grabbed Astrid's hand, gently yanking her up like a sack of tomatos and setting her down on her shoulder.
As soon as Astrid settled comfortably on Stella's shoulder, she let out a contented purr, impersonating a cat.
Just like that, they waited, with the terrifying knight known across the kingdom acting like a glorified horse, while her lady hummed atop her without a care in the world.