23

Elijah

Peruin city,

Kettlia Region

November 5th 6414

I paced the confines of the cell I'd been thrown into—my prison for what felt like endless days since the ambush. The bitter trace of verbena still poisoned my veins, muting my mana flow and dulling even my raw physicality. My limbs felt leaden, my breath sluggish. But I endured.

The Light Brigade.

They had struck just as my car pulled away from Count Orlock's estate, swift and surgical. When I regained consciousness, it was here—within these cold, stone walls. They left food and drink, but everything was laced with that cursed herb. Starvation, however, felt like the crueler death. So I ate. I drank. I stayed alive, barely.

Steph was gone. No trace of her, not even the sound of her voice in a nearby cell. That silence haunted me more than the drug.

I was still mulling over my fate when I heard it—a soft, deliberate footstep. A shadow passed the corridor beyond the bars, and then he appeared.

A Lionheart.

The figure that approached was unmistakably of that storied human clan—golden-haired and broad-shouldered, the very image of a martial bloodline. He couldn't have been older than sixteen, maybe seventeen at most. Still growing into his height—around 5'9"—with that proud, sculpted frame that came from generations of combat training. His blue eyes shimmered not with malice, but curiosity, maybe even unease.

And yet, something about his presence unsettled me. Not because he was imposing, but because he shouldn't have been here. He was too young.

Far too young to possess cultivation of that caliber. Whatever realm he had reached, it eclipsed mine by a breadth so vast I couldn't even sense his boundaries. His presence was veiled—effortlessly concealed—and that, more than anything, unsettled me.

"Prince Elijah, it's a pleasure to meet you," the boy said, his voice a harmony of youth and grace. Smooth. Disarming. It matched the face he wore—seraphic and unweathered by the world's violence. I stepped toward the bars, steadying my breath, forcing a mask of composure onto my wearied features.

"Lord Lionheart," I greeted evenly. I had heard the whispers. The prodigy of the Lionheart clan. A child born under a cosmic omen, said to possess divine-level talent, perhaps the greatest ever seen among the human race. And he was also Ella's maternal cousin.

"I wasn't aware the Lionheart clan had aligned themselves with domestic terrorist cells," I said coolly, though the weight of verbena still dulled my clarity.

"The Lionheart clan hasn't," he replied. "This is my operation, Prince Elijah Ashtarmel."

I blinked. "So your operation involves abducting royalty now?"

My thoughts lagged, like they were moving through syrup—slow, fragmented, slippery. I was certain I was missing something. Something important. Leonel Lionheart studied me with a gaze too old for his age—sharp, calculating. There was no malice, just a cold curiosity. Then he snapped his fingers. Another figure appeared behind him, silent and efficient, holding a keycard that slid across the lock with a mechanical chirp. The door clicked open.

I hesitated. Then stepped out. The corridor was quiet. Sterile. But my eyes returned to Leonel.

"Where's my assistant, Steph?" He didn't answer—not directly.

"Come with me," he said, already turning on his heel, walking away without so much as a glance back. He didn't need to check if I was following. That confidence, that assumption of control—it grated at my pride. He was younger than me, yet spoke and moved like a sovereign. And still... I followed. That feeling…

Only one other had ever made me feel like this. Like my title meant nothing. Like I was less. My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to her. The girl who had defeated an adult vampire with a single blow.

Lilith Kain.

I trailed behind Leonel through a dim, narrow corridor, the walls closing in like a throat of stone. He stopped before an unmarked door, opening it without a word and stepping aside to let me pass. I paused, studying him for a moment—those unreadable blue eyes, that ever-present calm—before stepping through.

The first thing I saw was Steph.

She was perched on the edge of a desk, her posture rigid, her eyes snapping toward the door the moment it creaked open. Recognition flickered in her gaze, followed swiftly by confusion—deep, disoriented confusion.

"Steph," I breathed, a rush of relief flooding my chest. I crossed the room in a few strides and pulled her into an embrace, clinging to the only familiarity in this surreal nightmare.

"Your Highness... Is that you?" she asked, hesitating against me.

"What do you mean? Of course it's me..."

She leaned back, her brows furrowing. "You look... different."

"Different how?" I asked, already uneasy.

Leonel's voice slid in like a whisper of amusement. "Why don't you take a look?"

He gestured toward a towering obsidian mirror set against the far wall—silent, waiting. My pulse quickened. I turned and approached it slowly, and what I saw stopped me cold.

The reflection staring back wasn't mine.

Gone were the defined, masculine features I had always known: the sharp jawline, the chiseled cheekbones, the square chin that gave my face its princely edge. In their place was a softer visage—still noble, still striking—but unmistakably feminine. High, sculpted cheekbones. A delicate, oval-shaped face. Full lips. Luminous, storm-shadow eyes framed by long lashes.

Worse, my body...

The tall, lean musculature I had honed through years of training had vanished. What stood in its place was an hourglass figure: narrow waist, pronounced hips, and a modest but unmistakable bust.

I staggered back from the mirror, my breath catching in my throat. That—that unease, that subtle wrongness I'd been feeling since waking up—it wasn't just the verbena.

It was my ability.

"My ability…" I murmured, voice hollow.

"Fantasia," Leonel said quietly, his tone laced with knowing. "One of the two great Ability Factors of House Ashtarmel. The power to manifest one's deepest desire. Looks like you inherited the true version of it… Now I understand why Kuria is so interested in you."

I turned back to the mirror, heart pounding. Reflected in the obsidian glass was the face I had left behind—Delilah Ashtarmel. Not Prince Elijah. The masculine mask had crumbled, peeled away like mist under sunlight. Fantasia, my silent, ever-present gift, had been disrupted. The passive veil it had cast—gone.

The verbena had done more than weaken me. It had unbound me.

"Don't worry," Leonel said casually, as if commenting on the weather. "Once the herb clears from your system, the ability should reactivate."

I exhaled slowly, trying to hold onto calm. He knew. Somehow, this infuriating boy knew the truth.

After my Ashtarmel bloodline awakened, Fantasia had bloomed within me, reshaping not only my body but the world's perception of it. The transformation hadn't been instant, nor painless. It had taken time—agonizing, confusing, transformative time—to understand how the ability functioned.

Fantasia worked in two layers: the Self-Induced Fantasia and the Externally-Induced Fantasia.

I had awakened the former.

Self-Induced Fantasia allowed me to align my physical form—and the world's memory of me—with the truth of my inner self. My body had changed to reflect who I truly was. My appearance, my presence, even the memories others held of me—all subtly rewritten. As long as I channeled mana into the ability, it remained intact. No one questioned it. No one remembered I had ever been anything else.

But now… with the verbena corrupting my mana flow, Fantasia had been silenced. And with its silence, the illusion shattered. 

"So, you're working with Jack Kuria," I said, voice low, eyes narrowing. That bastard... Jack was playing some twisted game, and it was clear now—I was just another pawn on his board. "I don't understand why a Paragon like him would entangle himself with a supposed terrorist cell."

"We're not a terrorist group," Leonel replied coolly, settling into the chair beside the desk with effortless confidence. I followed suit, taking the seat nearest to Steph. She had composed herself—her earlier shock smoothed over by the familiar stoicism she wore in diplomatic briefings. Professional again, as if nothing about my transformation rattled her. I took comfort in that.

"The Light Brigade is the rebel army I was tasked with forming."

"You were tasked?" I echoed, the weight of that word dragging on my thoughts. "A rebel army... Rebelling against whom—?"

I stopped. My fogged mind finally caught up with the implication. The verbena still gnawed at my clarity, but the meaning was undeniable.

"You don't mean… you're rebelling against my father."

Leonel tilted his head slightly, as if the answer was obvious. "Who else? He's an usurper—took a throne that was never his to claim."

My breath drew sharp. "And then what? After you remove him, who governs the kingdom? Who holds the borders when our enemies descend? We've been a threat to other nations for decades—they won't hesitate if we appear fractured. Don't look at me—I've no desire to wear a crown."

Leonel scoffed. "Who said anything about you?" He leaned back slightly, the smirk on his lips almost cruel. "That damn geezer didn't tell you a thing, did he?"

"He didn't tell me anything," I snapped, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Not even why I had to be in this cursed city. Just that I was to handle the crisis in Kettlia."

Leonel hummed, a sound more thoughtful than mocking. "I see… Well, apologies for the abruptness, but the Light Brigade doesn't serve a fantasy or a martyr. We are the army of the rightful Queen of this kingdom."

He paused. Let the words hang in the air.

"My cousin—Ariella Ashtarmel."

I stood so fast that the room spun violently around me. The vertigo hit like a wave, but I didn't sit. My chest tightened, breath shallow and rapid. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. It wasn't just the verbena. It was the name. The weight of it.

Ariella.

My eyes, bloodshot and wide, locked on Leonel. He didn't flinch beneath my gaze. If anything, his expression deepened into something close to triumph.

"Yes," he said, voice steady and deliberate. "Ariella Ashtarmel—our cousin—is alive."

****

Ariella

Thornhill,

Vankar Island

Northern Isle Region,

Kingdom of Ashtarium

After saying goodbye to Mary and stepping through the portal after Lil, I emerged into the open air for the first time in days—only to be greeted by a scene far more disturbing than I could have imagined.

Lil stood ahead, motionless, already surveying the devastation that lay before us.

The plaza—once vibrant with color and teeming with laughter and life—was a hollowed shell of its former self. Stalls had been torn apart, their broken frames twisted like the limbs of fallen beasts. Splashes of dark, dried blood stained the cobblestones like crude brushstrokes on a forsaken canvas. The festive banners that once fluttered in the wind now hung in tatters, forgotten, draped over splintered wood and scorched stone.

The air was thick—oppressive. Not just still, but heavy, as if something ancient and hateful had passed through and lingered behind. A metallic tang clung to every breath I took, and beneath it, the scent of blood, smoke... and something else. The sour, suffocating stench of death. The kind that clings to your skin and follows you home.

An all-too-familiar sensation coiled in my chest.

"What happened here?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended—swallowed by the weight of the atmosphere.

Moments later, Neil, Ben, and Jen emerged behind us, their steps faltering as they took in the desecrated plaza. Their faces twisted in silent horror. No one spoke. There was nothing to say.

Then, with no warning, shadows flashed across the square—black-clad figures appearing one after another, encircling us at the foot of the Tower. Their sudden arrival sent a ripple of unease through our group.

At the forefront stood two figures I recognized immediately—Aleitha and Maximus, the Manaborn humans who had processed our identification days ago.

Aleitha's eyes found us. Surprise flickered in her gaze, quickly hardening into caution. Her hand hovered just slightly near the hilt of her blade—not quite threatening, but not relaxed either. Her stance was that of someone who had seen too much in too short a time.

Lil moved forward slowly, her steps deliberate. Her eyes swept across the bloodstained square, then drifted toward the edge of the surrounding forest—searching, perhaps, for threats still hiding in the treeline… or ghosts yet to be named. The silence between us stretched, taut as a drawn bowstring, humming with unspoken dread. 

"What happened here?" Lil asked, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.

A figure stepped forward from among the black-clad enforcers, brushing past Aleitha without so much as a glance. His presence was commanding—his aura expansive, more oppressive than Aleitha's by far.

"Identify yourselves," he growled.

The man towered above the rest—broad-shouldered, with sickly pale skin that contrasted harshly against his black attire. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed part of his face, but not enough to obscure the crimson gleam in his eyes. Those eyes burned with restrained fury. A vampire—new-blooded by the look of him, but powerful. Very powerful.

"They are Lith Rochester, Jane Rochester, Neil Brown, Benjamin Navjo, and Jennifer McCoulgh," Aleitha replied crisply, though her tone held a trace of unease.

"I'm well aware of who Jennifer is," the vampire snapped, casting a sweeping gaze down at us. His eyes lingered on each face, then narrowed. "Where have you all been the past few days? Dungeon operations have been suspended. Unauthorized access is forbidden."

"I asked," Lil repeated, her tone low but laced with steel, "what happened here?"

The air thickened. The vampire's aura surged outward like a crashing wave, suffused with killing intent and the oppressive weight of a Master-ranked Soul Core. It slammed into Lil like a tidal force.

But she didn't flinch.

Her own aura unfurled in response—effortless, instinctive, radiant. Though not as finely honed or meticulously controlled, her cultivation surged with raw quality and sheer depth. It swept through the plaza and swallowed the vampire's pressure whole.

He staggered.

Aleitha's eyes widened in disbelief. Maximus took an instinctive step back.

They could feel it—sense it in their bones. Lil's soul core was fully awakened. No longer Dormant. She was an Ascendant Manaborn… and at the Master Realm.

That revelation didn't just defy expectations—it shattered them.

Aleitha remembered Lil as a fledgling, barely past her initiation. Now she stood here, calmly holding her own against a battle-hardened vampire, as if such a thing were natural.

The vampire's expression twisted in shock. A human, not just resisting his aura, but overpowering it? It shouldn't have been possible. And yet, here she stood—calm, composed, unyielding. Because Lil wasn't just any Manaborn. She wasn't just any human. She was something else entirely.

"You…"

"Master Virgil," Aleitha interjected, stepping forward, "it seems this group has been inside the dungeon since Remembrance Day."

"We sent alerts to all Raiders to return," Virgil growled, though his eyes never left Lil.

"We were in a Sanctuary site," Jen explained. "Our uni was cut off from all electronics."

"Makes sense," Aleitha nodded. "Master Virgil, the Madam wants to speak with them. Surely you don't believe they're connected to the attack?"

"Hmph. Fine." Virgil turned with a swirl of his cloak, casting one last glance at Lil before disappearing with the other black-clad enforcers.

Aleitha exhaled slowly and turned to us.

"You've got guts," she said to Lil, her tone unreadable. Her gaze lingered. "And… you've changed."

"Never mind that," Jennifer cut in, sharp and urgent. "What happened here?"

"There was an attack," Aleitha said grimly. "During Remembrance Day, a dungeon break hit us hard. We weren't prepared for the strength of what came through."

A dungeon break. When the veil between the dungeon dimension and our world thins, allowing magical beasts—or worse—to cross over. Sometimes it's a swarm. Sometimes it's a singular nightmare.

"It hit fast. A lot of people died in the initial assault. Remembrance Day was canceled. After the enemy vanished, we shut down the gates and recalled all Raiders."

"My group…" Jennifer whispered. "The Ice Empress Vanguard…"

Aleitha hesitated. "I'm sorry, Miss Mcclough. They were among the teams hit hardest. Some are still hospitalized. Others… we've identified in the morgue."

Jennifer didn't wait to hear more. Her aura surged and she launched into the sky, a thunderous crack echoing in her wake.

"Damn it, Ascendant Mcclough—flying through the city is restricted!" Aleitha snapped, then turned to Maximus, who vanished in a blur.

She faced the rest of us, composing herself.

"I apologize, but I'll need you to come with me."

"To meet this Madam of yours," Lil said.

Aleitha paused. "Are you reading my mind?"

"You should reinforce your mental wards," Lil replied coolly. "So, are you taking us or not?"

Aleitha gave her a strange look, then turned and led us through the trees to a waiting vehicle—a sleek black, self-automated transport. It pulled smoothly onto the road, carrying us through the wounded heart of Thornhill.

Gone was the joyful energy, the laughter, the color. What remained was silence and ruin. Streets were littered with debris. Buildings bore the scars of battle. Patrols of peacekeepers in stark white uniforms moved through the desolate town, trying to enforce order on a place that had seen too much loss.

"The mayor's already petitioned the city for Royal Enforcers," Aleitha said. "They'll likely take time to respond. In the meantime, the Association has dispatched Rangers to track the threat before it strikes again."

"Royal Enforcers…" Lil muttered. The words hung heavy.

She didn't react outwardly, but I felt it—the subtle shift in her aura. A flicker of tension. As a fugitive running away from the royal family, we couldn't afford to have our location discovered by them.

Aleitha glanced at her, as if reading the room. "Don't worry. It may not come to that. They're only deployed in worst-case scenarios. We still have capable Masters—and the Rangers are already tracking leads. With luck, we'll stop it before it escalates again."

The car glided to a halt before a towering structure of dark steel and blue-tinted glass. The sigil of the Dungeon Association—a circular glyph woven from intersecting runes—glowed faintly above the entrance. Guards flanked the doors, each wearing reinforced black armor etched with mana veins, and carrying high-grade halberds infused with stabilizing crystals. They didn't move, but their eyes tracked us with silent precision.

"This way," Aleitha said, stepping out of the vehicle. Her voice had grown clipped, formal.

We followed her up the polished steps and into the heart of the Thornhill branch of the Dungeon Association. Inside, the temperature dropped subtly—a trick of the building's mana-warded architecture. Every surface gleamed, immaculate and sterile, from the silver floors to the crystalline light fixtures above. Holographic interfaces lined the reception wall, their glowing sigils whispering with arcane data.

There were no crowds. No raiders checking in. Just silence, punctuated by the occasional flicker of magical screens and the hum of containment arrays.

"She's waiting upstairs," Aleitha said, nodding to a lift sealed by a mana lock. She pressed her hand to the sigil plate, and after a soft chime, the doors opened.

The ride up was smooth but tense. No one spoke.

The lift opened directly into a high-ceilinged office veiled in pale ambient light. Vast windows looked out over the damaged city, the horizon grey and quiet beneath heavy clouds. The room itself felt like a sanctum—soundproofed, spell-sealed, and pulsing with quiet power. Shelves of ancient tomes and grimoires lined one wall; a mana map of the region hovered in the air before another. At the center of it all sat a large desk of blackwood and obsidian, behind which was a woman who radiated authority like a storm locked behind glass.

The Madam.

She didn't look up right away. Her fingers moved deftly across a glowing interface, commanding a dozen data streams at once. Only when Aleitha cleared her throat did the woman finally raise her gaze.

Sharp silver eyes met ours—piercing, merciless. Her skin was smooth and cold-toned, not with youth but agelessness. Her hair, obsidian black, was tied in a high knot, strands streaked with silver like cracks in a blade. She wore an elegant black coat trimmed in violet-gold sigils—an emblem of her rank.

"You're the one who Williams here gave a License to without an awakened core," she said, her voice low and velvety, but heavy with intent. "And now, you walk before me with an awakened core. Interesting." Her gaze landed on Lil, narrowing ever so slightly. Not in suspicion. In interest. "I am Director Veleda Thorne. Sit. We have much to discuss."

We took our seats, the silence thick between us. Director Veleda remained standing, her hands folded behind her back as she gazed out the wide window overlooking Thornhill's wounded skyline. The faint hum of mana generators echoed behind the walls, as if the building itself held its breath.

"You've returned from the Dungeon. That alone warrants attention," Veleda began, her voice smooth as polished steel. "But what concerns me more is the timing of your emergence."

She turned, the full weight of her presence pressing down like gravity. "The attack on Thornhill during Remembrance Day was not a random dungeon break. The creatures that came through… weren't native to any registered Dungeon ecosystem."

Lil narrowed her eyes. "You're saying they weren't Dungeon-born?"

"No." Veleda walked slowly to the center of the room. A motion of her fingers conjured a projection—flickering images of monstrous humanoid figures—twisted, horned, cloaked in black armor and radiating infernal mana. Their movements were erratic, almost spectral, as if they didn't belong to this plane. There were five of them.

"These are Cambions," she said grimly. "Otherworldly hybrids—spawned from unnatural unions between entities from the Othersides and mortals foolish enough to court the abyss."

A chill moved through the room.

"They are not simple beasts. They are sentient, malevolent, and strategically violent. It was them who tore through our ranks. They didn't just spill over from the Dungeon. They crossed through intentionally—using the Dungeon as a gateway."

My heart began to pound. The memory surged up before I could stop it—the twisted faces, the unnatural shrieks, the floor where we'd fought to survive from this powerful alien beings that had nearly even killed Lil. I glanced at Lil, and by the tension in her jaw, I knew she remembered too.

"These Cambions…" I said slowly. "They attacked us. In one of the floors of the Dungeons." Veleda's eyes flicked to me, then sharpened.

"You encountered them directly?" She asked.

"Yes," Lil said, her voice steady.

Veleda's expression darkened. "Then the situation is worse than I feared."

Beside her, Aleitha shifted uneasily. "Madam Director, could they be—"

"Four of them are already dead," Lil cut in. "Jennifer and I took them down ourselves."

Veleda studied Lil for a long, silent moment. The projection of the Cambions still shimmered faintly beside her, casting distorted shadows across her face. Then, slowly, she tilted her head—just slightly—as if reassessing what she thought she knew.

"You killed four Cambions," she repeated, not as a question, but as a weighty confirmation.

Lil didn't flinch. "Yes."

Veleda's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile—but held the ghost of one. "Impressive."

"Can you take me to one of the bodies?" Lil asked, her voice calm but deliberate.

Veleda raised an eyebrow at the odd request. Her gaze lingered on Lil, scrutinizing her with that same sharp intensity—as if peeling back layers. After a moment of silence, she gave a single nod and turned to Aleitha.

"Escort her to the morgue," she ordered. "Let her examine the remains."

Aleitha hesitated. "Madam, are you certain that's wise?"

"I am," Veleda said simply. Her tone brooked no argument.

Aleitha gave a short nod, then turned her eyes to Lil. "Follow me."

Lil rose from her seat without a word. Ben, Neil, and I stood as well, moving to trail behind her. As we reached the door, Veleda's voice rang out once more, measured and final.

"If what you're saying is true," she said, her eyes locked on Lil, "then the safety of this town… will rest in your hands, Lith Rochester."

Lil paused briefly in the doorway. She didn't look back, but her aura pulsed—quietly, resolutely.

Then she stepped forward.

The corridor leading to the morgue was colder—both in temperature and in feeling. The further we walked, the more the sterile scent of antiseptic gave way to something heavier, metallic and grim. The walls here were dimmer, muted runes etched into the stone to dampen spiritual interference and preserve the quiet that death demands.

Aleitha walked ahead in silence, her posture stiff with unease. We passed a warded checkpoint, and a thin veil of mana shivered across our skin as we entered the final chamber.

The morgue was clinically clean, lined with mana-reinforced slabs and stasis capsules. Dim overhead lights gave the entire room a pale, otherworldly hue. The bodies were laid out with precision, covered in a faint, translucent film of preservation wards. One look was all it took to know these weren't simple kills.

These were executions—limbs twisted at unnatural angles, eyes wide in terror, torsos punctured by wounds that pulsed with lingering malice. Whatever had attacked them hadn't just wanted them dead—it wanted to leave a message.

Aleitha gestured to one of the slabs. "This one was a Soul-Touched Raider. Died on-site at the initial attack. His internal organs were liquefied—no weapon or spell registered on our scans. We found fragments of corrupted mana embedded in his nervous system."

Lil stepped forward.

Her eyes closed, and the air around her shifted.

A low hum began to resonate from her chest—subtle, like the distant note of a tuning fork buried in the bones of the world. I felt it before I heard it: a harmonic vibration that seemed to settle into the floor, the air, even the bodies. Her ability, Primal Harmonics, wasn't just energy manipulation—it was resonance, soul-deep, foundational. She could attune herself to the lingering echoes of consciousness... even in the dead.

She extended one hand, hovering it above the raider's brow.

"I need quiet," she murmured.

We stepped back.

The harmonic tone deepened, and Lil's aura unfolded—not aggressively, but enveloping, like a blanket settling over the room. The runes in the walls flickered in protest, unused to such a gentle force bypassing their nullification fields.

Then her breath caught.

Lil's eyes fluttered open, but they weren't her own anymore—within them swirled a ghostly reflection of terror. Her pupils trembled as she became receptive, not just to residual mana—but to the dying thoughts that still clung to the body like ash.

A whisper escaped her lips—hoarse and distant.

"They came through the walls… no alarms… no time to scream…"

A shiver crawled down my spine.

Lil's hand tightened into a fist.

"They weren't beasts… They spoke. They laughed when we screamed… they knew our names."

Her voice broke on the last word. She exhaled sharply and staggered back, severing the connection. Ben caught her before she could fall.

She blinked, regaining herself slowly.

"They fed on fear," she said. "Drew power from it. Their presence—just being near them—it dissolved defensive enchantments. That's how they got through."

Aleitha looked pale. "That confirms it…"

Lil turned to her. "These weren't just random attackers. They were targeting the Raiders. Hunting the strongest first. This wasn't chaos. It was a culling."