After the party that night, Samael and I left in near silence—a weight of unspoken schemes and uncertain futures pressing between us. We arrived at his private quarters with the night's revelry fading into a memory of glitter and furtive glances.
In that quiet, under the dim lamplight and the whisper of a gentle breeze through half-opened windows, I could not help but wrestle with a growing unease.
Tomorrow's tournament loomed—a brutal series of contests, beginning with a hunt across treacherous wild grounds. The hunting grounds, marked with red symbols and labyrinthine trails, were said to hold dangers capable of unmasking not only wild animals but hidden enemies as well.
I sank onto a worn sofa in his drawing room and, with a sigh that mingled resignation and defiance, asked, "What should we do now?" My voice, nearly lost in the stillness, was answered only by the gentle shuffling of pages as Samael sifted through a pile upon his table.
