The Headmistress’s Game

Seraphis walked down the grand stone steps of the demon palace, her expression unreadable, her thoughts weaving together in intricate patterns. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the obsidian pavement, but she barely noticed.

Something was wrong.

It wasn't just suspicion anymore. It was certainty.

Liria Silverthorn had changed.

Seraphis had always prided herself on her ability to read people, to see beyond what was presented. It was a skill honed over centuries of dealing with the ambitious, the reckless, and the foolish. Yet Liria—who had once been predictable in her defiance, laughably stubborn but ultimately transparent—had become something else entirely.

The girl had always been a mystery. An anomaly. A human with flames darker than midnight. A fighter who adapted far too quickly. A child who wielded power that should have been far beyond her grasp.