Chapter 2: Dreams and Nightmares

Kylas flailed wildly, his boots dragging trenches through the dirt as he thrashed against the vice grip of Seraph's coiled tail wrapped firmly around his neck. His face was rapidly turning red, though whether from strangulation or pure unfiltered rage was up for debate.

"—GODS DAMN IT, LET ME GO, YOU INSANE FOX!—" he shrieked, fingers clawing at the velvet-soft fur constricting his throat. He might as well have been trying to break a mountain with a toothpick.

Seraph stood behind him, completely at ease, arms folded, expression unreadable as she watched him struggle uselessly. "No," she said flatly.

Kylas flung his hands up. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO?!"

Seraph's glowing red eyes barely flickered in interest. "This is for my protection," she said smoothly, as if she wasn't currently strangling the life out of him with a fluffy noose.

"—PROTECTION FROM WHAT?!"

Seraph tilted her head, her massive black fox ears twitching. "You."

Kylas froze mid-struggle, his glare snapping toward her, offended beyond belief. "ME?!"

"You are unpredictable," Seraph said casually, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off her pristine sleeve. "Violent. Dangerous. I have deemed it necessary to restrain you in case you attempt anything… lewd. You even said yourself how dangerous you were."

A long, suffocating silence followed.

Kylas's eye twitched. "Excuse me…?"

Seraph blinked at him, unbothered. "Or maim me."

"WHY WOULD I DO EITHER OF THOSE THINGS?!"

Seraph gave a slight shrug, her tail tightening slightly, making him wheeze. "Because you are Kylas Veyne."

Kylas wheezed harder, furiously gesturing at her with whatever limited range of movement he still had. "I swear to the gods—I'm gonna—I'm gonna—"

"Behead me?" Seraph asked politely.

Kylas's teeth clenched. "YES."

Seraph nodded once. "That is precisely why I have taken precautionary measures."

Kylas screamed.

Meanwhile, in the far corner of the garden, two fully armored knights, feared across battlefields, wielders of golden fire, men who had survived wars that toppled empires, were currently clutching each other for dear life, shaking like wet cats.

Gunthr's massive, hulking frame was pressed against Zedlock's, his gold-plated gauntlets clutching his friend's arm as he stared in absolute terror at the scene before him. His bottom lip quivered.

Zedlock, usually stoic and unflappable, now had his helmet slightly tilted down, as if hiding from reality. His fingers trembled against Gunthr's arm.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them dared to intervene.

They had seen enough.

Seraph let out a small breath, finally shifting her gaze toward the endless void in the sky—the Black Sphere.

Nyxthys.

"The Womb of Forgotten Gods," she murmured.

Kylas, still choking, groaned. "Great, cool—mystical name—CAN YOU STOP STRANGLING ME FIRST?"

Seraph ignored him.

"A celestial wound in the sky, vast and unblinking," she continued, her voice low, steady, as if reciting something etched into the marrow of her bones. "It is said to be the birthplace of the gods and goddesses who now rule the fractured kingdoms below."

She paused, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yet, none truly understand its origins. Legends whisper that it is not a birthplace—"

Her fingers tightened slightly at her sleeve.

"But a prison."

Kylas stopped struggling.

He blinked.

Then squinted up at the sphere, then back at Seraph.

"…The hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked, warily, genuinely intrigued despite himself.

Seraph's tail twitched, still coiled around his neck. "It means the world of Nyxhelm is not as it seems."

"…That's not an answer," Kylas deadpanned.

Seraph continued anyway.

"The world is divided into ten great kingdoms, each ruled by a deity born from Nyxthys. These beings, known as the Ethelen, are worshipped as benevolent protectors. They grant blessings, perform miracles, and promise an eternal paradise for their faithful."

She scoffed, her gaze sharpening.

"But beneath their divine splendor, they are nothing more than predatory beings. They do not protect mortals."

Her red eyes flashed.

"They consume them."

Kylas frowned. "Consume…?"

Seraph nodded. "They feed off faith. Devotion. The worship of humans fuels their power. And their ultimate goal? To reshape the world into a utopia of divinity, where only those of divine lineage may exist."

Kylas's expression darkened slightly, realizing what she was implying.

"They want to wipe out humanity," he muttered.

Seraph inclined her head.

"And to accomplish this," she continued, "they mate with mortals, producing a race of Demi-Ethelen—powerful demigods who rule as their enforcers. The common people, blind to the truth, offer themselves willingly, believing it to be an honor to bear divine offspring."

Kylas exhaled slowly, processing. "And let me guess—" he looked at her, flatly. "You're one of them?"

Seraph's tail tightened again. "No, fool!"

Kylas wheezed loudly. "—THAT WAS A QUESTION, NOT A THREAT, YOU PSYCHOTIC FU—!"

Seraph loosened her grip slightly, looking unimpressed. "I am from the Sphere," she said, calmly, as if that somehow answered everything.

"It doesn't," Kylas snapped, still kicking his legs uselessly. "You're still dodging the important question—why the hell are you here?! What's this whole 'maiden' thing?!"

Seraph exhaled, looking at him as if he were a particularly dim-witted child.

"You are Kylas," she said simply.

Kylas stared at her, unmoving, expression blank.

"Okay. And?"

"You require a maiden."

Kylas blinked.

"WHY?!"

Seraph tilted her head, ears flicking. "Because I said so."

Kylas opened his mouth.

Paused.

Shut it again.

Then, slowly, painfully, ran a hand down his face.

"—This is gonna be a long conversation," he muttered, exasperated.

The air felt heavier now, thick with something unspoken, something ancient. The garden shivered, as if the flowers themselves could feel the weight of Seraph's words. The petals of the lunar blooms—those pale, ghostly flowers that only opened under the fractured moon—tilted toward her, their silver hues darkening, as though absorbing the truth she was about to unveil.

Seraph stood before Kylas, her piercing red eyes gleaming like smoldering embers in the dim light. Her tail, still coiled lightly around his neck, pulsed with a strange warmth. Her expression was unreadable—neither sorrowful nor cruel, but something deeper.

"Long ago, the Maidens of Nyxthys emerged." Her voice was smooth, almost detached, yet it carried an echo of something vast—something beyond time itself. "Unlike the Ethelen, we were not gods. We were something else—Nyxthys's lost daughters. The ones who saw through the illusion."

Her gaze darkened.

"We sought to unravel the divine conspiracy. To bring an end to the false gods. To return everything to its rightful balance."

The wind picked up, stirring the blackgrass at their feet. Somewhere in the distance, an owl-like creature let out a low, warbling sound, as if mourning something long lost.

"But one by one, the Maidens vanished." Seraph's tail tightened slightly, her claws flexing at her sides. "Hunted. Executed. Taken. Erased from history. Until only one remained."

She lifted her chin slightly, her elegant yet eerie presence magnified by the way the roselume vines behind her curled and twisted, their petals opening wider, drinking in the tension.

"The gods are not creators."

The sky above seemed darker now, the Black Sphere—looming like a great, unblinking wound in the heavens.

"The gods are not benevolent."

Kylas swallowed, his usual sarcasm buried beneath the weight of her voice.

"The gods must die." Seraph added.

The moment stretched between them, silent yet deafening.

Seraph's tail flicked once before she continued, stepping closer, her presence demanding attention. "Because the gods are not just feeding off faith. They are gestating."

The flowers quivered. The world stirred.

She spoke, weaving a tale that felt less like a history lesson and more like the unraveling of a cruel, cosmic secret.

"The Maidens were not simply chosen Fox-kin—we were the keepers of the cycle. Beings meant to guide the world through its destined destruction and rebirth. But the ten false gods defied this cycle."

Her voice sharpened.

"They did not want to be unmade. They did not want to relinquish their stolen thrones. So they hunted us. One by one, they slaughtered and taken the Maidens until I was the only one left."

The garden seemed to darken at her words. The vines shrank slightly. Even the wind hesitated.

"I survived by retreating into the Sphere. Into Nyxthys itself." Her crimson eyes flickered, distant. "Hiding within the very force meant to reclaim this world. But I am not whole. The Sphere does not forget. It does not forgive. I have seen countless cycles, countless unmade worlds, and I carry the burden of all their memories."

A pause. A breath.

"And now, I have returned."

Her gaze bore into Kylas, her presence impossibly vast.

"Not to restore the gods. Not to kneel before them. But to destroy them."

Then—deliberate, absolute—

"I am the herald of the end."

She tilted her head slightly, as if observing something beyond what Kylas could perceive. And then, finally—

"And I have chosen you as my weapon."

The words struck him harder than a blade.

For the first time in a long time, Kylas felt… small.

He exhaled sharply, forcing out a dry laugh. "Oh. Great. So, let me get this straight." He gestured vaguely. "You're a crazy fox demon, and I'm your chosen one to, what? Kill the gods? Bring about the 'end?'" He scoffed. "Yeah, no thanks. I already have enough problems."

Seraph said nothing. She simply stared, as if waiting.

And for some reason, that silence made something in him crack open.

He let out a long, frustrated breath, raking a hand through his dark hair. Then, without thinking, he started talking.

"I don't give a damn about being a hero. Never wanted to be one. I hate people like that. They think they can save the world, but they don't even understand it. And me? I'm not some savior. I'm a caged animal, a fucking threat. That's what everyone says, right? 'Keep Kylas locked away. He's dangerous.' Hell, I don't even know if they're wrong."

His voice grew quieter.

"But I do know one thing."

The flowers trembled, leaning toward him.

"I want to live."

His hands clenched into fists.

"Not just exist. Not just be some monster locked away while the rest of the world moves on without me. I want to see everything out there. I want to taste food I've never had before, get drunk at some tavern, wake up in a place I don't recognize, fight someone worth fighting. I want to experience something—anything—that makes this world feel like it was worth being born into."

He exhaled, shoulders tense.

"I can't let the world end."

His voice cracked, just slightly, as he added, "Not before I get to live at least once."

Silence.

A long, stretched, embarrassing silence.

And then—it hit him.

"The hell am I saying?" His eyes widened as the realization settled like a stone in his gut. "Why—why am I even telling you all this? You're a random-ass evil demon-ass fox! You tried to kill me like an hour ago!"

Seraph's expression remained unreadable. Then, with an elegant roll of her eyes, she simply said—

"That wasn't meant for me. You were thinking out loud."

Kylas scowled. "Shut up."

The wind stirred. The flowers shifted. And then Seraph's voice came again, lower this time, almost amused.

"You were meant to be the last king of the old world."

Kylas blinked. "…What?"

"When the cycle was supposed to end, you were fated to be the final ruler. The last mortal before oblivion. You were to walk willingly into the end, to embrace the death of this world so that a new one could begin."

Seraph's gaze did not waver.

"But you refused."

A strange pressure settled in Kylas's chest.

"Your soul shattered. Your memories were lost. And you were cast into this broken world, living a simple life, ignorant of the burden you once carried. Lucky you."

His breathing felt too loud.

"Until I found you." Seraph said.

Kylas didn't speak. Couldn't.

'I was a king…? She's gotta be lying…right?'

"And now, piece by piece, you must remember what you truly are."

The garden whispered around them. The sky stretched above, the Black Sphere watching.

Seraph's voice was quieter now. A mere breath.

The garden seemed to breathe, the strange flowers around them shifting as if whispering secrets to one another. The moonlight carved sharp angles across Seraph's face as she spoke, her voice smooth, deliberate, but vast—as though she wasn't just telling a story, but recalling something that had existed long before words.

"Long before the kingdoms of Nyxhelm, before the gods carved their dominion into the bones of this world, there was only the Sphere."

The Black Sphere above seemed to pulse, an eerie flicker across its endless surface, like something deep within had stirred at the mere mention of its name.

"It is not an object. It is not even a celestial body."

Seraph's red eyes glowed faintly, her tail flicking behind her as she gazed upward.

"The Sphere is the womb of all existence."

Kylas blinked. "You realize how creepy that sounds, right?"

Seraph ignored him.

"It is a cosmic cradle, an eldritch thing that predates time itself, an engine that dreams worlds into being. But the Sphere does not create forever—it recycles. When a world grows stagnant, when its rulers fall to corruption, the cycle resets. The world is swallowed back into the Sphere, unmade, and reborn anew."

She turned to face him fully, the soft glow of the luminescent petals making her expression seem even sharper.

"But something went wrong."

Kylas swallowed, suddenly feeling very small.

"The gods of Nyxhelm were never supposed to exist."

The flowers quivered.

Seraph's voice remained calm, yet every word felt heavier than the last.

"In a cycle long past, there was a world before this one—a world filled with men, beasts, and mortals who lived under an unbroken sky. It was a world that had reached its peak, and as all worlds must, it was meant to be reclaimed by the Sphere."

A pause.

"But ten individuals resisted."

Kylas didn't like where this was going.

"They fought against the pull of oblivion, clinging to their own existence, devouring the remnants of the old world to sustain themselves. They warped themselves, reshaped their forms into something unnatural, something beyond mortal comprehension."

The garden seemed colder now.

"In doing so, they broke the cycle."

For the first time, there was something in Seraph's expression—contempt.

"The Sphere, confused, did not destroy them. Instead, it repurposed them."

The way she said it sent a shiver down Kylas's spine.

"They were given dominion over a world that was never supposed to be. Each was granted a kingdom, a land sculpted from their own corrupted essence. But this world—this Nyxhelm—is a mistake."

She looked straight at him, gaze unflinching.

"And mistakes cannot last forever."

The moment stretched, long and unbearably quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Then, she continued.

"The ten gods know they should not exist."

Her words slithered into the silence like a blade carving through flesh.

"They know the cycle should have ended long ago. And they fear the Sphere."

The moonlight flickered.

"And so, they devised a plan."

Kylas exhaled sharply. "Of course they did."

Seraph's tail flicked, amused by his reaction.

"They will sever themselves from it."

That caught his attention. He straightened slightly. "What?"

"The Black Sphere still looms in the sky, watching, waiting. The gods have spent centuries gathering power, shaping mortals into worshipers, forcing devotion upon the weak. Every prayer, every sacrifice, every act of worship feeds them."

Kylas felt his stomach twist. "…Why?"

Seraph tilted her head slightly.

"Because they seek to become true gods."

His throat went dry.

"If they can amass enough power—enough belief, enough faith, enough divine energy—they can overthrow the Sphere itself."

Her voice softened, barely more than a whisper.

"They can remake reality in their own image."

Kylas's breath hitched.

"And when that happens… There will be no more mortals."

Her gaze darkened.

"Only gods."

Silence.

Kylas slowly exhaled, rubbing his face. "Well. That's just great." He muttered, glancing at the Black Sphere above them. "So, we're all basically livestock to them."

Seraph smiled faintly. "You're quick."

Kylas rolled his eyes, but his voice was calmer now—colder.

"If I can kill the gods… If I can make sure I stay alive long enough to actually live—" His grip tightened at his sides. "Then I'll do whatever it takes."

But deep down, he was terrified.

He didn't want to die. He didn't want to be another forgotten name in the endless, crushing weight of history. He had barely even lived—how could he accept death now?

He clenched his jaw, pushing the thoughts away. "But there's a problem." He gestured around them. "I can't leave this place."

Seraph raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. "There's a seal on me. And around the borders of this place. If I try to leave, I get hit with the world's worst headache, my nose bleeds, and I feel like I'm gonna drop dead."

Seraph… laughed.

A soft chuckle at first, then a fully amused, delighted laugh.

Kylas scowled. "I fail to see what's funny."

She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. "You. You were a king in your past life, reborn as this snarky, miserable little thing." She smiled, sharp teeth glinting. "But I can still sense your power."

Kylas narrowed his eyes. "What the hell does that mean—"

Before he could finish, she grabbed him by the back of his collar and yeeted him across the garden.

Kylas screeched.

Not yelled. Not shouted.

Screeched.

But instead of flying over the barrier, he clung onto her arm mid-throw, latching on like a stubborn cat refusing to be put in the bath.

Seraph, still calm, tilted her head. "Let go."

"NO."

"Kylas. I'll murderize you."

"I REFUSE."

She sighed, shaking her arm, but he would not budge.

"Let go before I transform."

"LIKE HELL I'M GONNA LET GO. I CAN'T STAND THOSE HEADACHES AND SHIT!"

Seraph stared at the man clinging to her forearm like a crazed goblin, and then—very, very slowly—her nine tails began to glow, her form shifting, growing.

Kylas's grip loosened immediately.

"…Wait. Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait! Calm down!"

Seraph smirked. "Goodbye, Kylas."

Kylas screamed. "I'll let go!"

____________________________________________

The day had been absolute hell.

For hours, Seraph had tried every tactic imaginable to get Kylas over the border.

At first, she tried brute force.

She threw him. He clung.

She kicked him. He dodged.

She even baited him with food, promising some rare, delicious fruit that only existed beyond the garden's boundary.

Kylas just squinted at her. "Nice try, you fox-demon trickster bastard."

Seraph flicked an ear, unimpressed. "So, you do have a brain in there."

After that, she got creative.

• She tried digging a hole and covering it with leaves, only for Kylas to watch her do it the entire time.

• She tried a giant slingshot, built with vines and two unnervingly eager carnivorous plants. (They snapped at Kylas when he got close, and he told them to go to hell.)

Then, she tried something psychological.

She pulled out a small, black gemstone. "This will grant you a wish. But only if you step past the border."

Kylas rubbed his temples. "Seraph, I swear on my miserable life, if you try one more con artist trick, I'm shoving that rock down your throat."

Seraph smiled. "Oh? You'd have to catch me first."

Gunthr and Zedlock, the two sentient, empty suits of armor, watched all of this in sheer horror.

Kylas, still latched onto a tree to avoid being flung into oblivion, looked over at them. "Hey. You two. Help."

Gunthr, the fat one, put his hands together in a silent apology.

Zedlock, the slender one, shook his head rapidly, making an exaggerated "Nope" motion.

Kylas glared. "Tch!"

Then, Seraph turned to them.

She tilted her head slowly. Her red eyes gleamed with malicious amusement.

Gunthr and Zedlock panicked. The two suits of armor flailed wildly before sprinting away, clanking loudly as they ran for their damn lives.

Kylas could not believe this. "Oh, you motherfuckers—"

Seraph tried one final thing.

She disappeared in a flicker of flame, reappearing behind him, and breathed against his ear.

"Kylas~," she whispered.

Kylas froze.

A horrible, awful shudder ran through his body. His entire soul recoiled.

"NOPE—"

He yanked away, practically throwing himself over the boundary—

And immediately collapsed to the ground, nose bleeding profusely.

Seraph sighed. "So close."

Kylas groaned into the dirt. "Ow..ow…"

Nightfall.

The sky darkened into something utterly breathtaking.

Two moons hovered above—one deep violet, the other a brilliant silver. Their light blended, bathing the garden in a surreal, almost dreamlike glow. Nebulous streaks of blue and gold danced across the heavens, like divine brushstrokes painting the void.

Kylas lay sprawled in the grass, exhausted. His limbs ached, and his body felt like he had fought a war (which, honestly, he kind of had).

And Seraph?

Seraph was sitting on his chest.

Kylas groaned. "…You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Seraph smirked. "Immensely."

Kylas let his head fall back, staring up at the moons.

"…You know, I've always wondered about those two," he muttered.

Seraph tilted her head, curious. "Oh?"

Kylas pointed lazily upward.

"That one—" He gestured to the violet moon, "—is called Rythen. It's said to be the moon of dreams. It doesn't control tides or seasons. It controls the collective subconscious of the world. It sees into our nightmares, our desires, our deepest thoughts."

Seraph listened, surprisingly quiet.

"And that one—" He nodded toward the silver moon, "—is Vaelyn. The guardian moon. It's always watching. Always waiting. If Nythal is the dreamer, then Vaelyn is the judge."

His voice softened.

A beat of silence.

Seraph smirked. "So, which one do you think hates you more?"

Kylas snorted. "Probably both."

His gaze lingered on them, his expression unreadable.

"…I don't know."

Seraph hummed. "Interesting." She flicked her tail, stretching lazily. "This world is decent looking, I'll admit."

Kylas blinked. "Wow. A compliment. Am I dying?"

Seraph ignored him.

"But…" She smirked. "It would be perfect if there were more people like me."

Kylas grimaced. "That is the worst thing I have ever heard."

Seraph laughed, fangs glinting.

But then, something shifted.

Kylas turned to her, genuinely curious. "Why don't you like humans, anyway?"

Silence.

Seraph's playful smirk faded.

She didn't answer.

For the first time since he met her, she looked… distant.

She stood up abruptly, her ears flicking as she turned away.

Kylas frowned. "…Seraph?"

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

"You need to burn the seal off."

Kylas blinked. "Excuse me?"

She finally turned back to him, her expression unreadable.

"Your power," she said. "It's Chaos Fire."

Kylas squinted. "What the hell is that?"

Seraph smirked, back to her usual self. "I'll explain tomorrow."

Kylas scowled. "Why not now?"

She flicked his forehead. "Because you need rest."

Kylas scoffed, standing up. "You'd better actually tell me in the morning, you weird fox-demon."

Seraph grinned. "Looking forward to it. Get away from me."

Kylas rolled his eyes, heading toward the small house by the garden. He shut the door behind him without another word.

Seraph watched him go.

Then, without a sound, she turned—and walked beyond the garden's borders.

Into the darkness.

Seraph moved through the forest, her steps silent, her tail swaying behind her as she observed the strange world around her. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and unfamiliar flora, the trees stretching high, their bark a deep violet hue, their leaves like shards of polished glass that shimmered faintly even in the dark. Strange insects, their wings bioluminescent with shifting patterns of blue and green, flickered between the branches. She watched one hover too close to a massive bloom—a plant with petals like velvet tendrils—and in a flash, the flower snapped shut, consuming the creature whole.

'This world is… different.'

Her eyes narrowed as she stepped past a slow-moving Dew Maw, a creature resembling a cross between a panther and a salamander, its slick black body covered in tiny, translucent scales that dripped a luminous silver liquid. It paused, its four eyes flicking toward her, then slinked away into the brush. Further ahead, a group of Chimelopes—antelope-like creatures with long, twisting horns and luminous stripes running down their hides—grazed peacefully, their hooves barely making a sound against the grass. Even further beyond, in the distant trees, the low, haunting calls of Night Phantoms echoed—wisps of shadowy creatures with no true form, drifting in and out of the physical plane like flickering candlelight.

Seraph exhaled through her nose. None of these things existed in the worlds before. She had seen thousands of realms rise and fall, civilizations burn and drown, but never… this. Never creatures like these. Never landscapes so utterly alien.

Her fist clenched as she walked, her mind turning inward.

'How many times has the Sphere remade the world? How many cycles have I endured? How many times have I been forced to watch everything be undone?'

Her steps slowed, and for a brief moment, she allowed her thoughts to slip—to drift back, far beyond this place, far beyond the present.

There had been a time when she had walked among her own people. When the Fox-Kin Maidens had not been hunted, had not been slaughtered like beasts. She could still hear their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their presence against the cold reality of her existence. She had been one of them—a sister, a leader, a child of the Sphere itself.

And then—

The memory struck like a knife to the gut.

Blood. So much blood. The scent of it, thick and cloying, clung to her fur, her hands, the ground beneath her feet. Their bodies—ripped open, scattered, torn apart like carrion. Faces she had known since birth twisted in agony, reaching for her—her name on their lips as their eyes glazed over, lifeless.

She had screamed. Cried. She had fought until her claws were dull and her throat was raw. But nothing had changed. Nothing ever changed.

Seraph clenched her fists so tightly that her claws dug into her palms. She forced herself to keep walking, shaking the memory away.

At last, she reached a hill overlooking a vast valley. The view stretched far below—rolling fields of bioluminescent grass swaying gently beneath the glow of two moons. Together, they bathed the landscape in a haunting, otherworldly glow, a sight so strange and beautiful that, for a moment, Seraph could only stare.

She sat down at the cliff's edge, her tail curling around her as she let herself breathe.

And then, her thoughts turned to him.

'Kylas.'

She exhaled sharply through her nose. That human. That strange, unpredictable, insufferable human.

'There is something different about him. He is not like the others. Or, at least, he pretends not to be. His eyes—those sharp, weary eyes—did not hold the same blind cruelty I had come to expect from his kind. He's reckless, violent, unhinged at times, but there's something else beneath all of it. A bitterness. A frustration. A desperate, clawing desire to be free. But humans always want to be free. And they never truly are.'

She had seen men like him before—rebels, outcasts, wanderers who claimed to reject the world only to become exactly what it made them. How long until he was just another beast in human skin? How long until the world twisted him into something he hated?

She had seen it happen. Again and again.

Seraph curled her fingers into the grass, her eyes narrowing.

'I will not trust him. Not yet. But he is… not unpleasant to look at. He is funny, though.'

She scoffed at herself. What a stupid thought. A waste of energy. Kylas was still human. That alone was enough to keep her guard up.

She sighed, letting her head tilt back slightly as she gazed at the moons above.

'Will he be different?'

She doubted it.

And yet…

Seraph closed her eyes, inhaling slowly.

She imagined her mother's presence beside her. She could almost feel it—her mother's warmth, the quiet strength in the way she held her hand. A presence that had once been a pillar, unshakable. Now nothing more than a memory.

Her hands trembled.

She whispered, "I will find them."

The wind carried her words into the night, lost to the vast, indifferent sky.

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head.

Everything feels so wrong. So alien. This world should not exist. I should not be here.

She closed her eyes.

'I just need a moment. A single moment.

A moment where I do not have to be strong.'