The Breaking Point

She had waited all night, hidden beneath the jagged ledge that overlooked the southern valley. The winds of Kur'thaal howled past her in bitter waves, but she remained still, cloaked in shadows. The ring that disguised her form pulsed faintly on her finger—a reminder of the illusion that cloaked her celestial light. But it wasn't the cold or the deception that twisted her stomach.

It was him.

Azarel.

Or Lioren, as he now called himself.

The name tasted foreign. Hollow. Not him.

Seraphine had watched him train with Vael. Watched him laugh. Touch. Kiss.

And now, she was certain.

She wasn't just watching a defector.

She was watching someone who had chosen.

And he hadn't chosen Asphodel.

He had chosen Vael.

She had come to save him. To plead with him. To reach the friend she once knew.

But something inside her had already started to fracture.

She didn't know if she was too late.

A sudden shift in the wind.

She turned, just as Vael appeared at the edge of the outcrop. His eyes glowed in the dark like molten coals, piercing through the illusion with suspicion.

"You've been watching us."

His voice was sharp, predatory.

Before she could respond, another presence joined him.

Lioren.

He stood beside Vael—bare-chested, his runic marks still faintly aglow from training. But his expression was calm. Peaceful.

And he didn't recognize her.

Not immediately.

Seraphine's heart cracked.

Claude had been right. Demons couldn't perceive her identity under the enchantment.

And Lioren… didn't see her.

Not until he tilted his head slightly.

And frowned.

"…Have we met before?" he asked softly.

Her breath caught.

He felt something. A familiarity.

And then—recognition flickered in his eyes.

But he said nothing.

Hope sparked in her chest.

"I want to speak to him alone," she said, her voice low.

"No," Vael answered instantly.

Lioren placed a hand gently on Vael's arm.

"It's okay."

Vael looked at him, hesitant. But when Lioren gave him a faint nod, Vael relented. He leaned in, brushing a kiss to Lioren's forehead—a quiet declaration that did not need words.

Then, he turned, stepping back into the darkness.

When he was gone, Lioren turned to the stranger.

"What are you doing here, Seraphine?"

The name struck like thunder through the disguise.

She dropped the illusion.

Her wings shimmered into view, pale and curved like crescents. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. The demon's form peeled away, revealing the commander of light beneath.

"I came to bring you back," she whispered.

Lioren's expression didn't change.

"You left. You abandoned your place. You disappeared without a word."

"I know."

"You let us believe you had been corrupted."

"I wasn't corrupted," he said. "I chose."

Her lips parted.

"But… for him?"

Lioren's jaw clenched.

She stepped forward, trembling.

"You could have come back. We would have forgiven you. Brisco still believes in you. Queen Rishe… I—"

He raised a hand.

"Seraphine," he said gently. "Would they have accepted Vael?"

Her mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

"If I had returned—with him. If I had said: this is who I choose, would they have welcomed him? Would they have spared him?"

Her silence was the answer.

"You made your choice," she whispered. "Not Kur'thaal."

Her voice cracked.

"But him."

The air stilled between them.

Her voice rose, choked. "You would turn your back on everything you are—for a demon?"

Lioren's wings didn't spread. His light didn't flare. But his words were steady.

"I didn't turn my back. I opened my eyes."

She stared at him.

Then—her face broke.

"You've condemned yourself."

She struck.

The attack was fast, brutal. A wave of light condensed into a lance, aimed for his chest.

Lioren raised a hand—and amplified the pressure around her in a pulse of force. The attack shattered midair. She twisted, slicing through with her wings, sending another volley of burning light toward him.

He moved with elegance, power rippling through his body.

Each step, each motion—amplified.

"Stop!" he said.

But she didn't.

Tears streamed from her eyes as she screamed, "You can't stay here!"

Their powers collided—light against amplified energy.

Seraphine's attacks rained down like comets. Lioren dodged, deflected, intensified his force to push her back.

"Don't make me do this!" he pleaded.

"You already have!" she cried.

Vael appeared, leaping toward them, but Lioren raised a hand.

"No."

The force field wrapped around Vael, holding him back. Not to hurt. Just to stop.

"I won't let you interfere."

Vael's eyes widened in shock.

Seraphine lunged again, screaming his name—but Lioren met her, hand outstretched.

The ground shattered beneath them as he poured energy into the space between them.

His power rippled out in waves—soundless, colorless, but devastating.

Seraphine was thrown back, her wings scorched, her body trembling with exhaustion.

She crashed into the rocks below, coughing, wings bent, blood at the corner of her mouth.

She looked up—eyes wide, horrified.

"You… you're not just powerful," she gasped. "You're—something else."

Lioren didn't reply.

She staggered to her feet.

"I'll be back."

He nodded, solemn. "I know."

And with that—she vanished in a flare of light.

The air was still. The silence absolute.

Vael moved to Lioren's side, eyes wide, confused, awed, afraid.

Lioren collapsed against him, breath shallow.

He didn't speak.

He couldn't.

High above—in the heart of her sanctum—Lilith watched through a crystal sphere.

Her eyes glinted with triumph.

Her voice was soft.

"His power is getting stronger."

She leaned back on her throne.

"He will be ready soon."