The morning sun bathed the room in golden light. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, illuminated alongside the faint imprin
ts of teeth and scratches on a broad shoulder.
Belial awoke in Abyss' embrace, shielded from the intrusive sunlight by his reclining form. Her groggy, slit-pupilled eyes, unaccustomed to daylight, took their time adjusting to consciousness.
With awareness came memory.
You lost control again.
The intrusive whisper flitted through her mind before dissolving into silence.
She had long grown used to these phantom voices. It wasn't the first time. Whenever the weight of repression became unbearable, she tended to act… unreasonably.
Fortunately, Abyss suited her tastes—not only in appearance and temperament but also in his ability to accommodate her whims. Had he resisted last night, had he shown displeasure at the punishments she had dictated on a whim, she would have done far worse. She would have forced submission into the very marrow of his being.
She had, on occasion, considered self-reflection. But her skewed moral compass failed to furnish a compelling reason for it, so she dispensed with the notion altogether.
Before long, Abyss stirred.
Still caught in the fog of sleep, he instinctively tightened his arms around her, pressing his lips to the crown of her head in a lingering gesture of affection. It was only after these small, unconscious actions that his awareness fully returned, and he drew back, meeting Belial's steady gaze.
It was the first time they had awoken together—both fully conscious—after a night spent in each other's company.
Previously, one of them had always left before the other stirred.
Belial's verdict: Not bad.
Abyss' verdict: Wonderful.
Both had morning classes, which left no time to head downstairs for breakfast, but they still had enough leisure to ready themselves at an unhurried pace.
Abyss' dormitory came with an adjoining bath. While Belial washed her face at the sink, Abyss stood behind her, brushing his teeth. As she retrieved fresh clothes from her bracelet and browsed through her options, he changed into his uniform beside her. By the time she had selected a deep red dress and was seated on the bed pulling up her thigh-high stockings, he was in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting his tie.
Abyss glanced back just in time to see her fastening a leather thigh strap—a sheath for her dagger. His fingers faltered over his tie, a flush creeping up his neck. The sight evoked memories of last night, the supple leather and warm skin grazing his waist and abdomen. He hurriedly averted his gaze.
Belial slipped on her boots and noticed a book lying on the floor, likely knocked off the bed at some point last night.
Picking it up, she found the bookmarked page open before her. A faint glow marked a phrase: Natural Rune Deciphering.
She frowned.
Why would Abyss, a being of undeath, use light-based magic—harmful to his kind—to mark a book?
Her gaze traveled downward, following the highlighted words.
The runes that had caused issues in her magic array were of the natural rune variety—spontaneously occurring, unaltered strings of magical symbols. To make use of them, scholars would first translate them into a readable form, a process termed Natural Rune Deciphering.
The pronunciation and transcription of the term differed slightly, but that was irrelevant.
What mattered was that Belial had read this book before.
And she distinctly recalled that within its pages, the specific rune sequence she had used—the very same one that had suddenly malfunctioned—had once been documented.
Yet now, as she examined the book, that particular rune sequence had vanished. In its place lay a different yet oddly familiar set of runes.
Huh?
She flipped the book over, double-checking the cover. It was undoubtedly the same one.
She had made meticulous notes on this subject—notes that remained safely stored in her bracelet. This wasn't a lapse in memory.
Had there been revisions between editions? A change in documentation over time?
She couldn't be sure.
By the time Abyss emerged from the bathroom, his tie neatly in place, Belial had already closed the book.
He knelt before her, wasting no time with pleasantries.
"I'm sorry."
Belial blinked. "...What?"
Abyss lowered his gaze. "I avoided you on purpose."
Her eyes sharpened. "Why?"
"Because I think about you every day," he admitted. "Even when there's no reason, I find myself searching for one—any excuse to see you. But I was afraid."
His voice softened. "Afraid that if I stayed too close, you'd uncover my secret. That you'd come to hate me for it. That you'd be put in danger because of it."
Belial cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "And now?"
He hesitated only briefly before answering, "I'm still afraid."
"Then hide it well." Her tone was cool, resolute. "Not by running from me."
Abyss froze. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a rare, genuine smile.
"Alright."
I will do as you say. Just stay by my side a little longer. A little more. And then more still…
For someone who rarely smiled, Abyss' expression was particularly striking when he did. Belial's gaze lingered, caught by an inexplicable pull.
Then, as though compelled by some unseen force, she leaned in, brushing a kiss against the corner of his lips.
"Good morning, Abyss."
—
A pleasant morning, however, did not guarantee a smooth day ahead.
With their upcoming excursion to the Miasma Forest looming just a day away, the younger students were too restless to focus in class.
Despite the school's clear directive that lower-year students would remain confined to the forest's outskirts, their excitement was irrepressible.
Most teachers responded with strict discipline, threatening to revoke participation privileges for inattentiveness.
Belial, however, had little patience for classroom management. Instead of wasting energy on enforcing order, she simply changed the lesson plan, indulging her students in the very topic that had stolen their attention—Miasma Forest.
Using magic, she conjured a detailed map of the region. Based on Miller's information, she marked their designated activity zones and sketched illustrations of the common flora and fauna found there.
She detailed their properties, their uses, which were edible, which were poisonous—what they tasted like, whether they were worth eating, and how best to prepare them if they were.
Her students were enthralled.
By the time class ended, Belial briskly left for the library.
There, she scoured every available book on natural runes.
What she found left her stunned.
The rune sequence she had once used—the one that had inexplicably malfunctioned—was absent from all texts.
In every instance, it had been replaced by the sequence she found strangely familiar.
For a fleeting moment, she questioned her own memory. But the notes stored in her bracelet told her otherwise.
"You look like you're about to burn those books," a familiar voice remarked.
Miller, passing through, studied her with curiosity. "Trouble?"
Belial exhaled. "Mm."
His gaze flicked to the open pages. "Runes?"
Belial's eyes sharpened. "Have you read these?"
Miller gestured to two volumes. "Only these."
He wasn't an expert—his field was herbology, not runic studies.
Still, Belial flipped to the relevant sections, pointing at the sequence.
"Do you recognize this?"
Miller hesitated. "...I think?"
Uncertain.
"Want to ask Hall?" he offered.
Hall—the school's runes professor, an aged dragon utterly absorbed in his research. Unlike many others, he had never objected to Belial teaching his class. Or perhaps he simply hadn't cared.
Hall, however, was adamant—he had never seen Belial's missing rune sequence.
From the beginning, the only existing one had been the one currently in the texts.
Belial returned to her office, testing the replacement sequence in her magic array.
To her astonishment, the array functioned flawlessly. Even after incorporating her modifications, it displayed no signs of error.
All it needed now was refined dragon's blood, and it would activate without issue.
She stared at the altered runes in deep contemplation.
Then, reaching for a drink, her eyes flitted over the previous day's newspaper.
Her breath hitched.
The front page featured an image of Gullveig in the headmaster's office.
And in the background—hovering above a small, ornate table—was a floating metal sphere.
The very place she had seen that rune sequence before.