The longhouse was thick with silence, save for the slow scratch of Lilith's dagger tracing lines across the battered map sprawled on the table. The torches flickered, their light dim and uncertain, casting long shadows that bled into every corner of the war room.
Lysanthir stood by the far wall, arms folded, gaze locked on nothing and everything at once. His presence was as still and cold as ever, but those closest to him—Lilith, Valtor, Kaela—could feel it: the tension, drawn taut like a bowstring.
Valtor's claws tapped restlessly against his armor as he paced, eyes flicking to the map again and again. "That wasn't a raid," he growled at last, breaking the hush. "That was strategy. Coordinated."
Lilith didn't look up. "Yes. Too precise. The mist wasn't just a weapon—it was a message."
She tapped the map hard, her fingertip pressing into a charcoal mark near the northern ridge. "Here. This was their main breach point. The runes along the east wall were also targeted—subtle, but deliberate. Whoever controls them… understands how to wear us down."
Kaela, perched on a beam overhead, dropped lightly to the floor, her golden eyes flashing. "It wasn't a random horde. I followed the trail at dawn—what's left of it. The mist didn't vanish—it's regrouping. Coiling… like it's waiting for a command."
Lilith's eyes darkened. "It is waiting. And we know whose voice it listens to."
She slid a piece of bone onto the map—a token from the demon, still smeared with old blood. "The infiltrator is… cooperating. Too well." Her lips twitched, not quite a smile. "It told me this morning: Morveth's plan isn't conquest. It's dissolution. She wants to rot Valaris from within—break faith, crack foundations, until it crumbles on its own."
Valtor's eyes narrowed. "She's already halfway there. The Duke's guard is stretched thin. And that rune wall…" He leaned forward, claws digging into the table's edge. "The demon says it's old magic. Almost forgotten. If that wall falls—"
"She loses control," Lilith finished.
Kaela frowned, tracing a line between two points on the map. "And Luceris? What of him?"
Lilith's smile sharpened. "He's… pliable. His mind strains against its chains, but I can feel the cracks forming. I've let him hear whispers of the mist-attack—just enough for him to dream about it. Soon, he'll believe he figured it out himself."
She looked up at Lysanthir, eyes glittering. "He'll be useful. A thread we can pull when the time comes."
Valtor's tail lashed once. "And if he breaks before then?"
Lilith shrugged, calm and cold. "Then we break him fully—and use what's left."
Kaela's gaze lingered on the map, her voice quiet but precise. "I suggest we press now. The Prexie of Ash is under pressure. If we strike at the outer temples, even with whispers and sabotage, it will push her into desperation. The demon confirmed: there are two vulnerable sites—here." She tapped south and west. "Both tied to the Duke's supply lines."
Valtor growled in approval. "We should send teams tonight."
Lysanthir stepped forward at last, his voice low and iron-bound. "We hold the walls—and strike from within their own shadow. Lilith, send your spies. Valtor, triple the watch and repair the northern runes. Kaela, deploy scouts to track the mist's movements."
His gaze swept over them, cold and resolute. "Valaris believes it survived the night. We will remind them: this was only the beginning."
Lilith's eyes gleamed crimson. "The fracture they sent will not heal."
Kaela slipped her daggers back into their sheaths, her tail flicking once. "Let's bleed them out."
Valtor slammed his fist against his chest, his breath rough but steady. "By your command."
The room stilled as Lysanthir's eyes drifted toward the crypt below—toward the demon that waited, silent and patient in its cage.
"Prepare," he said softly, but his voice cut deep. "Our true storm has yet to break."
And outside, as soldiers repaired cracks in the wall and shadows stretched long across the blackstone, the mist beyond the trees lingered—silent. Watching. Waiting.
Beneath stone and silence, the prisoners waited—caught between memory and nightmare.
The damp walls of the prison cell seemed to close in tighter with every passing hour. Chains clinked faintly as Vaerion shifted against the rough stone, his breathing ragged but steady. Above them, somewhere far beyond the cracks in the ceiling, faint footsteps echoed—guards changing shifts, the scrape of boots on worn stone. But otherwise, there was only silence.
Luceris sat with his back pressed to the wall, head tilted back, eyes half-lidded as he stared at nothing. The air was thick, still tainted with the aftertaste of last night's battle—the distant tremors of war that had bled even into this deep place.
Vaerion's voice broke the quiet, hoarse and low. "It's been too long since the last sound."
Luceris didn't move. "They're rebuilding. Preparing."
Vaerion looked at him, eyes sunken but sharp. "Do you think they'll survive the next one? What we heard… that wasn't normal. It felt like the sky itself was tearing apart."
Luceris's fingers twitched slightly, resting on his knee. His mind replayed the echoes: the roars of creatures in the mist, the hiss of blood magic, the deafening silence that followed the herald's appearance. And yet… beneath all that, another memory pressed forward—unbidden, unwelcome.
Her face.
Not Lilith's. No, something Softer. The woman whose eyes had once burned into his dreams long before all of this began. A memory of loss. Of a promise broken by fate—or by his own weakness.
He shut his eyes tightly, forcing the image back down into the dark.
Vaerion's voice cut through again, gentler this time. "You're thinking about her again."
Luceris's jaw clenched. "I don't even know if she was real anymore."
Vaerion frowned. "She was. You told me once—you fought for her."
Luceris opened his eyes, gaze cold now. "And look where that brought me."
Silence stretched. The chains rattled faintly as Vaerion shifted closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you think they'll kill us, my lord? When this is over?"
Luceris didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted upward, toward the faint glow of torchlight seeping through the cracks. He thought of Lilith—her eyes, her smile like sharpened glass, the way she toyed with his mind each night. And yet… he also thought of her—the one whose name he could no longer speak without his throat tightening.
"They haven't killed us yet," Luceris muttered at last. "That means we're useful. Or they think we are."
A faint tremor ran through the stones beneath them then—subtle, like a heartbeat deep underground.
Vaerion's eyes widened. "Did you feel that?"
Luceris nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "The demon… it's still watching. Still waiting."
Vaerion shuddered. "Gods save us all."
Luceris's gaze hardened, ice and steel. "No gods here. Only power. And it's shifting."
In the darkness, far beyond the reach of their voices, something unseen stirred—listening, always listening.
The crypt beneath the longhouse was colder than before—so cold it felt alive. The stones seemed to breathe, ancient and unyielding, their silence heavy with things unsaid.
At the center of the warded circle, the demon crouched—its form hazy, flickering between shapes, as if struggling to hold itself in the mortal plane. But its eyes were sharp—black and glinting, full of secrets.
Lilith stepped forward first, her cloak dragging across the stone, eyes narrowing with calculated precision. Behind her came Valtor, tense and coiled, his claws flexing instinctively. Kaela lingered near the door, her golden gaze fixed and watchful.
Lysanthir entered last, closing the heavy door behind him with a low, final thud that echoed through the crypt like a sealed fate.
"You saw everything," Lilith began, her voice quiet but edged like a blade.
The demon's lips curled into something resembling a smile—sharp and thin.
"I see more than you," it rasped, voice like wind scraping bone. "I see her… watching you even now."
Lilith's eyes hardened. "Morveth."
The demon's head tilted, something dark flickering in its eyes. "The Lady of Ash and Silence. But she is no mere noble, no fragile ruler clinging to crowns. She… unravels. That is her true gift."
Valtor stepped forward, his voice rough and biting. "Enough riddles. What is she planning?"
The demon laughed softly—a brittle, hollow sound. "She has already begun. The mist… was only her first whisper. Soon, you will hear her scream."
Lysanthir's gaze didn't waver. "And the herald?"
The demon's smile twisted wider. "A fracture given form. Sent not to kill… but to show you the fault lines beneath your throne."
Kaela's ears flicked, her voice low but tense. "Why tell us this? You serve her."
The demon's gaze cut to her, sharp and knowing. "I served her. But service… is a chain easily broken." Its eyes gleamed as it looked back to Lysanthir. "You—Hollow Star—you are a crack she did not expect. And cracks… spread."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Lysanthir stepped forward, his voice cold, precise. "What is her true aim?"
The demon's smile faded—slowly, unsettlingly. "She seeks not just to rule… but to erase. To unmake the idea of kings and gods alike. When Valaris falls, it will not be to fire and sword—but to oblivion."
Lilith's breath hitched, her fingers curling tight. "And Luceris?"
A flicker of something unreadable crossed the demon's face. "He is… the key she left behind. A boy broken twice—once by his father, and again by you. He remembers her....
Silence fell heavy, thick as ash.
Lysanthir's eyes darkened, the weight of understanding settling like a stone. "And what do you want?"
The demon's smile returned, softer now. "To survive."
Lilith's voice was sharp, dangerous. "Then prove it. Keep speaking."
The demon leaned forward, the runes at its feet flaring faintly as it whispered:
"Your village stands… but Valaris crumbles from within. The Duke rots on his throne. His court fractures. The Prexies whisper betrayal. Morveth's fingers are everywhere—and soon, her blade will not miss."
Kaela's breath came tight. "When?"
The demon's eyes gleamed. "Soon. Very soon."
And as the words faded into the cold silence of the crypt, Lysanthir's voice came—low, unshaken.
"Then we strike first."