With that done, all Ian could do now was wait. Hopefully, Enira would return with useful information, and soon.
He cleaned up the area and left the facility. Fortunately, the wait wasn't long. Just a few days later, word came in: Enira was going to meet Phyrra.
Somewhere in a private lounge in Ial Themar.
Phyrra lounged barefoot on a cushioned divan, one long leg draped over the edge, a glass of wine in hand. Her robe, if it could be called that, was deep red and sheer, open enough to reveal bare skin underneath, the fabric barely clinging to her curves. Thin gold chains traced the line of her waist and collarbone, catching the light as she moved.
She looked at Enira with a sharp smile on her face. "You really did it. First Order. That's surprising."
She slowly got up and circled around Enira, scanning her with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
"Honestly," Phyrra added, "I'd love to open you up and see what makes you different."
Enira didn't flinch, just stood still, her hands quietly folded.
Phyrra stepped away, circling to pour herself some more wine. "Did anything strange happen during advancement?"
Enira didn't answer right away. "No. Nothing unusual."
Phyrra studied her for a moment, as if she knew there was more. But she didn't press. Instead, she let the silence stretch, then smiled faintly.
Enira waited for some time before asking, "What exactly is inside me?".
Phyrra raised a brow. "Curious, are we?"
"But you see," she continued said, while slipping on the glass of wine, "That is for you to figure out."
She set the glass down with a soft clink. "Don't worry about it too much, just keep doing what you were doing. You'll understand it in due time."
She leaned back in her seat, the high slit of her dress falling open just enough to tease, though her attention remained fully on Enira. Her voice dropped slightly, becoming more serious.
"But it's time you knew a few things…" She shifted her weight slowly, the motion smooth, deliberate. "About the origin of the Quiet Testament."
Enira's eyes rose, her posture straightening slightly, hands still folded in front of her.
"It all started with the one we now call the Lord. Others call him the Lord of Hollow Vows. The first bearer of the silence, the first who made the Pact."
She stood, walking to the tall arched window, hips swaying with idle grace. "He was the first to break from the natural order. They say he made a promise so absolute, it burned a hole through reality. That hole… became the Silence."
Phyrra turned her head slightly. "And from that silence, the Quiet Testament was born. A doctrine built from his will."
She paused, letting the weight of it settle.
"And the Lord's Blood?" Her voice lowered. "It's literal. His blood preserved, maybe by his own command, maybe not. It carries power. Dense, volatile, divine. To bear it is both a gift… and a sentence."
Enira's expression remained calm, but there was tension in her shoulders.
"Is that… is that the same thing in Myrra's body?"
Phyrra looked at her over her shoulder. "Yes. A trace of it, at least. Maybe more."
She turned fully, her wine glass cradled in her fingers. "Though I admit, I don't understand why there's been no change in her. It should've done something by now."
Her tone remained casual, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it.
"Well, whatever the case may be," she continued, lifting the glass to her lips, "it works to our advantage. As long as we can extract it and use it for our own ends... I see no reason to complain."
She smiled faintly, eyes glinting. "Go now. I've told you more than I should already."
Enira bowed her head. "Thank you… for telling me."
Without another word, she stepped back and left the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.
Enira waited a few more days before she finally told Ian everything.
As she spoke, Ian listened quietly. He wasn't surprised, he had suspected it might be this. But now that it was confirmed, the weight of it settled heavier on his shoulders.
He thought over it for a while, pacing, considering, doubting.
Eventually, he made a decision.
He found Yeonelyth where he usually did, on the wide, ocean-facing garden balcony high above the cliffs.
It had become her private refuge lately. The stone floor was littered with scribbled parchments and strange mineral markings, and she crouched over a flat slab that looked more like an ancient tomb than a writing desk. Her hair was a tousled mess, half tangled in the salt breeze, and her fingers moved slowly in the air, tracing faint patterns over the stone, something arcane and unfinished.
None of it surprised Ian. He had grown used to seeing her like this, half-wild, half-meditative. It carried its own strange elegance.
Yeonelyth looked up before he even spoke. "Oh, Ian," she said, her voice light. "What brings you here?"
Ian stepped forward, hesitant. "Yeah… I'm looking for help. With something important."
She didn't press him immediately. Just studied him in silence. When he said nothing for a moment too long, she tilted her head.
"Now that you're here," she said softly, "you might as well say it."
He took a breath. "It's Myrra. I was hoping you could… take a look at her. See if there's anything wrong."
That caught her interest.
"Oh? Your little girlfriend?" she teased, arching a brow. "Did something happen to her?"
Her voice wasn't mocking, just curious, like she already knew the answer.
Ian hesitated again, then relented. He told her most of what he knew, what Enira had shared, what he found out and and other related information. He left out the personal parts, the things too close to say aloud, but it was enough.
Yeonelyth listened, one hand resting on her bent knee, the other still absently tracing something invisible into the stone beside her. When he finished, she gave a faint, knowing smile.
"Well… if she seems fine now, I don't think you need to worry too much," she said, stretching slightly, "but if it's keeping you this on edge…"
She turned her gaze to him fully.
"Then bring her to me."
Ian did what she told and returned not long after, Myrra walking quietly beside him. She looked calm, though her eyes flicked toward him once or twice with unspoken questions. He hadn't told her much, just that there was someone she needed to meet.
Yeonelyth was still on the balcony, sprawled across the stone like a lazy cat, a half-finished diagram glowing faintly on the slab beside her.
She looked up as they approached.
"Well," she murmured, rising with the grace of someone who'd never forgotten the shape of power. "Let me see her."
Myrra didn't flinch when Yeonelyth stepped close. The woman reached out and gently cradled her face between her hands, studying her with a strange softness in her expression.
"You have the same calming presence," she said quietly. "Just like…."
She didn't finish the thought. Her eyes softened.
Then, without a word, she raised her hand and began tracing a spellform in the air. The lines shimmered with quiet grace, simple, almost careless in shape, but impossibly old, as though borrowed from a language written into the bones of the world. The glowing form hovered above Myrra's head, pulsed once, and vanished into her body like mist.
"There," Yeonelyth said, stepping back. "That should keep her safe."
Ian nodded, relief flickering across his face. "Thank you," he said quietly.
But then he paused, the unease returning. "Is it… possible to remove whatever's inside her?"
Yeonelyth tilted her head. "Why would you want to?"
"The Lord's Blood, is it?" she said, a low laugh escaping her lips. "It's not what you think it is, Ian. And frankly… I'd say she's better off with it than without."
Ian opened his mouth to press further, but Yeonelyth raised a hand to stop him.
"Ian. Some things are beyond your reach right now. The Lord of Hollow Vows isn't a name you throw around lightly. Even saying his true name could bring his gaze to you. And trust me… you don't want that."
He looked away, then slowly exhaled and let the tension slip from his shoulders.
He thanked her again, more sincerely this time, and turned to leave with Myrra quietly in tow.
After they were gone, Yeonelyth remained on the balcony, watching the distant clouds darken over the sea.
"He spent so many years on that… just to make a gift for someone else," she mused, half-laughing to herself. "I wonder what his face would look like if he found out."
She trailed her fingers through the air again, as if brushing aside a veil.
"Maybe he'll come in person," she murmured. "I'd like to see that."
And then, slowly, deliberately, she whispered it:
"Lord of Hollow Vows, Tucivyud."
The name curled off her tongue like smoke, and the moment it left her lips, the air around her trembled. A ripple, soundless and deep, spread outward, distorting the sky, the stone beneath her feet, even the sea beyond the cliffs.
Reality remembered something ancient.
Ian sat quietly in his apartment, the room dim and still. The ocean breeze filtered through the open window, but it did little to settle his thoughts. For now, he could only trust Yeonelyth, and hope that it would be enough.
Myrra was beside him, holding him gently, her arms around him like she didn't want to let go.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"I know you're worried about me," she said quietly. "But… you should let me be worried too. Let me be part of this, Ian."
He turned, looked at her properly. Then reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingers, saying nothing. She leaned into his touch, then shifted forward and gave him a quick, quiet peck on the lips.
Ian looked into her eyes for some more time and then slid his hand gently from her waist to the seductive curve of her hips, as he kisses her deeper and their saliva mingling together. His kiss grew more intense, their tongues dancing together as he unbuttoned her pants. He slid his hand inside, feeling her warmth and causing her to let out a soft moan.
As they broke apart, a delicate thread of saliva connected their lips briefly before Ian trailed kisses down her body. He took his time, savoring her reactions as he explored her intimately. His mouth found its way to her most sensitive spot, and he began to taste her sweetness. Her moans grew louder as he worked his way there.
After her climax, Ian removed his own clothes with a sense of urgency. He positioned himself before her. He entered her gently, filling her up completely.
Their bodies moved in sync, a rhythmic dance of desire. Ian watched as Myrra's eyes rolled back in ecstasy, feeling her tightness grip him as she neared another peak.
Her breathing grew ragged, her moans turning into whimpers of need. Ian could feel her muscles clench around him, and he knew she was close. He quickened his pace, pushing her over the edge once more. This time, he let himself go, joining her in a powerful release that left them both trembling.
Their bodies remained joined, their hearts pounding in time with each other's. But soon, Ian began to move again. Their moans grew louder, reverberating off the walls as they found their rhythm once more.
When it was over, and they had rested together for a while, limbs tangled, breath slow and content, Myrra slowly pushed herself up. The sheets slipped down her body, revealing the elegant curve of her back.
Ian lay there, propped against the pillows, eyes lingering on her with quiet satisfaction. "Where are you going?" he asked.
Myrra reached for her clothes, pausing just enough to glance over her shoulder. "I'm supposed to meet Reina and Yelthara," she said. "We have plans."
Ian raised a brow. "So, you're just going to leave after using my body?" grinning with pure mischief.
Without a word, Myrra grabbed the nearest pillow and tossed it at him. It hit his chest with a satisfying thump.
Ian chuckled, catching it. "Naked pillow fight," he said, stretching. "We should try that next time."
Myrra rolled her eyes as she dressed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Pervert," she muttered, before slipping out the door, her hips swaying just enough to make him regret not pulling her back in.