Elijah
Peruin city,
Kettlia Region
November 15th 6414
Ten days had passed since I learned the truth—Ariella Ashtarmel was alive.
It still felt unreal, even now. The revelation haunted the back of my mind like a forgotten dream remembered only in fragments. In that time, the Verbena had finally burned itself out of my system, and with its departure, my Ability Factor had returned. Fantasia, true to its nature, reshaped me once more.
Gone was the soft, high-cheekbone visage that the mirror had revealed in my weakened state. My reflection had reverted to the form I had chosen long ago—the sharp, masculine lines, the angular jaw, the body that fit like armor around the soul that wore it. The world once again saw me as I willed it to.
Steph and I had spent the last several days holed up in the warehouse that served as the central base for the Light Brigade—the so-called rebel army founded by Leonel Lionheart, Ariella's cousin on her mother's side. The place was a fusion of function and secrecy: old industrial bones layered with advanced magitech wards, runic barriers humming quietly beneath cracked floors and rusted beams.
Despite the activity around us—logistical officers running drills, warriors training, intel specialists mapping coded transmission webs—I couldn't shake the unease. The tension simmered beneath the surface, quiet but constant, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.
And I had questions.
So many questions. But Leonel, damn him, refused to answer any of them.
He dodged, deflected, and redirected. Always with that calm, almost bored expression on his face, like the weight of revolution was just another casual afternoon errand.
He knew more than he was saying—about Ariella, about this "rebellion," and most of all, about Jack Kuria.
I leaned against the wall of the upper catwalk, staring down at the warehouse floor as the Light Brigade moved with quiet coordination below. My thoughts kept circling back to Jack—the man who sent me here with half-truths and cryptic warnings.
Why me?
What did Jack know about Leonel's plans that warranted sending a prince, cloaked in anonymity, into the heart of a rebel army?
And more pressingly… what did he know about Ariella?
I clenched my fists. The silence from Leonel was maddening. But the truth—it was drawing closer. I could feel it pressing in like the tide before a storm surge, undeniable and rising.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Steph approaching. She was dressed casually, but something about the way she carried herself made her seem regal, quietly composed, yet alert. A pale brown cardigan clung to her frame over fitted jeans, her dark brown hair cascading down her shoulders in soft waves. She moved with intent, eyes scanning the warehouse below as though mapping out every soul, every movement, every hidden whisper.
I blinked, caught momentarily off guard. There was something different about her today. Not just how she looked—though yes, she looked beautiful—but the way she moved. Calculating. Focused. As if the same storm brewing in me had taken root in her, too.
She came to stand beside me on the catwalk, her gaze drifting across the training floor below. Warriors moved in practiced rhythm—sparring, meditating, reviewing tactical scrolls. The Light Brigade wasn't large, but it was organized. Disciplined. Quietly dangerous.
Her voice was low. "They're good."
I glanced over. "The place is clear. Most of them are Manaborn humans—not even Awakened."
She nodded, but her expression remained tense. "Still, they move like they've seen real combat. I can't believe a fifteen-year-old pulled this together."
"Fourteen," I corrected with a quiet grunt.
Steph looked at me, one brow arching. "That makes him ten years younger than you. And he's already in the Grandmaster realm."
I let the words hang there, heavy. They tasted bitter in my mouth.
"Right," I murmured.
The truth stung. Deep down, part of me regretted how lightly I had treated cultivation over the years. I had been like my mother, resting in the luxury of Awakening, content to bask in the blessings of a royal lineage that granted me natural longevity. For so long, I thought that was enough.
But Leonel's existence—his power, his poise, his presence—it burned that illusion to ash.
I hated that he made me feel small.
No, not him. I hated that I had allowed myself to become small.
A fire had ignited somewhere deep within me, slow but unrelenting. I didn't just want to cultivate now.
I needed to.
Because I'd be damned if I let some fourteen-year-old upstart with a silver name and a sharpened bloodline look down on me like I was furniture in his war room.
"Still... the idea that the former Princess—your cousin—is alive," Steph said, her voice quiet, edged with skepticism. "Forgive me, but that sounds too good to be true. Do you believe him?"
"I do," I replied without hesitation.
My mind drifted, unbidden, to Lilith Kain.
If Ariella had survived, then she would have as well.
That girl. That creature was draped in the skin of a human. Even as a child, Lilith had the strength to bring down Awakened warriors without effort. I had seen it—felt it. Back then, she wasn't just some Manaborn prodigy. She was something other. Something deeper. Something that didn't quite fit in the category of human at all.
"I've always wondered," I murmured, half to myself, "if she ever was human."
Steph glanced at me but didn't press.
"If Ariella's alive," she said softly, "then where is she? Why hasn't she come forward?"
"That's what I want to know," I said. My hands clenched at the railing. "And I need to speak to Leonel. Now."
As if summoned by my frustration, a voice echoed from the far end of the catwalk.
"I'm right here."
We turned.
Leonel stood at the entrance, arms folded, flanked by two older figures dressed in high-grade combat attire—likely high-ranking members of the Brigade. They were taller than him, broader too, but somehow their presence felt muted beside him.
Because Leonel's aura wasn't just strong—it was immense. A force unto itself. It poured off him in measured waves, calm but undeniable, as if he were the axis around which this entire place revolved.
His pale blue eyes fixed on me with that same unreadable expression he always wore, like I was a piece on his board, already in motion.
"Well then," he said, stepping forward, "let's talk."
****
We ended up in a different room—not unfamiliar, though. It was the same chamber where Leonel had first shattered my understanding of the world, revealing that Ariella—Ella—was still alive.
I sat beside Steph, tension coiling in my gut. Leonel sat across from us, poised and unreadable, flanked by the same two Brigade members as before. They stood silently behind him, their presence a quiet reminder of just how much authority he held here, despite his age.
Without a word, Leonel reached into his coat and pulled out a small circular device. He placed it on the table between us, and with a low chime, it activated—projecting a flickering blue hologram.
Jack Kuria's face appeared, wearing that ever-infuriating grin.
"Well, it seems you're all finally together," he said smoothly, as if this were some sort of family reunion.
I stood, rage seething. "You... What game are you playing, Jack?" I growled. "Why didn't you tell me the truth about Ella? Why bring me to this damned city under false pretenses?"
Jack didn't flinch. "Isn't it obvious by now?" he said, casually. "We needed to see where your true allegiance lies. Is it with the usurper—your father? Or is it with Princess Ariella?"
"What?" I stared at him, stunned. "You mean you didn't trust me? After everything? What happened to working together? Me being your Ta'Valur… You gave me your blood."
Jack's hologram tilted its head, amused. But it was Leonel who answered.
"When he said 'we,' he meant me," Leonel said flatly. "Jack brought you here because I needed to judge you for myself. I needed to see what kind of person Elijah Ashtarmel really is."
"And as for the blood," Jack added, voice calm and unbothered, "what I gave you was less than one percent in purity. Just enough to form a faint link. Enough to observe your behavior in Periun… and assess your loyalty."
His smile faded slightly.
"You didn't disappoint."
My fists clenched at my sides. A part of me had known, known that drinking the blood of a superior vampire came with consequences. But I had forgotten the depth of it. The bond it created. The access it granted. They had watched me. Every move. Every hesitation. Every decision. It had all been a test. And I hadn't even known I was being judged.
"Where is she?" I asked, my voice low but urgent. "Ariella. Where is she?"
Leonel didn't flinch. "I'm afraid that's something we can't tell you right now."
I narrowed my eyes, but before I could speak, he continued.
"With your current cultivation level, returning to the palace—or even getting too close to the wrong people—could expose everything. Especially with her still there… the Enchantress."
His words landed heavy. We all knew who he meant. The woman at my father's side. The one whose eyes saw too much.
"Leonel's right," Jack's projection added. "We have to be strategic with what we know, and when we reveal it. Just know that she's alive. She's safe. And she's growing stronger by the day."
I felt my throat tighten.
"Is… is Lilith Kain with her?" I asked.
Leonel gave a small nod. "Yes. The Kain girl is with her."
I almost asked the next question. Is she here? In Kettlia? With the Lionhearts?
But I stopped myself.
Because I already knew the answer.
Ever since my father took the throne—and the Lionheart clan withdrew their support—he'd kept them under strict surveillance. The R.E.T.U. unit had standing orders to monitor their movements, especially their estate. Orders were issued even before I became the unit's director. I had seen some of the reports myself, since I had access to classified intel. If there had been even a whisper that a royal heir was within their walls, it would've set off alarm bells. My father would've sent the Execution Division within the hour.
No. Ariella wasn't anywhere near here.
She was somewhere hidden. Somewhere no one would think to look. Not in a city. Not in a clan compound. Somewhere buried, protected by shadows and distance. The perfect place to hide a Princess of the Kingdom from the man who had stolen her throne. And maybe… the perfect place for her to rise again.
_
Eduardo
Hillmont hotel
Reno city, Nexia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
North America Continent
November 15th 6414
The nightmares found me, even in sleep. Again and again, I saw Jose and Carmen—their throats slit open, their blood drained, lifeless eyes staring into the void. For Vampires, blood is life, and for Newbloods like them, losing too much meant the end. A slow, agonizing death. And then came the smell—burnt flesh, acrid and suffocating. Charred vampiric bodies, curling in flame, their screams echoing through my skull.
In my dreams, I did nothing. I watched—cowering, frozen like the coward I was. Powerless. Useless. But it was never their deaths that jolted me awake. It was that presence—the one I had felt during the ritual. The one I could never forget. It slithered into the corners of my mind like a whisper wrapped in ice, insidious, ominous, and wholly alien. It wasn't just a force—it was an awareness, brushing against the edges of my soul. A presence that didn't belong to this world, radiating a hunger far deeper than anything I had known.
When it touched me, I would wake. Not screaming. Not crying. Just awake. Still. Cold. Quiet. Because the fear didn't come from the nightmare. It came from the truth that whatever had touched me in that moment was real.
"You're awake."
The voice cut through the lingering haze in my mind. I turned my head slowly, vision still blurry, and saw a woman standing beside the bed. She wore a dark crimson suit, tailored sharply, the lines of her jacket crisp against the pale, sterile light of the room. Her ginger hair was tied neatly into a bun, not a strand out of place. But it was her eyes that made my heart stutter. Cold. Unflinching. Deep red. Like a predator that didn't blink.
"Where... am I?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
Memories tangled in my head—Jose's curse, the burning, the weight of death and blood. How was I still alive?
"Hillmont Hotel," she replied calmly. "I brought you here."
"Brought... me?" I echoed, disoriented.
"You were unconscious when I found you—collapsed just outside the Regional Dome. I carried you here myself, days ago."
My blood chilled.
"Prince Gomez."
I froze. She knew my name. My real name.
"You know who I am," I said, trying to sit up, trying to summon mana—anything—but a crushing force pinned me down. It felt like gravity itself had turned against me. I strained against it, muscles locking in defiance. Useless.
"Magic," I muttered.
"Yes," she said, lips barely twitching. "And I know exactly who you are, Eduardo Gomez."
She took a step closer, her presence oppressive in its composure.
"My name is Greta Stregha," she continued. "And I've been expecting you. Ever since you left Zellux. I just didn't expect to find you wrapped in the stink of the Maveth cult." My breath caught.
"You... know what happened?"
"Of course I do." Her nose wrinkled faintly. "I can still smell their magic on you. It lingers, tainted and foul." A Wytch. She had to be. Only a high-level Wytch could detect metaphysical residue that precise. "I don't know whether to say you were lucky or unlucky to be touched by their god, but thanks to it, you were spared from following the same fate as your comrades."
I swallowed. My throat felt dry. "Touched…?"
Greta nodded. "Divine protection."
My skin crawled.
"There's a mark now. Branded on your soul. A sigil placed there by the god Maveth himself." Her tone was careful, clinical. But I could hear the loathing beneath it. In this world, there were many power systems. Some flowed from cultivation, some from Ability Factors. But others… others came from higher sources. From gods. Divine Protection—a sacred bond, a blessing granted by a deity. Or a curse wrapped in glory.
"What kind of protection?" I asked quietly, though every part of me feared the answer. Because I remembered the presence I'd felt during the ritual—the way it reached for me, vast and ancient, inhuman. It hadn't saved me out of mercy. It had claimed me. And whatever price it demanded…
I wasn't sure I'd be able to pay it. Greta folded her arms, watching me with a gaze that was far too calm for the words she was about to speak.
"Maveth has marked you, Eduardo," she said, her voice quiet but heavy. "You carry his seal — the sigil of the Sovereign of Sheoloth. And with it, you've been granted one of the rarest Divine Protections in existence."
My heart pounded. I didn't speak. Couldn't.
"You cannot die."
The words struck me like a blow. But she wasn't finished.
"Not until the moment he wills it. Until Maveth himself calls your name into the dark, you will walk this world, no matter what wounds you suffer. No matter how deep the blade, or how deadly the spell. You will not cross into death."
I stared at her, throat dry, skin crawling with something far colder than fear. Not die? That couldn't be possible. And yet—
Hadn't I already survived the impossible?
"There's more," Greta continued, taking a slow step forward. "Because you're not spared from pain. The wounds will come. The suffering will follow. You will bleed, burn, break—"
She leaned closer, her crimson eyes boring into mine.
"—but you won't die."
A chill ran down my spine.
"And those who try to kill you," she said, "will suffer the same pain they inflict."
I stiffened. "What?"
Greta nodded. "Maveth is balance incarnate. If someone dares to bring you to death before your time, they will taste your torment. If they stab you through the chest, their own will begin to burn. If they cast a spell that should melt your skin, theirs will peel first."
"That's…" I couldn't even find the words. "That's not protection. That's vengeance."
"It's both," Greta replied. "Maveth doesn't believe in mercy. He believes in cycles. You're part of a prophecy now. A fragment of a fate none of us fully understand."
I felt cold all over. The weight of her words settled in my bones like ice.
"And when it's my time?" I asked, my voice low. "How will I know?"
She didn't hesitate.
"You'll feel it," she said. "Your soul will begin to fracture. Your heartbeat will echo like footsteps leading away from your body. The world will begin to look… thinner. Distant. And you'll hear your name. Not with your ears—but in your soul. Maveth will call you, and then—" She trailed off. "Then it ends."
I didn't know how long I sat there in silence. But the air felt heavier now, the light in the room growing dimmer, like the world itself was mourning the truth I'd just learned. I had escaped death…Only to carry it with me. It wasn't a gift. It was a sentence.
And the most terrifying part was knowing that death could call for me at any moment—now, tomorrow, years from now... or decades down the line. There would be no warning, no negotiation. Just the cold, final whisper of my name.
I sat with that truth, letting it wrap around me like a shroud. Across the room, Greta said nothing, simply watched with that unreadable stillness that made me wonder if she'd been through something like this before.
Finally, I spoke.
"Why did you save me? Why bring me here?"
She rose from her chair without answering right away and walked to the window. With a swift, deliberate motion, she pulled the curtains apart.
Light poured into the room. It wasn't harsh or blinding—just warm, golden, and steady. The artificial sun of Ashtarium's upper ring filtered through the pane, washing away the shadows that had seemed to cling to me since the moment I'd stepped into the Saltlands. For the first time in my Vampiric life…I was grateful to see the light. Greta stood there a moment longer before turning her head toward me.
"You came to Ashtarium to find the Princess, didn't you?" she asked. The question struck harder than I expected. I didn't respond—didn't need to. She already knew the answer. She faced me fully, her crimson eyes calm, yet charged with something resolute.
"Then I'll take you to her."