The longhouse was no longer just a war room—it was a hive of quiet, calculated motion. Maps littered the tables, rune-stones glowed faintly at the corners, and whispers of strategy curled like smoke through the air.
Lilith stood at the head of the table, eyes sharp, her cloak thrown back as she traced delicate lines across a fresh map of Valaris and its outlying sectors. Flanking her were two new figures—tall, pale, their crimson eyes marking them as kin: her clan, the first of her shadow-born daughters to answer the call.
Valtor leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, his scales still dusted with ash from the night watch. Kaela crouched near the doorway, her ears flicking at every sound beyond the thick walls, gaze cold and calculating.
"They are tightening their noose," Lilith began, voice low but edged. "Not just around us. Reports from my spies confirm what we suspected—Valaris itself is fracturing. The mist is not merely sent to destroy—it corrodes. Faith, memory, loyalty… all unraveling."
Her eldest daughter—a woman with hair like spun night—nodded, spreading another parchment across the table. "Prexies of Ink and Veil have withdrawn from public rituals. Whispers of betrayal run deep in the capital. Some of our informants say the Duke's own guard sleep with blades at their throats."
Valtor's tail flicked once, slow and sharp. "Cowards. It's already falling apart, and they still cling to old thrones."
Lilith's gaze sharpened. "Exactly. And Morveth's mist works both ends—here, brute force; there, rot and whisper. She's playing the long game, but she misjudges one thing."
She looked to Lysanthir, who stood at the far edge of the room, silent as ever, eyes glinting with unreadable resolve.
"She thought we would break first."
Kaela's voice, quiet but steady, cut in. "We've tracked the mist's patterns. It circles, thickens, pulls back… like it's waiting for something more."
Lilith's fingers traced the northern ridgeline on the map, where cracks in the warded defenses had grown deep. "The herald isn't done. It's still probing, still looking for the moment to breach. And the demon downstairs... its whispers are too precise. It knows more than it tells."
Valtor growled low. "Let me tear it apart. Force the truth out of it."
"No," Lysanthir's voice finally came, low and cold. "We let it speak—when it thinks we are weakest."
His gaze swept the table, each face caught in its weight. "We prepare the walls. But more than that—we prepare them."
Lilith's daughter leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Do we move on the temples now?"
Lilith met her gaze, slow and sharp. "Yes. Tonight, your sisters strike the outer rings—small cuts, deep enough to bleed. The Prexies will feel it… and Morveth will know we're watching."
Valtor's claws tapped the stone. "And here?"
Kaela's tail flicked once. "We hold. And we watch."
Lysanthir's eyes darkened, his voice the final note. "And when the herald returns—we end it."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Lilith's crimson smile curved, cold and sure. "The fracture spreads, my lord."
Outside, the mist pressed heavier against the blackstone walls—silent, waiting.
But inside, the village was no longer prey.
It was a trap—set and waiting to spring.
Later that night, as the torches along the walls hissed and flickered in the damp air, a hush had settled over the village. The earlier tension—sharp and immediate—had dulled into something colder, heavier. Not the silence of peace, but the kind that comes when soldiers know the enemy is not gone… only waiting.
Kaela stood on the north wall, her eyes fixed on the darkened forest beyond. The mist was thinner now, but it hadn't retreated—it hung low and heavy, like breath caught in a throat. Every now and then, it shifted unnaturally, rippling as though something enormous moved within it, just out of sight.
Lilith joined her, stepping lightly onto the parapet, her cloak whispering against the stone. For a moment, neither spoke. Only the sound of distant insects, uneasy in the unnatural quiet.
Kaela's voice came first, low and sharp. "It's different tonight."
Lilith's crimson gaze swept the horizon, narrowing. "Yes. Before, the mist was wild… pushing forward, searching for cracks. Now it's… watching."
Kaela's ears twitched, catching the subtle pulse of something unseen. "And learning."
They stood in silence again, each lost in their own thoughts. Below them, the soldiers shifted uneasily, gripping their weapons tighter with every strange movement of the mist.
Kaela broke the quiet. "It's not just waiting for orders. It's probing… testing us."
Lilith's eyes darkened. "And it's changing. I felt it earlier—south side. Animals gone. No tracks, no blood. As if they simply... vanished."
Kaela's claws flexed lightly over the stone. "You think it's more than a summon? That it's becoming something else?"
Lilith's lips pressed thin. "I think Morveth's magic is evolving. This mist… it's no longer just a weapon. It's a message—and a warning."
Footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Valtor emerged, towering and grim, his eyes burning faintly in the torchlight. He joined them at the wall, gaze sweeping the treeline once before speaking.
"The demon's stirring again," he said bluntly. "It spoke—riddles, mostly—but one thing was clear. This village… it's more than a target now."
Kaela frowned. "What do you mean?"
Valtor's claws tapped once against the parapet. "It said the fracture we're holding here… it's growing. The more we resist, the more this place becomes a… nexus. A spark. Not just for Morveth's war—but for something older."
Lilith's eyes gleamed. "That's why the mist lingers. Not just to kill—but to claim."
Kaela's tail flicked, tension rising through her frame. "And the herald?"
Valtor's jaw tightened. "It will return. The demon said… the next time we see it, it won't come alone."
They fell into silence, each absorbing the weight of those words. The mist, as if hearing their thoughts, shifted once more—slow, deliberate—drawing a long, thin shape across the treeline.
Kaela's breath hitched, her eyes sharpening. "There," she whispered.
Lilith followed her gaze—and for just a moment, the fog parted enough to reveal a tall, wavering silhouette. Not fully formed, but familiar: elongated limbs, hollow eyes burning faintly gold.
Not the herald. Not yet.
But a shadow of what was coming.
Valtor's voice was low, edged with steel. "Hold your ground. We're not done."
Kaela's claws gripped her daggers tighter, golden eyes gleaming with quiet fire. "Next time… it bleeds."
Lilith's smile was cold, precise. "And next time, we end it."
The mist closed again, swallowing the shape whole.
But none of them looked away.
They knew: this was no longer just defense.
It was the prelude to something far worse.
Lilith's eyes lingered on the place where the mist had swallowed the shape, her expression sharpening with quiet resolve.
Without looking away, she spoke, voice low but edged like a blade. "We can't afford to guess what's next."
She turned, gaze sweeping to Valtor and Kaela. "I'll request the Master's leave. One more visit to the demon tonight."
Valtor's tail lashed once, claws flexing. "You think it'll speak?"
Lilith's smile was thin, dangerous. "It always does—when it thinks it's winning."
But before she could step away, Lysanthir's voice cut through the night air—quiet, absolute. "We go now."
Lilith's eyes flicked to him, sharp but approving. "As you command."
Kaela's ears twitched, her gaze still pinned to the forest's edge. "And if it's lying?"
Lysanthir's eyes burned faintly in the gloom. "Then we show it the cost of deceit."
No further words were needed. Together, they turned from the battlements, descending into the dark—toward the crypt where the real war of whispers waited.
The crypt was even colder than before. No torches burned now—only the faint, unearthly glow of the warding circle, its runes pulsing dimly like a dying heartbeat.
Lysanthir stepped into the silence first, his boots echoing softly off the stone. Lilith followed, her cloak brushing the floor in slow, deliberate strokes. Valtor entered last, towering, tense, his claws flexing as if itching for violence.
In the center of the circle, the demon crouched low, its form little more than shadow and smoke—but its eyes gleamed, sharp and watching.
"You return," it rasped, voice frayed like torn silk. "The Hollow Star… and his brood."
Lysanthir's gaze was ice. "Speak."
The demon chuckled, a dry, brittle sound. "Ah… you've seen the mist, the monsters… the herald. All pieces. All threads. But the weave? The weave is older than even Morveth dares to admit."
Lilith's eyes narrowed. "We know she's playing a deeper game. What is it?"
The demon's smile stretched unnaturally wide. "She is unbinding. What you call mist… it is the breath of something ancient. Sealed long ago beneath Valaris. She—your Lady of Ash—is peeling back the skin of the world, layer by layer."
Valtor stepped forward, eyes burning. "And the creatures? The herald?"
"Echoes," the demon hissed. "Born from that breath. Puppets shaped by her will… but she does not control them completely. The deeper she reaches, the more it slips from her grasp."
Lilith's fingers twitched. "And if she succeeds?"
The demon's eyes darkened, flickering like dying embers. "Then your fledgling kingdom, your enemies, your precious gods… all of it… erased. Not conquered. Not ruled. Undone."
Silence settled heavy, pressing down like stone.
Lysanthir's voice cut through it, low and precise. "You said Valaris is only the first."
The demon inclined its head slowly. "The first crack in the dam. Once it bursts… nothing will hold."
Valtor's tail lashed the air. "Then we strike before it's too late."
Lilith's gaze sharpened. "The herald—how do we kill it?"
The demon's smile returned, thin and mocking. "It is not alive as you understand it. But it can be… unmade. Its tether is fragile—linked to the source of the mist. Sever that bond… and it fades."
Kaela's voice broke the stillness then. She stood near the door, her golden eyes locked on the demon with unsettling focus.
"It watches me."
The others turned, caught by the sharpness in her tone.
"The herald," she said, her voice quiet but sure. "It's… marked me."
Lilith's eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"
Kaela's gaze didn't waver. "I feel it. Even now."
The demon laughed softly. "Of course it does. The mist hunts strength—and she," its eyes gleamed as it looked at Kaela, "bleeds it."
Lysanthir's gaze lingered on Kaela, studying her for a long, silent moment. Then he turned back to the demon, voice hard as iron.
"Your usefulness is ending. One last answer: where is Morveth's weak point?"
The demon's smile was a thin crack of shadow. "The rune wall. Fractured by time, barely held by the Prexies' prayers. When it falls… her shield shatters."
Lilith stepped closer to Lysanthir, her eyes burning bright. "Then we act."
Valtor slammed his fist to his chest. "Let's rip it down."
Lysanthir's voice was soft but absolute. "No. Not yet."
His eyes gleamed in the crypt's half-light.
"We let her believe the fracture is growing. We bait her deeper—until she overreaches."
He turned, his cloak sweeping behind him, gaze sweeping over his inner circle.
"And when that happens," he finished, voice cold as death, "we end this."
The door creaked open, spilling torchlight down the crypt steps. One by one, they filed out—silent, resolute.
Behind them, the demon crouched lower, its smile fading as the runes flickered weakly.
And in the dark—unseen, unheard—the mist beyond the village walls pulsed… waiting