Allow
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Warning
The following novel contains material that may be harmful or traumatic to some readers.It contains graphic descriptions of murder, violence, and other unpleasant text.
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* images in "Characters" section are AI Generated Images and serve as inspiration and may not fully represent the author's vision. *
For a better experience, I recommend opening the Characters section so you can visualize the character as accurately as possible. The descriptions here will not be very detailed.
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House of Morian Thorne, Port Ward, Ekpesu
Celestis Calendar: Day 13, Month of Raphaelis (3/9)
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Morning
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Morian is lying asleep on the floor in the hallway that connects several rooms to the kitchen. In front of him, a broken bottle of alcohol.
(Baby Crying)
The cries of a newborn echo through the house. The noise doesn't bother Morian in the slightest—he sleeps like the dead.
From one of the rooms, a woman steps out, dressed in a sweater and sweatpants. She yawns…
Lillian Dutan.
One of the daughters of the most renowned and powerful ruling family in the Kingdom of Taro. She has known her husband, Morian, since she was around fourteen, back when Lillian was studying under the ruling family in city of Dutanium. Morian's father had sent him to Dutanium to gain experience in warfare and logistics. That was where they met, and where they fell in love.
Since Varkas Thorne is a highly esteemed name throughout the Kingdom, and has close ties with the Royal Bloodline, he managed to convince the King to arrange a marriage between Morian and Lillian. Morian only had to wait three years—until she finished her studies and came of age.
Members of the Royal Bloodline are easily recognizable from others. Golden-yellow eyes. Golden-yellow hair. And they possess an otherworldly beauty, a blessing from their Patron Angel, Taro.
"I'm coming, my little one!" Lillian calls out, still half-asleep. But as her eyes land on Morian lying on the ground, her fatigue vanishes in an instant—shock jolts through her.
"Morian!" she cries out, rushing toward him, dropping to her knees. But she immediately feels the sting—shards of the broken bottle digging into her pants. She lets out a faint gasp of pain but quickly shifts, brushing the shards away with her sleeve. Her eyes fall on the bottle. She picks it up, setting it aside.
"Morian, love!" She grabs his shoulders, shaking him.
Morian begins to stir, his eyes blinking open as if greeting a new day. Lillian strokes his cheek.
"Are you alright?" she asks, her voice filled with concern.
(Baby Crying)
The baby's cries still ring out from the other room. As Morian regains consciousness, Lillian quickly gets up and rushes to their child.
Morian blinks, looking around in confusion. Then, he feels something unpleasantly damp in his pants. He yawns, reaching down to check.
Morian looks down at his damp hand, brings it to his nose, and catches the stale scent of dried urine.
"F- Fuck." he mutters, pushing himself up slowly. Without hesitation, he stumbles into the kitchen, grabs a pitcher of water, and drinks greedily, as if he's been wandering a desert. Water dribbles down his chin, soaking into his shirt—already drenched in sweat and the stench of alcohol. He reeks.
Meanwhile, Lillian steps into the kitchen, cradling their child in her arms. A small baby girl, her soft brown hair matching her father's. A beautiful little thing, her wide eyes curiously taking in the world around her. But in her mother's embrace, she is calm—completely at peace.
Lillian, however, is not. She watches her husband with a mix of concern and confusion, fear creeping into her chest. She has never seen him like this before…
"W-What happened, Morian?" Lillian asks, her voice laced with worry.
Morian continues drinking.
Lillian swallows. "Did… something happen with your father? Or at work?" she asks again.
This time, Morian slams the pitcher down onto the table, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and glares at his wife.
"Go on. Keep asking." he says bitterly, beginning to strip off his soaked pants.
Lillian, startled by his reaction, raises an eyebrow.
"Is this about—"
"No. This is about you running your mouth to my father when you should've kept it shut!" Morian cuts her off, his voice sharp.
The baby startles at the sudden outburst and begins crying again.
Lillian quickly soothes her daughter, bouncing her gently in her arms, then looks back at Morian. "What? What are you talking about?" she asks, still bewildered.
"Can you just tell me what the hell is going on?!" Lillian's voice rises now, frustration bleeding into her tone.
Morian exhales heavily. His gaze locks onto hers as he steps toward her. Their eyes meet.
"Why did you tell him about Gideon?"
"I told you—clearly told you—to keep that a secret!" Morian snaps, storming out of the kitchen and back into the hallway.
Lillian stands frozen for a moment, then follows after him.
"You were coming home every day stressed, angry!"
"I thought it had something to do with Gideon!"
"I was worried about you!" she argues, her frustration rising.
Morian ignores her, starting to clean up the mess he made.
"I didn't want anything to happen to you. I warned you from the beginning—dealing with people from the Ghetto is dangerous!"
"You have me… You have Lilith! What was I supposed to—" She suddenly stops mid-sentence.
A memory flashes through her mind. That massive explosion in the Ghetto…
She pieces it together. Connects it to her husband.
Her breath catches.
"Wait…" Lillian whispers, her voice tinged with unease.
"Wait…"
Her eyes widen as she looks at him. "You're not… connected to that explosion in any way, are you?"
The moment she asks, Morian's expression darkens. His fury ignites. He grabs the already shattered bottle and hurls it against the wall with all his strength.
Glass shards scatter.
"NO! I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT!" Morian roars. "I NEVER HELPED THAT BASTARD ANY MORE THAN I TOLD YOU I DID!"
His rage swells, his voice thundering through the hallway.
Lillian flinches. Shock washes over her as she instinctively takes a small step back.
She had never seen him like this before.
His little daughter's cries grow louder, more frantic.
Morian immediately realizes what he's done. His expression softens, his gaze shifting to his daughter, whose wails pierce the silence.
What the hell am I doing? he asks himself.
He exhales, stepping toward Lillian and their child. Gently, he reaches out for her. Lillian hesitates for a moment but eventually hands the baby over.
Morian cradles her, rocking her gently in his arms.
"I'm sorry, little one…" he murmurs, his voice tender as he soothes his daughter.
Lillian, still visibly shaken, watches her husband—sees him, truly sees him, in a way she never has before.
"You… you yelled at me?" she asks, disbelief laced in her voice.
Morian looks at her, guilt clouding his expression.
His eyes lower slightly. He exhales, his lips twitching as he struggles to find the words.
"I'm—"
"I-I'm S—"
"I'm sorry, Lillian. I'm truly sorry."
He swallows hard. "I'm an idiot. A complete idiot." he admits, his voice raw with remorse.
A single tear slips down Lillian's cheek.
"That question… I've been confronted with it by everyone since yesterday. I just… I feel guilty."
His voice falters. "But I don't even know why. I swear, I had nothing to do with this."
Morian looks back at his wife. There's something else he needs to tell her—something heavy pressing on his chest.
He hesitates, ashamed. But he has to say it.
"Lillian… I'm not… a General anymore."
Lillian feels another wave of shock—not as intense as Morian's outburst earlier, but still unsettling. Yet, as the realization sinks in, she understands.
Alandr Ulbridge had been lenient with him. That man never forgives dealings like this—especially not with people from the Ghetto.
And then it clicks.
His father.
If it weren't for him, their daughter wouldn't have a father anymore.
That thought settles her nerves.
"That doesn't matter." Lillian says, surprising Morian.
"Yes… The whole thing with Gideon was reckless. You have to admit that, Morian. But things could have ended much worse for you."
She steps closer to him.
"I loved you before you were a General, and I'll love you after. Some… military rank doesn't change that."
A soft smile forms on her lips.
Morian exhales, feeling both relieved and touched.
He never wanted to seem weak in front of her. But after everything—the humiliation, the weight of it all—staying sober had been unbearable.
They hold each other, their little daughter nestled between them.
"I love you." Lillian whispers.
Morian smiles. "I love you too."
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Somewhere in Ekpesu
Celestis Calendar: Day 13, Month of Raphaelis (3/9)
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Underground sewers, crawling with rats and filth.
If you wandered through them, you'd keep running into the same things.Stench.A few bodies, half-devoured by rats.And maybe—just maybe—a few lost souls, people searching for a scrap of warmth to survive the night.
But if you were lucky… you might stumble upon one specific tunnel.
At the end of it—a door.
And in front of that door, two guards.
Slouched on their chairs, looking as if they were waiting for death itself.
They have no fancy gear. They look like walking skeletons. One of them is asleep, his helmet resting on his lap. The other just stares ahead, arms crossed, pure boredom in his eyes.
"Bored." the awake one mutters, breaking the silence.
No reaction. His partner keeps dozing, locked in a fragile sleep.
...
"Bored," he repeats after a moment, same tone.
...
"Booooored!" this time, he drags out the word.
The other finally cracks an eye open, glares at his loudmouthed colleague, and scowls.
"Open your damn mouth one more time, and I'll dunk your head in the shit down here, you dumbass," he growls, desperate to sleep.
The loud one just blinks at him. Then shrugs.
"Ok."
The sleeper exhales, shuts his eyes, and tries once again to drift off.
...
...
...
"BOOOOOORED!" he suddenly screams.
The helmet slips off the sleeper's lap, clattering onto the ground. He jolts upright like he'd just been stabbed.
"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" he roars, launching himself at his partner.
The loud one bursts into laughter, dodging the first few swings while the other swings wildly at him, fists flying.
(PUNCH) (PUNCH)
"I'LL SHOW YOU BORED, YOU FUCKING CLOWN!"
(PUNCH) (PUNCH)
(LAUGH)
"Fuck this, I'm getting a drink," the guard mutters to himself, pushing himself up. Sleep is pointless now.
He opens the door, and immediately, his eyes are hit with the sight of hundreds of people sprawled across the room.
They're sleeping everywhere—on the floor, on chairs, on tables. Wherever they can.
He steps carefully, trying not to crush anyone beneath his boots, making his way straight to the bar.
The air is thick with stench. A mix of booze, vomit, shit, and human pheromones.
Many of them are naked—some in nothing but their underwear, others completely bare.
A sewer or a brothel? Hard to tell.
He reaches the bar, leans against the counter, and spots a half-empty bottle of strong liquor. Without hesitation, he grabs it and lifts it to his lips. A few drops spill onto his armor.
"Fuck," he grumbles, slamming the bottle down and rubbing at the stain on his chest plate.
And then…
A touch.
A hand on his leg.
At first, he doesn't react. Slowly, he lowers his gaze.
A woman lies on the floor beneath him, clearly out of it. A wide, hazy smile stretches across her face.
Her bloodshot eyes look up at him, deep red, like she's been drinking for a week straight.
"Give me a drink, baby," she whispers, her voice trembling.
The guard smirks.
He picks up the bottle, leans over, and starts pouring the liquor straight into her mouth.
She swallows obediently. Not a single protest.
After a moment, she gently pushes his hand away.
"Thanks," she whispers again—then immediately passes out.
The guard lingers, staring at her for a moment.
More specifically—at her chest.
Big.
Perfect.
I wanna touch… FUCK, I WANNA TOUCH!
The thought pounds in his head. He's practically drooling.
But then—his gaze drifts to the center of the room.
A massive, round bed.
A heap of bodies beneath the blankets.
But I can't… He exhales. The boss is here.
And then he remembers—the boss specifically told him last night to wake him up early.
Important business to take care of.
The guard treads carefully, weaving between the sprawled bodies as he slowly approaches the bed.
...
He's standing right next to it now.
Adjusts his clothes slightly.
"Sir," he calls out, voice steady.
Nothing.
No one moves.
"Ahem!" He clears his throat.
Still nothing.
"AHEM, AHEM!!" He raises the volume.
Something shifts beneath the blankets. A slight twitch.
Then—stillness.
Alright. No other choice.
"SIR!" he bellows, his voice booming across the room.
Half the people jolt awake.
The bed stirs—a bigger movement now.
And then—
The blanket is thrown off entirely.
The guard stands frozen, a look of mild shock on his face.
On either side of the bed, seven naked women shift and stretch, their bodies glistening with sweat. Some are still half-asleep, others lazily arching their backs, rubbing against each other.
But in the center…
HE lies.
Gideon Voss.
Fat. Bald. Reeking of sweat and cheap booze.
The Boss of the Ghetto.
He's awake, but struggling to sit up. Not an easy task with his weight.
When he finally spots his guard, his lips curl into a sneer.
"Help me up, you dumbass!" he barks.
The guard obeys immediately—gripping Gideon's arm and hauling him up with effort.
Gideon exhales sharply, wipes the sweat off his glistening scalp, and scans the room.
After a moment, he glances down at the women beside him, grins in satisfaction, and delivers a loud slap to one of their asses.
Then, his beady eyes snap back to the guard.
And his shrill, yet rough voice shatters the room.
"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WAKING ME UP, YOU IDIOT?!"
The whole room jerks awake.
People flinch, mumble in confusion, groggily turn their heads toward the sound.
Gideon takes a deep breath—then roars even louder:
"CAN'T YOU SEE YOUR MASTER IS SLEEPING?!"
His grating, high-pitched voice slices through the air like a rusty knife.
Yeah.
This is Gideon Voss.
The biggest boss of the Ghetto.
Looks like after yesterday's humiliation of Alandr, Gideon really let loose.
Threw himself a grand fucking celebration.
And now?
He feels amazing.Majestic, even.
The guard swallows hard.
"Yesterday… you told me to wake you up early today," he says, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
Gideon blinks at him, confused. His sluggish mind combs through the fog of the previous night, trying to remember.
Why the fuck…?
He squints, runs a greasy hand over his sweaty scalp, then croaks:
"And… why was that, again?"
His tone is normal this time, but his disgusting, shrill voice still grates like nails on stone.
The guard panics slightly, but then quickly recalls Gideon's own words from the night before.
"You said something about… that slimy cow who still thinks she's young… but she's just an old spinster. Direct quote."
Gideon bursts into laughter.
"Oh yeah—"
(LAUGH)
"I must've been talking about—"
"Me."
A familiar voice.
From the entrance.
Both of them immediately turn their heads.
And there—
Stands Synn.
Gideon doesn't move an inch. He just… smiles.
"Exactly! You, Synn!" he says, voice smooth, completely unbothered.
Like he doesn't give a single shit that the very person he was just trashing heard every word.
Synn smirks. Ironic. Cold.
And then—she steps forward.
Gideon lazily waves a hand toward the guard.
"Get the fuck out." he grumbles, annoyed.
The guard obeys immediately.
And gets the hell out.
As soon as the door closes, the atmosphere shifts.
The air grows heavy.
Thick with tension.
Gideon deals with it in the simplest way possible—he grabs a bottle and takes a swig.
But there's nothing left.
His face twists in frustration, and he tosses it to the floor.
Synn glances around.
"Had yourself a little celebration, I see," she remarks dryly.
Then—her tone hardens.
"I'm guessing you didn't listen to me about that devil's Powder, did you?"
Her voice cuts sharp.
Gideon lazily shifts his gaze to her.
And his expression changes.
He hates being told what to do.
He hates when people expect him to listen.
He doesn't even listen to himself.
He is his own master.The lord of his Ghetto.
"You got a problem with that?" he says, voice cold as ice.
Synn stares at him for a long moment.
"You've created unnecessary trouble for yourself, Gideon—"
"I couldn't give less of a fuck, you slimy whore." Gideon growls, his voice even filthier than his breath.
Synn doesn't even blink.
"Stay the fuck out of my business, Synn." Gideon snaps. "I've warned you plenty of times, and I'm not gonna keep repeating myself."
His gaze darkens.
"What I did, I did. And no one's gonna take away something that's…
MINE, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"
His voice erupts, his breath blasting into Synn's face—a vile mix of alcohol, rotting meat, and rancid sweat.
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't even let her disgust show.
But in her mind?
She's already thought of a thousand ways to kill him.
"Besides, shouldn't you be worrying about your own problems?" Gideon continues. "I gave you a few guys to help you track down that…"
He suddenly stops.
Grabs at his greasy, glistening scalp.
"What was that idiot's name again?" he mumbles, frowning as he looks at Synn.
The air in the room grows thicker.
Synn's eyes narrow.
"Redson," she says, voice cold.
Gideon's lips curl into a grin.
"Ahhhh… Redson!" he exclaims, as if he's just remembered the name of some cheap whore.
"That bitch's son…" he chuckles. "Honestly, I don't get why you're so pissed off at him."
He leans forward.
"So he called you a whore.
So what?" He smirks.
Synn's expression doesn't change.
Even though every fiber of her being screams to gut him where he sits.
A
But she knows—insults from the most dangerous man in the Ghetto aren't the same as insults from some worthless bastard.
That bastard?
Timothee Redson.
"I have my reasons. But I'm not here to talk about that scumbag… I'm just wasting my time here." she finally says, indifferent.
Gideon studies her.
Reads her like a book.
He sees the rage simmering beneath her skin. Sees the barely contained hatred.
He knows her.
Should he keep pressing the wound?
He decides not to.
"You're right," he finally says. "I called you here for something else entirely..."
And he's still smiling.
But then?
The smile vanishes.
His face hardens.
"I want… you to set up another meeting for me."
Synn tenses.
"Who?" she asks bluntly.
Gideon smirks again.
"Who do you think?"
His rotten teeth glisten in the dim light.
"That sly, mysterious guy… E… Ere… Ere-something."
Synn freezes.
She knows immediately.
And a chill runs down her spine.
"Ereboreth?" she says, shock suddenly creeping into her voice.
"That's the one!" Gideon laughs, satisfied.
"I need another deal."
Then, he stretches lazily.
"And so, I'm allowing you to contact him." He chuckles lightly.
Synn just stares at him, mouth slightly open.
She did not see this coming.
Not at all.
To be continued...
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