AN ECHO OF THE NAME

Morning in the Underworld didn't come with sunlight. It came with a faint shift in air pressure, a cooling stillness that swept through the chambers. The walls always hummed low, like the heartbeat of the realm itself.

Velma and Evelyn were preparing to begin their morning duties. Evelyn moved slower than usual, her usual brightness dimmed. She tied her apron loosely, staring at the floor instead of her reflection in the cracked bronze mirror.

"You alright?" Velma asked, glancing at her as she smoothed her hair back.

Evelyn hesitated. "It's nothing."

"Come on, Evelyn. I know you better than that."

The maid sighed, shoulders slumping. "It's Lucian… I asked him last night if he would be doing anything tonight. I thought maybe we could just… go for a walk or have dinner or something. He said no. Just like that. Cold. Like always."

Velma placed a comforting hand on her arm. "I'm sorry."

"I don't get it," Evelyn said quietly. "I know he has his responsibilities. But sometimes it feels like he doesn't even see me. Or worse, he does—and he's just choosing not to care."

Velma gave a gentle smile. "Don't worry. I'm seeing Lucian tonight. I'll talk to him."

Evelyn's eyes lit up a little, a spark of hope fluttering behind them. "You will?"

"I will," Velma nodded firmly. "Maybe it'll help him see what he's missing."

A small smile returned to Evelyn's lips. "Thank you."

As they stepped out of the room together, Evelyn seemed just a little lighter, even if the sadness still clung faintly to her.

They parted at the hallway fork to begin their separate assignments. Velma made her way toward the royal wing, carrying the king's morning tea as assigned. Her footsteps echoed against the black marble tiles, each step a steadying breath.

As expected, when she stepped into Azarel's chamber, Lucian was already there. The two men stood in quiet conversation, a map unrolled across the side table, red markings and silver tokens dotting key regions.

Velma placed the tea tray gently down on the carved stone table and stepped back, standing at the edge of the room. She kept her eyes lowered but observed Azarel carefully, noting the way he held himself—relaxed but vigilant. Even now, he radiated an unnatural power.

Daniel was in there somewhere. She had to believe that.

Lucian turned to her briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning to the conversation. Velma kept her presence quiet, observing.

Just then, the chamber doors creaked open.

A figure entered—hooded, cloaked in plain gray, clearly not a usual courtier.

"I request an audience with the king," the stranger said, voice low and rough.

Azarel didn't look amused. "Speak."

The man walked closer. "It is of urgent importance."

Velma felt a chill crawl down her spine.

Azarel nodded. "Then proceed."

The man's hand moved beneath his robe.

In a flash, he drew a long, curved blade—serrated, ancient—and lunged forward.

Velma acted on instinct.

"Daniel!" she screamed, her voice piercing the chamber.

Lucian moved faster than a blink. He stepped in front of Azarel, arm raised. The blade sliced across his wrist, dark crimson spilling instantly, staining the hem of his black coat.

The assassin pulled back and prepared to strike again.

Velma didn't wait.

She scanned the room, grabbed the nearest object—a heavy wooden sculpture—and charged. Her heart was a drumbeat in her ears. She raised the sculpture with both hands and brought it down on the attacker's head.

The blow landed with a sickening crack.

The man crumpled.

A long silence followed.

Azarel stared at the attacker's unconscious body. Then his gaze slowly shifted to Velma.

Lucian was still clutching his bleeding wrist, face pale but steady. He looked at Velma with a thousand words in his eyes—but said none.

Azarel stepped forward and knelt beside the assassin, checking the man's breathing. "Still alive," he muttered.

He looked up. "Guards!"

Within moments, two armored sentinels entered and took the intruder away.

Velma stood frozen, her chest heaving.

Lucian pressed a cloth to his wound. "He was human," he muttered. "That knife… it was made to pierce dark magic."

Azarel nodded. "Which means someone from above sent him."

Velma's heart dropped. From above.

From the human world.

Lucian approached Azarel. "I'll see to the investigation."

Azarel waved him off. "Do it. And tend to your wound."

Lucian nodded and turned to leave.

As Velma followed behind him, Azarel's voice halted her.

"You," he said.

She turned, eyes wide.

"You reacted fast," he said. "That was… admirable. For a maid."

Velma bowed her head. "Thank you, my lord."

He said nothing more, and she slipped out quickly, heart still pounding.

Outside the chamber, Lucian caught up with her.

"You called him Daniel," he said quietly.

Velma froze.

"You were lucky," he continued. "No one noticed. Or at least, no one said anything."

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know," he cut in. "But you can't afford that again."

Velma nodded slowly.

"I'll stop by your room later," he added. "We need to talk."

Velma turned away, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

Daniel.

She had almost lost him again.

And now, more than ever, she knew—there was no turning back.