Echoes of Dark Magic

While regaining her composure, Lilith's thoughts raced uncontrollably. That didn't feel like a dream—it felt as if someone had taken her there, guiding her to that strange, vivid place. She couldn't shake the sense that it had been something more than her own imagination.

What she didn't notice was the marks on her body, still present after she woke. Once dark and ominous in the dream, they now glowed in a soft, celestial white, as if transformed. Her mind was so consumed with trying to digest what had just happened that the faint shimmer of the marks went unnoticed. And then, as quickly as they had appeared, they faded, disappearing without a trace.

Unlike the event on the mountains, she was neither afraid nor unsettled. Instead, she felt powerful. The person she had seen in the mirror—herself—was as stunning as her current state. That form exuded strength, confidence, and an aura that made her feel unstoppable. It was intoxicating, and for a fleeting moment, Lilith wondered what it would mean to embody such a version of herself.

But the questions quickly crept in, piercing through the thrill. How could it be? How could she, an angel of the Sky Reign, possess a form steeped in the essence of dark magic? It was impossible—no, unthinkable. She couldn't begin to entertain the thought without risking far more than she was willing to lose.

Shaking her head to dismiss the swirling confusion, she forced herself to let go of the visions. It had to be nothing more than an illusion, a cruel trick of the mind. She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm, and lay back down on the bed. It was still the dead of night, and sleep was the only escape she had left.

The morning sun had barely begun to rise, painting the castle in faint hues of gold. Azareon was still deep in sleep, the quiet of his chambers undisturbed until an incessant tapping broke through the silence. Pecking. Persistent, rhythmic, and irritating.

With a groan, the king stirred, rubbing his temples as the sound refused to stop. "What could possibly—" He stopped mid-sentence, spotting the celestial white dove at his window, its small beak striking the glass with urgency.

Throwing off the blanket, Azareon stalked toward the window, muttering under his breath. His patience was already thin. "What in the skies do you want at this hour?" he snapped, opening the window sharply.

The dove didn't flinch, its bright eyes locked on him. Tied to its leg was a scroll, bearing the unmistakable mark of "Holy Soldier of the Sky." Azareon snatched the letter and waved the bird off with an irritated growl. "Doesn't even have a name," he muttered. "Absolutely useless."

Despite his annoyance, he felt a prickle of unease as he broke the seal. Celestial doves never disturbed him without good reason. Unrolling the scroll, his irritation turned to suspicion as his eyes scanned the words.

"Yesterday, while patrolling near the great mountain, I sensed a malignant and massive surge of dark magic emanating from its depths."

The air in the room seemed to grow colder. Azareon's hands tightened around the parchment, the edges crinkling under his grip. Dark magic. Those forbidden words stirred old memories he had buried long ago.

His jaw clenched as a vivid image flashed through his mind—his younger self standing amidst the chaos of battle. The war between angels and demons had been brutal and merciless. He remembered the blackened skies, the acrid scent of burning earth, and the screams of the fallen. But one memory burned brighter than the rest. The boy—a demon child with eyes as dark as the abyss and a power that defied his age. Azareon had faced him, had fought him. He had buried that moment, along with the guilt that lingered, even in victory.

"Impossible," Azareon muttered, shaking his head as if to dispel the thought. Yet here it was, dark magic resurfacing in his kingdom, near the mountains, no less. The timing was too perfect. Too suspicious.

His thoughts turned to Lilith, her strange behavior the night before in the library. Could there be a connection? He scowled at the parchment, his anger simmering. If someone was meddling with dark forces in his reign, he would root them out—personally.

"You'd better not be involved in this, Lilith," he growled under his breath, though the uncertainty clawed at his chest. Folding the letter carefully, he placed it on his desk before pacing the room, his mind already racing with plans to investigate.

Azareon scowled as he reread the letter. He couldn't act blindly—not with dark magic involved. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly. Turning his sharp gaze to the dove still perched on the windowsill, he raised a commanding hand.

"Take me to the one who sent this," he said firmly. The dove tilted its head briefly before spreading its celestial wings, fluttering into the air with purpose. Without hesitation, Azareon followed, his expression set in grim determination.

The king strode through the castle halls, his presence both commanding and imposing. As he emerged onto the streets of the city, a hush seemed to fall over the bustling morning crowd. He wasn't the type to appear in public often, and his unexpected arrival sparked whispers and sideways glances. Some stood frozen in surprise, while others quickly stepped back, unsure whether to bow or flee.

Ahead, the dove led him to a soldier standing watch near the city gates, his tall frame clad in armor. A long spear rested in his hands, its sharp tip glinting in the sunlight. The man straightened immediately at the sight of Azareon, his posture rigid and respectful.

"Holy Soldier of the Sky," Azareon said curtly, his tone carrying the weight of authority. "You sent the message. Explain yourself."

The soldier's face betrayed a hint of nervousness, though he kept his composure. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing slightly. "Yesterday, during my patrol near the great mountain, I sensed a surge of dark magic—massive and deeply malignant. It was unlike anything I've felt before."

Azareon narrowed his eyes, the memory of the demon war flashing vividly in his mind once again. The boy, the battle, the destruction—it all surged to the forefront, fueling his suspicion. He gripped the soldier's words tightly, each syllable seeming to twist the knot of unease in his chest.

"Are you certain?" Azareon's voice carried a sharper edge now, cutting through the soldier's calm. "Do not make baseless claims about a force so dangerous."

"I am certain, Your Majesty," the soldier replied quickly. "It was unmistakable. The magic felt alive, like it was reaching out, pulling at everything near it."

Azareon frowned deeply, his thoughts racing. Dark magic near the mountains. Lilith's strange behavior in the library. The forbidden nature of such power. Too many questions loomed, and the connections between them were becoming harder to ignore.

He turned sharply, his cloak billowing behind him as he began to walk away. "Return to your post," he ordered over his shoulder, his tone commanding. "And inform me immediately if there is any change."