Ariella
Upper floor
Dungeon, Thornhill
Vankar Island,
Northern Isles Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
The light devoured the darkness, pulling it inward as if the very fabric of reality couldn't contain its force. Space buckled around the radiance—warping, folding in on itself. The air groaned beneath the strain, and fractures of pale energy webbed outward like cracks on glass. The world seemed to tear at the edges, and with it, the frozen time collapsed into nothingness.
I felt the weight lift from my limbs, the suffocating stillness breaking. I was free.
Aeternum was gone—its alien glow vanishing as its essence flowed back to Lil, as if the bond between them demanded reunion. Ben staggered beside me, his eyes wide with bewilderment, glancing around as though trying to understand how we had come to stand here, what had changed, what had been lost.
And Jen… Jen's body was no more. The orange light of Lil's final, desperate technique had burned her away—leaving only memory and the faint scent of scorched air.
Lil turned toward me, and for a moment—just a heartbeat—there was awe in her eyes. Awe, surprise, perhaps even relief. She hadn't expected to see me wield such force—to summon power that could strike beyond flesh, that could wound what lurked beneath. But that expression faltered almost instantly, overtaken by pain.
The scar on her lower lip—the small, familiar mark I'd seen so often it had become part of how I recognized her—began to burn. A deep, dark red light bled from it, as if some ancient ember hidden within had been stoked to flame.
Lil's breath hitched. A low cry escaped her lips, then became a howl of pain. Her body arched in my arms, trembling violently, as if caught between worlds.
I surged forward, catching her before she fell, cradling her close, feeling the tremors rack her body. And then I saw it.
The scar was no longer a scar. It had opened—unfolded into a rune, a symbol etched in some forgotten tongue. From that single mark, tendrils of inscription spread—living lines of crimson script that slithered across her skin like fire given form. The runes branched and wove, racing across her neck, down her arms, coiling around her fingers. They traced over her chest, her back, her legs, until her entire body was encased in that terrible, beautiful language of power.
The air around us darkened, thick with the weight of what was happening. The ground itself seemed to hum beneath us, as if the Dungeon recognized the awakening of something it had long feared.
I held her tighter, heart pounding. What is this? What have I done? What has been unleashed?
Lil shuddered in my arms, the light of the runes pulsing with every beat of her heart, as if some force deep within her had finally been freed—and was now claiming what had always been its due.
As I clutched Lil to my chest, her body trembling, the crimson runes burned brighter—casting flickering patterns across the darkened floor. The Dungeon itself seemed to recoil from the light, the air heavy with dread.
Then, from beside me, I felt it—a shimmer, a flicker of familiar presence. Aeternum's voice echoed softly, as if carried on a wind from beyond the veil.
"Do not fear the light," it said, voice calm, though heavy with a sorrow I hadn't heard from it before.
I turned my gaze toward the mote of light that floated nearby, Aeternum's form slowly coalescing in that strange, shifting shape of alien geometry.
"What is this?" I demanded, my voice tight. "What's happening to her? What are these runes?"
Aeternum's form pulsed once, as if bracing itself for the truth it was about to speak.
"It is the Mark of Kain." The name hit like a hammer—cold and final. "The ancient brand of the first family of death. The bloodline that walked the threshold between life and the afterlife. A lineage cursed by the burden of consequence… and the weight of choices."
I stared at Lil, at the living runes spreading across her skin like wildfire, and my heart clenched. "Why is it awakening now? What triggered this?"
Aeternum's light dimmed, as though burdened by the truth.
"Because Lilith crossed the threshold."
"What threshold?" I whispered, though deep down, I already knew.
"The threshold of taking a loved one's life."
The words fell like a stone into the stillness.
"The Mark was sealed, hidden within her scar, dormant all these years. But the blood of Kain carries a law of its own: when one of their line takes a life they cherish… when their hands are stained by such loss, the Mark answers. It awakens. And with it comes the inheritance long denied."
A tremor ran through the Dungeon itself — as if the ancient place understood what had been unleashed.
"By striking down Jen, by making that choice, Lil has fulfilled the condition written in her blood. The Mark has broken its seal. It claims her now, as it must. The legacy of Kain has returned."
I held Lil as her body shuddered, the runes pulsing in time with her heartbeat, her fate now intertwined with something far greater and more terrible than any of us had realized.
The ground beneath us began to tremble—not with the fury of the shadow, nor with the weight of Lil's awakening power, but with the will of the Dungeon itself. A deep, low groan echoed through the pocket space, as if the ancient structure had felt the return of something it was never meant to contain.
Cracks of light spidered across the walls and floor, the warped reality of the pocket space splintering apart. The runes on Lil's body pulsed once—twice—and the Dungeon seemed to recoil.
"It rejects her," Aeternum said quietly, its voice tight with urgency. "The Mark of Kain… it is too old, too feared. The Dungeon's core knows what she is now. It dares not contain her any longer."
The air fractured. Space itself tore open. In a rush of blinding light and deafening roar, we were spat out—thrown clear of the collapsing pocket realm, hurled through the void like castaways. And then—impact.
We crashed to the cold marble floor of the Enoch Mansion's grand hall, the world reasserting itself around us. The warped dream of the Dungeon fell away, replaced by the weight of reality, the sharp taste of air, the scent of old stone and ash.
Sanders was there—his expression hard, but his eyes wide with shock as he took in our sudden arrival. Beside him stood Hector, tense, hand on his weapon, and surprisingly enough, Eduardo Gomez was also there.
"You're finally back," Sanders said, his voice tight with relief and urgency. He rushed toward me, gripping my shoulders as his sharp gaze swept over me, searching for wounds, for answers.
I could only stare at him in disbelief. Sanders—after all this time. Gone for so long, vanished into shadow and rumor… and now, here he was, as if summoned by the storm we'd unleashed.
"Sanders…?" I managed, my mind reeling.
But there was no time for questions. Lil convulsed in my arms, the crimson light blazing from the cracks forming along her skin, as if the very energy within her was tearing her apart.
"Lil—something's wrong with Lil!" I cried.
Sanders' expression hardened. He turned sharply to Hector. "The flask. Now."
Hector didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, producing a dark glass flask and handing it to Sanders. The moment Sanders uncorked it, the coppery, primal scent of blood filled the air.
"Your Highness," Sanders said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You must infuse your blood into the elixir. It is the final component."
"What?!" I stared at him, stunned.
"There's no time to explain!" Sanders snapped. "Your blood is the last key. Without it—she dies."
Without thinking, I drew my short blade and slashed across my palm. The golden-tinted blood welled up and dripped into the flask. The mixture hissed the instant it touched, steam curling from the flask's mouth as the elixir reacted.
Sanders didn't wait. He tipped the potion to Lil's lips, forcing the liquid down her throat. For a moment, nothing happened—then the crimson light began to fade, the cracks along her skin sealing, the violent tremors subsiding.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "What just happened?"
Sanders' face was grave, his eyes on Lil as the last glow of the runes dimmed beneath her skin. "Lilith has always carried an unusually large reserve of spiritual essence. More than her vitality could safely balance. It's why she suffered those headaches all these years. The Mark suppressed that energy, even dormant. But when it awakened—when the seal broke—her spiritual potency surged tenfold, fueled by the full awakening of her bloodline."
"And if you hadn't acted…?"
"She would have burned herself out. The energy would have destroyed her from within," Sanders said grimly. "The elixir stabilized the bloodline's awakening, helped her body accept the transformation."
"Stabilized it?"
Sanders nodded. "Think of it like this: a newborn vampire needs to consume human blood to complete the transformation. Lilith's situation is similar. The elixir—fortified by your blood—acted as that final catalyst, allowing her to complete what has begun. Without it, the Mark's awakening would have consumed her."
Lil's breathing was steady now, her body at peace at last. I felt a sense of relief, grateful to whatever god that was out there, for Lil being alive. I turned to Ben, who was beside me, us three the only ones to make it out of the Dungeon alive.
_
District Fractisus
Pandemonium City,
Yorkside Region,
Kingdom of Ashtarium
October 30th 6410
Ambulances lined the edge of Fractisus District, their sirens long silenced, their crews working in grim efficiency. Law enforcement cordoned off the wreckage of the building complex, officers questioning the surviving residents, trying to piece together what had happened. A quarter of the complex lay in ruins—shattered by Lilith's devastating assault. Hundreds of bodies, victims of the carnage, were being carefully collected and loaded into ambulances, the night air thick with the stench of smoke, blood, and ruin.
Inside one of the ambulances, shielded from prying eyes by a shimmering barrier that concealed her identity, Ariella sat wrapped in a thick blanket. Lilith was at her side, silent, her gaze distant as members of the local police force questioned them. Nearby stood Sanders, Captain of the Royal Guard, his posture rigid, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. Hidden in the shadows, agents of the R.E.T.U. observed silently, ever watchful.
Ariella answered quietly, exhaustion in her voice. "That's all I can remember."
"That's all right, Princess," the officer said gently. He adjusted his cap, casting a respectful nod toward Sanders before stepping away, eyes down as he scrolled through notes on his uni-pad.
Sanders turned toward Lilith. For the first time since they arrived, she met his gaze—steady, unreadable.
"Let's go," Sanders said simply.
The drive back to the Royal estate passed in heavy silence. The limousine glided through the night, flanked by Royal Guards on high alert, their senses attuned to every possible threat. When the estate's gates opened and the vehicle rolled to a stop before the palace, Sanders broke the quiet.
"You could have been killed," he said, his tone heavy with both reprimand and relief.
"I know," Ariella admitted softly. She glanced at Lilith. "But don't blame her. I... I made her take me outside."
"I know," Sanders replied, his voice quieter now, touched by the weight of the night. He turned his gaze to Lilith. She hadn't spoken a word to him—not during the questioning, not during the drive. But he could feel it. The static power she carried... it had grown. The strength he once believed he understood now rivaled his own. He wasn't sure anymore if he could defeat her like he had before.
Sanders drew a slow breath. "Let's thank the Great Mother that Lilith was capable enough to do her job."
With that, they stepped from the vehicle, the palace lights casting long shadows as they returned to the safety of the estate. But in the quiet between them, unspoken truths lingered. This night had changed everything.
Waiting for them inside the grand hall of the palace were King Rafael and General Nehemiah, their expressions carved from steel, their presence commanding. The moment Ariella caught sight of her father, she broke into a run, the weight of the night's terror finally spilling over.
"Dad!" she cried, her voice small beneath the towering arches of the palace.
King Rafael opened his arms, catching her as if she were still the little girl he used to lift with ease. He held her tightly, his hand cradling the back of her head, his eyes never leaving Sanders as the captain approached. A silent exchange passed between the two men—respect, understanding, and shared responsibility. Sanders gave a curt nod, then turned, following General Nehemiah, who was already moving swiftly, his mind turning toward securing the city and beginning the inevitable investigation.
A kidnapping of royal blood within the capital's walls was no small breach. It was a crisis—a failure that would send ripples through the entire kingdom, and no stone would be left unturned in uncovering its cause.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Ariella whispered, guilt heavy in her voice. "I'm so sorry."
King Rafael smoothed her hair, his voice low but steady. "It's all right, my star. It's over now."
With a snap of his fingers, handmaids appeared, gliding forward in silence. They gently guided Ariella away, leading her toward her chambers to clean away the grime, blood, and fear that clung to her. As she was escorted out of sight, the great hall quieted, leaving only Lilith and the King.
King Rafael turned, his eyes warm yet sharp, and gestured. "Walk with me, Lilith."
Lilith followed as he led her through the palace's corridors, not toward the throne room or his office, but out into the cool night air of the royal courtyard. The moon hung above them, casting silver light over the marble paths and manicured gardens. The presence of hidden Royal Guards was felt more than seen—the watchful eyes of shadows, ever vigilant.
For a while, they walked in silence. The King glanced at Lilith, measuring her—not just with his eyes, but with the intuition of a man who had seen much, who understood strength and the burdens it carried.
"You seem to have grown," Rafael said at last, his voice thoughtful. He could feel it—the surge of power within her, coiled beneath her skin like a storm held barely in check.
Lilith said nothing. Her thoughts churned too heavily for words.
"It seems your first mission as a Royal Guard was far more brutal than any of us anticipated," the King continued, his tone neither accusing nor regretful—only acknowledging the truth.
"I killed him," Lilith said, her voice low, heavy. "He was human… like me. I killed them all." The admission tasted bitter on her tongue. It had been years since she had descended to that level of violence, since she had allowed the savage part of herself to take over so completely.
King Rafael stopped walking and turned to face her, his hand resting on her shoulder—a steady, grounding weight. His gaze was firm, but kind. "Yes. And because of that, Ariella is alive. You are alive. You did what you had to do. You made the right choice."
Lilith's eyes flickered, the storm within her beginning to calm. "I did," she said quietly, as if testing the words on her tongue. "Yes. I did. All I care about… is her."
Rafael smiled faintly, a mixture of pride and understanding in his eyes. "So, you have found your purpose."
Her mind flashed back to a conversation from years past—when she, lost and hollow, had confessed to him that she didn't know why she existed, what she was meant to do. Becoming a Royal Guard had been a way to fill the void, to give herself structure in a world that confused and alienated her. But now… now she knew. The purpose she hadn't been seeking had found her.
"To protect Ariella," Lilith said, more sure now, the words resonating deep. "At any cost."
"Then do not regret the actions you've taken," King Rafael said gently. "Because you acted with purpose. And for that, there is no shame."
They stood beneath the moonlight, the weight of the night's horrors settling—but so too did clarity. Lilith had found her reason to fight. And she would not falter.