A flame crackled.

  Overlapping screams. Men, women, and children alike.

  “Bad omen.”

  “The crops are ruined…”

  “DEMON!”

  The noise was chaotic, dense, as if the air itself were burning.

  Then, above it all, a woman’s voice rose. Sweet. Gentle. A murmur—yet strong enough to quiet the cries.

  He couldn’t quite make out the words. But they calmed him.

  “Fire… guides…”

  He tried to cling to that tone, that feeling. He tried to remember. It was useless.

  The voice drifted away, fading little by little, like embers smothered by the wind.

  “Kha…m—”

  Ekchron’s brown eyes snapped open.

  Messy ginger strands fell over his forehead. He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, body rigid.

  “Another one of your trances?”

  A deep, masculine voice anchored him back to reality.

  Nikandros.

  Ekchron slowly straightened and rubbed the back of his neck with clear irritation. His gaze went straight to Nikandros… then slid to the table. The bag was still there. The bread, untouched.

  “Eat it,” he said flatly.

  Nikandros frowned. He stepped closer and stopped right in front of him, arms crossed, watching him in silence for a few seconds too long.

  He wanted to ask what was wrong. He didn’t.

  “What?” Ekchron growled. “Are you going to say something, or have you fallen in love with me?”

  Are you okay? Was it a nightmare?

  That was what Nikandros thought. What came out of his mouth was something else entirely.

  “I was just admiring that offensive thing you call a face. You should warn people before waking up like that.”

  Ekchron stared at him for several endless seconds, pure disdain etched into his expression.

  Anyone else would’ve died for saying something like that to the Seventh Ancestral. Nikandros didn’t.

  “By the way,” Nikandros added with total indifference, “you forgot to break a mirror.”

  Ekchron raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, did I?” he said dryly. “What a tragedy. I’ll add it to my long list of personal failures.”

  “No need,” Nikandros replied immediately. “I took care of it.”

  Ekchron went silent for a second too long.

  “How thoughtful,” he murmured at last. “Did you reorganize my traumas too, or are you saving that for tomorrow?”

  Nikandros shrugged, well used to this dynamic. He didn’t answer.

  Ekchron then launched into complaining about everything he could think of—the couch, the silence, the light, the day, existence as a whole—while Nikandros watched him with a faintly furrowed brow.

  Without really thinking about it, Nikandros lifted a hand and pulled a small red thread out of Ekchron’s hair. Probably from the couch. Probably from when he’d been asleep.

  Ekchron stiffened instantly. A faint flush rose to his cheeks. He clicked his tongue sharply and stepped back as if the contact itself had been an unforgivable mistake.

  “I’m going out,” he said, already heading for the door without looking back.

  Nikandros tilted his head, confused by the sudden shift. He didn’t understand what he’d done wrong—if he’d done anything at all.

  “To do what?” he asked. “Find another innocent victim? Or maybe…”

  He paused before finishing the thought.

  “Are you going back to that bakery?”

  Ekchron stopped with the door half open.

  “What, jealous?”

  Nikandros didn’t answer.

  Ekchron would’ve sighed if his lungs still worked.

  “I’m going for the Dawnbringer,” he said at last. “I’ve waited long enough.”

  His voice dropped lower. Tighter. He paused briefly, as if something ancient and unpleasant had crossed his mind.

  “I’m ending this. Once and for all.”

  And without another word, he left. The door closed behind him.

  Nikandros stared at the empty space for a few seconds, an uncomfortable weight settling in his chest—something he didn’t quite know how to name.

  When Seliane regained consciousness, the first thing she saw was three pairs of eyes staring at her far too intently.

  Lyciah. Momoru. Elric.

  “Well…” Seliane murmured, still lying in bed. “Even I’d get nervous if you all stared like that.”

  As soon as she spoke, the three exchanged relieved glances, smiled… and then went right back to staring at her just as intensely.

  “Sel!” Lyciah exclaimed, immediately leaning over her. “Thank goodness you’re awake! You were unconscious all night. I—I didn’t know what I’d do if—if…”

  Her voice broke before she could finish.

  “There, there…” Momoru cut in gently, patting her reassuringly. “Seliane is strong.”

  Lyciah nodded vigorously, grateful.

  Then the kitsune’s gaze darkened. He didn’t stop smiling—that was the worst part. His eyes slid slowly back to Seliane, sharp as velvet-wrapped blades.

  “Although,” he added in that same calm tone, “I can’t help but wonder when exactly you decided facing a general of the lumen army on your own was a reasonable idea.”

  Seliane swallowed.

  “I… well… you see…”

  She looked around for help. Lyciah raised her hands in a completely useless apologetic gesture.

  Seliane then looked at Elric. Bad choice. Elric was stiff as a statue, pale, wearing the expression of someone who had just realized death exists… and is smiling at him.

  At that moment, Caelan entered without a word. His eyes calmly took in the scene: Seliane awake, Momoru smiling unsettlingly, Elric on the verge of collapse.

  “Good,” he said. “Seliane is breathing.”

  He looked at Elric.

  “Elric too. Though it doesn’t look like it.”

  Seliane kept staring at Elric, eyes pleading. He didn’t react. Not even a blink.

  Lyciah stepped closer to Caelan.

  “He’s…” she whispered, “Intimidated.”

  Her gaze flicked toward Momoru, who was still smiling with dangerously polite calm. Caelan followed her look. He studied Momoru for a long second, then looked back at Elric, still frozen in place.

  “I’ve seen golems with more flexibility,” he added. “And they were made of stone.”

  Then, as if the matter were settled, he lifted a hand and gestured for Lyciah to follow him. She did so immediately.

  As they walked into the hallway, Lyciah could still hear Momoru’s voice behind them. Soft. Pleasant. Dangerous.

  “Now then, Seliane… let’s start over. This time, with a bit more common sense.”

  Lyciah closed the door behind them, a shiver running down her spine.

  She followed Caelan into the main room and sat down on one of the armchairs. Caelan didn’t join her. He remained standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring outside.

  The silence stretched.

  “There’s something I need to know,” he said at last.

  Lyciah felt her body tense immediately. She looked up. Caelan had turned toward her, serious, wearing that unreadable, stone-carved expression of his.

  “That healing power. You said your mother taught it to you.”

  She nodded slowly, a knot forming in her stomach.

  “And yet…” Caelan paused, as if weighing every word. “In five millennia of existence, I’ve only known one person capable of doing something like that.”

  Lyciah shot to her feet.

  “Who?” she asked, urgency spilling into her voice.

  Caelan’s brow furrowed faintly at the change in her—not displeasure. Focus.

  “Vaela. The Sixth Ancestral.”

  “Wh—?” Lyciah’s voice faltered.

  “Vaela could heal as well,” he continued. “It always intrigued me. Not even the lumens possess that ability. Much less demons.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Lyciah swallowed. Her heart pounded.

  Caelan lowered his gaze. For a moment, he seemed very far away.

  “I spent a long time with her. She never wanted to tell me where her power came from.”

  He lifted his eyes again and fixed them on Lyciah.

  “Tell me why you can do the same,” his gaze intensified. “Tell me what you share.”

  He hesitated. For the first time, a crack appeared in his composure.

  “I want to understand her,” he added. “She never behaved like a demon. She was… different. Always wanted to help. And she’s gone.”

  Lyciah knew. Everyone knew. Vaela had been killed. And though it was never officially confirmed, Ekchron’s name always lingered in the whispers.

  Caelan stepped closer and stopped in front of her. He was much taller; his presence impossible to ignore. And yet, there was no threat in his brown eyes. Only a deep sadness, worn down by centuries.

  “You’re the only one who can give me an answer, Lyciah,” he said firmly. “I need to know what Vaela truly was.”

  Lyciah lowered her gaze, fists pressed against her chest.

  “Listen to me carefully, Lyciah…“

  Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, soft, heavy with fear.

  “No matter what happens… no one can ever know. If they discover what you truly are…“

  The sentence broke even in memory.

  “Promise me you’ll keep it a secret, my love.“

  Lyciah looked up again. She met Caelan’s eyes. She wanted to trust him. Truly. But the weight of the promise was heavier.

  “I’m sorry…” she whispered. “I can’t tell you. Not even you.”

  Her voice trembled.

  “I have to keep the promise I made to my mom.”

  Caelan didn’t respond. He didn’t insist. He didn’t get angry. He simply looked at her.

  “I’m sorry,” Lyciah repeated, eyes shining. “After everything you’ve done for me, I—”

  She stopped.

  The atmosphere had changed. Caelan tensed suddenly, as if his entire body had gone into high alert. Lyciah didn’t feel anything… but he did. A presence.

  “Stay here,” he said abruptly, already walking toward the door.

  Lyciah jerked her head up.

  “What—?”

  “That’s not a request. No matter what happens, don’t cross that door.”

  His voice wasn’t harsh. It was firm. Ancient. The voice of someone used to danger.

  Before Lyciah could reply, Caelan stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

  Ekchron was leaning against the trunk of a tree, hands buried in the pockets of his dark hooded sweatshirt, looking relaxed—almost bored.

  “You’re punctual,” he remarked. “I’d be disappointed otherwise.”

  Caelan didn’t answer right away. He stopped a few steps away. Back straight. Hands loose at his sides. The calm of someone who doesn’t need to announce anything.

  “You’re still in my territory,” he said at last. “That’s not a mistake. It’s a provocation.”

  Ekchron tilted his head, as if considering it.

  “I suppose that depends on perspective,” he replied. “I’d call it a social visit.”

  “You didn’t come to socialize.”

  “No,” he admitted with a faint smile. “I’m here to collect something.”

  Something in Caelan’s expression tightened.

  Ekchron straightened slowly and pulled his hands out of his pockets. He took a step forward. He didn’t assume a fighting stance. He didn’t prepare for anything. It was the ease of someone who doesn’t see the need to pretend danger.

  For a moment, the air between them seemed to compress. There was no sound. No explosion. It was as if the world hesitated for a fraction of a second… and then moved on.

  Caelan didn’t move. Neither did Ekchron.

  Then the crimson line appeared. A clean cut crossed Caelan’s cheek—precise, impossible. Blood welled slowly, warm, tracing a perfect line down his skin.

  Caelan blinked once.

  The air vibrated faintly, as if something long held had just been released.

  Ekchron studied the wound with genuine interest.

  “Hm,” he murmured. “You didn’t even try to dodge.”

  Caelan raised a hand and touched his cheek with his fingertips. He looked at the blood, then back at Ekchron. His expression remained unchanged.

  “You accelerated the time of the air,” he said calmly. “Just enough for it to cut when it snapped back.”

  Ekchron smiled, clearly pleased. He inclined his head slightly, like someone evaluating a well-executed piece.

  “Consider it a courtesy,” he replied. “A temporal caress, if you prefer something more poetic.”

  His gaze slid past Caelan, toward the protected house.

  “Give me the Dawnbringer,” he continued, “and I’ll leave without breaking anything else. No territories. No ancient balances. No—” his smile crooked, “—serious faces like yours.”

  When he looked back at Caelan, the air tightened.

  “But if you decide to play protector,” he added with unsettling calm, “I can stop being polite.”

  The smile never left.

  “You choose how this conversation ends.”

  Lyciah peeked through the door and saw him. Ekchron. Standing across from Caelan.

  The world seemed to shrink all at once. The air grew dense, hard to breathe. Without thinking, she stepped forward.

  “Lyciah, don’t—”

  A voice behind her stopped her cold.

  “You can’t go out!”

  She spun around. Elric had come running from the room where Seliane was resting, chest heaving as if he’d taken the stairs two at a time.

  “We’re safe in here,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “The barrier’s still active. I heard Caelan tell you—”

  “I can’t stay in here while he’s out there facing that monster!” Lyciah burst out.

  The word slipped out before she could stop it. Monster. And even then, it didn’t feel strong enough.

  Before anyone could stop her, fear pounding in her chest, she crossed the threshold. Caelan’s protection fell away behind her. The change was immediate. As if the world outside was colder. More hostile.

  “Lyciah, wait!”

  Momoru appeared in the hallway and took a step after her, alarmed.

  “No,” Elric said suddenly, moving ahead of him. “You stay.”

  Momoru stopped, blinking in surprise.

  “You’re a kitsune,” Elric continued, voice tight but firm. “You’re not built for direct combat.”

  He swallowed.

  “I am.”

  Fear filled his eyes. A lot of it. But no hesitation.

  “Stay with Seliane,” he added. “Don’t leave her alone.”

  Momoru pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. A bead of sweat ran down his temple.

  Elric didn’t wait for a reply. He went after Lyciah, closing the door behind him.

  And inside the house, for the first time since Caelan had arrived, the silence didn’t feel safe.

  When Lyciah stepped outside, Caelan tensed.

  His posture changed for the first time. Not a big gesture. Not an exaggerated reaction. Something subtler. Instinctive protection.

  Ekchron noticed and smiled.

  “I told you not to come out,” Caelan said, never taking his eyes off the Seventh.

  Lyciah stopped a few steps behind him, heart pounding violently.

  “I couldn’t stay inside,” she said. “Not while he… that…”

  She didn’t finish. Her voice faded to a whisper.

  “Oh no, no,” Ekchron cut in with a soft chuckle. “Please, finish the sentence. I’m dying to know what I am today.”

  His eyes slid toward Lyciah, appraising her shamelessly, as if she were an interesting curiosity rather than a person.

  “‘Monster’? ‘Ancestral abomination’? ‘Cosmic mistake with legs’?” He tilted his head. “I like variety.”

  Elric came running up.

  “Lyciah, get back inside!” he shouted, clearly terrified but not stopping. “You can’t be out here!”

  Ekchron blinked. Then looked at Elric. Something in his expression changed. Not anger. Not surprise. Interest.

  “Oh,” he said. “Another one.”

  Elric stopped beside Lyciah, breathing hard.

  “This… this is a bad idea,” he murmured. “Please. Let’s go back inside. Now.”

  Ekchron mimed a sigh, his expression all mock weariness.

  “Honestly,” he said, “you’re all so dramatic.”

  He took a step. And vanished. No flash. No sound. No transition. In a blink, Ekchron was no longer in front of Caelan. He was in front of Elric, his brown eyes flickering to a bright green.

  Caelan felt something ice over in his chest. He hadn’t perceived any movement.

  “What—”

  Elric didn’t finish the word.

  The blow was brutal. A punch straight to the stomach, so fast the air burst on impact. Elric was sent flying several meters back, as if his body weighed nothing, and slammed into the ground with a sickening crack.

  Lyciah screamed.

  “ELRIC!”

  Ekchron was already back in his original spot, flexing his hand with a grimace, his eyes back to their usual brown.

  “Ugh,” he muttered. “I hate it when they break so easily.”

  Caelan spun around, his pulse racing for the first time in a very, very long while.

  Lyciah froze.

  “What did you do…?”

  Ekchron looked at her, amused.

  “Nothing special,” he replied. “I just sped things up a bit.”

  His smile widened.

  “For you, it was a second. For me…” He shrugged. “Plenty of time to regret it. Spoiler: I didn’t.”

  Lyciah rushed to Elric’s side and dropped to her knees, trembling, checking that he was breathing.

  “Don’t… don’t touch him again,” she said, voice breaking.

  Ekchron watched her for a few seconds. Something unreadable crossed his gaze. Then he laughed.

  “See?” he said lightly. “This is what happens when you interrupt an adult conversation.”

  Caelan stepped forward. It wasn’t a dramatic challenge. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t try to impress anyone. It was simple. Protective.

  Ekchron watched him with a crooked smile.

  “Ah,” he said. “I love that gesture. You all do it right before you lose.”

  Caelan opened his mouth to respond. He never got the chance. The world stopped without warning.

  Lyciah froze mid-reach, arm outstretched toward Elric to heal him. Elric, still on the ground, was suspended in a futile attempt to rise, pain petrified on his face. Even the wind stood still, as if someone had forgotten to let the scene continue.

  “Finally,” Ekchron murmured. “Silence.”

  He moved unhurriedly.

  He walked around Caelan, hands clasped behind his back, studying him like an interesting statue. He leaned in slightly, tilted his head, frowned.

  “You really are tall,” he commented. “And serious. And noble. If I didn’t know you, I might think you stood a chance.”

  He raised a hand in front of Caelan’s frozen face and waved it slowly.

  “You know what the best part is?” he said, fully aware Caelan couldn’t hear him. “For you, nothing’s happened yet.”

  He stepped back and rolled his shoulders.

  “Alright,” he added. “Let’s keep it clean. Nothing personal.”

  Ekchron’s hand sank into Caelan’s chest with obscene ease—crushing ribs, tearing muscle, piercing organs. Blood hung suspended in the air, floating like dark petals around his arm.

  Ekchron pulled his hand free slowly and put on an exaggerated wince.

  “Ugh,” he shook it. “This never looks as clean as it does in my head.”

  Time resumed.

  Blood poured freely, warm, soaking Caelan’s clothes. The Second Ancestral’s body arched from the impact before dropping to his knees.

  Lyciah screamed.

  “CAELAN!”

  Elric tried to move. He couldn’t. A broken cry tore from his throat as something inside him shifted where it shouldn’t.

  Caelan lifted his head with effort. His eyes were still clear. Aware.

  Ekchron smiled.

  “Relax,” he said. “I’m not killing you. You know. Ancient rules. Boring pacts. Same old nonsense.”

  Lyciah was shaking from head to toe.

  “Stop…” she whispered. “Please…”

  Ekchron turned his head toward her, as if he’d just remembered she was there.

  He looked at her in silence for a few seconds—then said nothing. His attention returned to Caelan, still kneeling.

  “This is what happens when you play at protecting things you can’t defend.”

  He stepped back, calmly wiping the blood from his hand.

  “Good,” he said. “Now that there are no misunderstandings…”

  He lifted his gaze—and this time, he looked straight at Lyciah.

  “…let’s talk about you.”