Ariella
Thornhill city,
Vankar Island
Northern Isle Region,
Kingdom of Ashtarium
October 12th 6414
6:54 pm
Dusk settled in, bringing with it the fading light of the Dome's artificial sun. Overhead, the night sky glimmered with scattered synthetic stars, their cold glow casting soft shadows over the mansion's grounds. I sat on the stone steps leading up to Enoch's grand home, my eyes drifting toward the woods beyond as I waited for Lil to return.
She had been gone for over an hour now. After the fight with Jennifer Mcclough in the Dungeon, a fight that Lil ultimately lost, she had vanished into the dense forest behind the estate. I didn't blame her for wanting solitude, but the memory of what happened still gnawed at me.
That request—Jennifer's audacious demand for a date with Lil—was utterly surreal. I could still feel the embarrassment creeping up my neck at the thought of it. Lil hadn't answered Jennifer. She'd simply turned and left the arena, her expression unreadable, and we'd followed her out, deciding to end our exploration for the day. Now here I was, left to wait and wonder.
The light had long since vanished from the artificial horizon, and the mansion behind me loomed quiet and still. Finally, I stood and headed inside. Hector was already there, poised as always to assist me. His crisp black butler attire reminded me of times when I was a kid.
"Is Sanders around?" I asked.
"No, your highness," Hector replied with a slight bow.
"Then I'll be in the training room," I said. "I'm not to be disturbed."
"As you wish," Hector said, and I continued through the halls.
Enoch's mansion was vast, a sprawling structure with countless rooms. I hadn't yet explored it all, but the training room was familiar territory. Sanders had introduced us to it when we first arrived—a massive, gymnasium-like space outfitted with all manner of equipment. Beyond the physical apparatus, there were places designed for meditation and cultivation, a feature that made the room feel more like a sanctuary than a gym.
I stepped into the training room, still clad in my fighting attire, my bow and quiver of arrows slung across my back. I made my way to the Archery side, where rows of targets lined one wall. My hand brushed against the smooth, red wood of my bow—an expertly crafted piece Sanders had procured for me. As I drew the first arrow, made up of mana, I paused, breathing in deeply, centering myself.
I raised the bow, the string pulling taut under my fingers. My senses focused, the rest of the world fading. I released the string and let the arrow fly. Before it even hit the target, I moved on to the next shot, then the next. Each movement was precise, each shot deliberate. My muscles ached and stretched, and my senses, especially my vision sharpened with every draw and every release. Yet, my mind refused to stay in the present.
I kept thinking about Lil's fight with Jennifer Mcclough. The human's control over ice was remarkable—fluid, controlled, devastating. It wasn't just raw power; it was skill honed to perfection. I knew such humans existed, rare as they were, and yet it still surprised me. After all, my mother's lineage was human, and it was from her side that I inherited certain strengths. But even knowing that, I couldn't imagine myself beating someone like Jennifer.
Could I ever stand against her? No. The answer was clear and stark. I was an Old Blood Vampire, a noble-born immortal, superior in strength and speed. And yet, I could not defeat Lil. How could I hope to face a human of Jennifer's caliber?
I tried to form more mana arrows, but realized I was out of Mana. The still developing mana core had run dry. My hand fell to my side, the weight of my thoughts heavier than the bow in my hand. I stood there for a moment, staring at the target pieces.
I studied them, noting that every arrow had struck its mark. Not a single miss. My marksmanship skill was truly something. I exhaled deeply, taking stock of my lack of fatigue even with my depleted mana. My near-infinite stamina meant I didn't even break a sweat anymore. Before I awakened, sessions like this would leave me gasping for air, drenched and trembling from exertion. I used to train so hard my hands would bleed, my body screaming in protest. But that was then. That was when I hadn't unlocked my Physique.
Now, as a full-blood Vampire, I possessed a near-perfect constitution. It was a marvel of strength, endurance, and regeneration. But it wasn't without its drawbacks—especially when it came to cultivating Battle aura. Body cultivation relied on pushing one's physical limits, breaking the body down through grueling, torturous training and then rebuilding it stronger than before. But with an immortal body, there was nothing to break down. No physical exhaustion to endure, no wounds that couldn't be instantly regenerated. We didn't need food to survive like Mortals, didn't suffer from mortal frailties, and possessed vitality so dense that, barring external threats, we could live forever. We were fast, durable, powerful—seemingly perfect.
Yet, that perfection was an illusion. The Long War made it painfully clear that vampires were not invincible. Against the right opponent, our so-called immortality crumbled. Our strength vanished. Our superiority proved fleeting. Lil was a stark example. Even without cultivation, she could kill a vampire outright, their immortality meaningless in the face of her power. That realization changed everything. After the war, vampires started to approach cultivation with the same urgency and discipline as humans did. It was no longer looked down upon like it was in the past. And yet it wasn't easy. For us, the process was grueling in a very different way.
So how did a vampire accomplish body cultivation when their bodies couldn't be broken down and rebuilt? The answer was starvation. We would deny ourselves blood, growing weaker and weaker until our strength was reduced to near-human levels. In that fragile state, we could train until we were at the brink of collapse. Only then—when we were at our weakest—could we truly push our limits. Afterward, we would feed and meditate to strengthen our Soul Core and grow our Mana core. This cycle was our growth path. Yet, it was slow and arduous. Humans could reach new heights of power relatively quickly, but for vampires, the process stretched over years, decades, even centuries depending on how talented you were when it came to cultivation.
Before my Physique manifested, my cultivation had been straightforward. I'd started building my Mana core as an Ascendant mortal, progressing quickly by comparison. But after my bloodline and physique had awakened, the pace slowed. It was as if my own body resisted the very process that should have made me stronger. I placed a hand over my solar plexus, focusing inward, and checked the state of my Mana core. The small, glowing organ within my sternum pulsed with a soft yellow light—a clear sign that I was still in the middle phase of the Adept realm
An Ascendant's Mana Core rank was reflected in its color, a progression from pale hues to deep, radiant tones. Each step forward required immense effort and time.
Brown for Novice, Orange for Acolyte, Yellow for Adept, Red for Warrior, Green for Master, Teal for Grandmaster, Cyan for Sage, Azure for Great Sage, Aqua for Semi-Saint, and finally, Purple for Saint.
At the moment, I was stuck in the middle phase of the Adept realm. I stared at the soft, yellow light pulsing within my Mana core, knowing I still had a long road ahead. The gap between where I stood now and where I needed to be felt insurmountable at times. Reaching even the next realm, the Master realm, seemed a distant goal.
I let out a sigh, my frustration swelling. I had to get stronger. Not just for myself, but for the battles yet to come.
***
Lilith's POV
I opened my eyes to the rustle of leaves and the faint chirping of birds in the distance. The soft sounds of small creatures scuttling across the grass tugged me out of my haze. What the hell? I wasn't at the mansion anymore. I had left Ella there—dropped her off—and now I found myself lying on the roadside, just at the edge of the woods. I had no memory of how I got here.
I looked around. The Dome's white artificial sun had disappeared; the night sky now stretched overhead, its stars glimmering like tiny shards of glass. I pushed myself up, my confusion and disorientation quickly overshadowed by something worse. Pain. It slammed back into me, sharp and relentless, as if my skull were caught beneath a crushing weight. Ever since the fight with Jennifer, the headache had only grown worse, intensifying until it felt as though my head might split apart.
I knew the only way to stop it. I had to let it out—the torrent of power that had been building inside me. But I couldn't do it near Ella. It was too dangerous. With that thought, I turned and ran into the woods. The dense canopy of trees loomed overhead, blotting out the stars and wrapping the forest in darkness. The silence here was heavier, sharper. It heightened my senses as I finally came to a halt.
The pain was unbearable, spreading through me like a freezing fire. It wasn't the heat of a burn, but the searing cold that bites and gnaws. I could feel it leaking out, a pale aura seeping from my skin, crawling like frost. I couldn't take it anymore.
With a guttural scream, I let the energy surge free. A blast of raw Spirit energy exploded from my body, ripping through the surrounding woods. Trees splintered and toppled, undergrowth disintegrated, and every living thing within range—plants, critters, and anything else unlucky enough to be nearby—was wiped away.
As the energy ebbed, a chilling stillness settled in. Death's icy presence lingered around me, familiar yet no less unnerving. Then it happened. The lifeforce of everything I'd destroyed poured into me. It flowed into my body like a rushing tide, filling me with intoxicating strength. The pain faded as if it had never been. I stood in the middle of a new clearing, about five meters wide, the open sky above giving me a brief glimpse of the stars.
My mind churned. If I had unleashed this power against Jennifer back in the Dungeon, it wouldn't have been just her who died. Everyone—including Ariella—would have been wiped out. I focused on my breathing, forcing the rising fear down before it turned to panic. I had to get back to Ella. Her presence would keep me grounded.
But then I froze.
A shriek pierced the air, sharp and distant. My body tensed, and then—whoosh! Something moved at the edge of my vision, darting too fast for me to track. Another whoosh, from a different direction. Whatever it was, it was quick, impossibly quick.
I turned slowly, straining to catch a glimpse of the movement. Shadows flitted through the darker parts of the forest, deeper into the gloom where the moonlight barely touched. Against my better judgment, I stepped out of the clearing and back beneath the dense canopy. I moved cautiously, each footfall muffled by the thick layer of leaves and dirt. The movement followed me, staying just out of sight as I ventured farther into the woods.
My mind ventured to the mysterious cave deep within the forest, and the armored knight that had attacked Ella and I. The sounds stopped suddenly. Silence fell. But this wasn't the comforting stillness of the forest. It was heavy, oppressive—a silence that felt like it was holding its breath.
And then it came. The silence before a—
Boom! The air around me exploded as something crashed down with a force that rattled the forest. The impact sent me flying, trees and branches rushing past in a blur. What the hell was that? I hit the ground hard, rolling before pulling myself up just as the dust began to clear. My senses sharpened instantly, every nerve on edge.
Through the dissipating haze emerged a grotesque figure. It was tall, unnervingly thin, and wrapped in dark, tattered robes. Its body was an uncanny blend of human and bird—slender limbs, brown feathers covering its arms, and massive wings folded against its back. Its head was broad and heart-shaped, with large black eyes that gleamed coldly. The creature's beak-like mouth opened and closed, twitching slightly as its head swiveled in an unnatural semi-circle. The thing looked like an owl twisted into a man's shape.
And then it moved.
Without warning, it darted toward me, faster than I thought possible.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" The words slipped out in a frantic mutter. What the hell was a Demonic Beast doing in the woods of this damned town? This wasn't a Mana Beast. It was something far worse.
I turned and bolted, adrenaline kicking in as I tried to put as much distance between myself and that thing as possible. But it was fast—too fast. In a blink, it closed the gap, talons digging into my shoulder as it lifted me off the ground. Panic surged, but so did my instincts. I lunged, twisting with all my strength, and tore free of its grip. I hit the ground hard, rolling before springing back to my feet.
The beast lunged again, but I was ready. I focused, channeling energy into my palms. Pale light began to form around my hands, crackling like electricity as my power surged. When the creature came within range, I unleashed it in a blinding arc. The blast struck it head-on, tearing through its body. In a flash, the beast disintegrated, its form dissolving into raw energy that flowed back into me. I felt its vitality surge through my veins, the rush of stolen life force and mana strengthening me tenfold.
I exhaled sharply, trying to steady myself as the chill in the air faded. The brief moment of calm was shattered by a sound that made my blood run cold—a rustling chorus of wings and claws. I turned, and there they were. A dozen more of the damned things swarmed out of the trees, their twisted forms moving in eerie unison.
And then it hit me—the hunger. That primal, insatiable need clawed its way up from the pit of my gut. I didn't fight it. I let it take over, relinquishing the self-control I'd tried so hard to maintain. With bloodlust searing through my veins, I rushed headlong into the first monster. My hands closed around its head, and with a violent slam, I drove it into the ground. Bone cracked, and blood splattered in a warm spray across my fingers.
I didn't stop. The next one came at me, and I clapped my hands together, sending out a shockwave infused with my pale energy. The force shredded its body, sending gore and viscera flying through the air. The others closed in, their screeches blending into a cacophony of rage. I reached for the enchanted blade at my side, a prize from another battle, and drew it in a single swift motion. The air sang as I slashed through the creatures, the blade carving arcs of blood and entrails with every stroke. Each time one fell, I drank in its fading life force. The power was intoxicating, coursing through me in waves. I was growing stronger, faster, deadlier with every kill.
As the final creature hovered high above, the frenzy subsided. It didn't attack. It perched on a thick branch, its head rotating slowly as it studied me. For the first time, the roles were reversed—it wasn't the hunter anymore. The intelligence in its scarlet eyes burned as it appraised me, realization dawning in that unnatural gaze.
It climbed higher, its body shifting with a cautious, deliberate grace. Its mouth opened slightly, revealing rows of serrated fangs. It let out a piercing screech, not an attack, but a signal. The movements in the forest receded, the rustling and screeches fading as the other beasts withdrew. And then, with a powerful leap, the creature took to the sky, its dark wings cutting through the night as it disappeared into the distance.
I stood alone among the broken bodies of its fallen kin, dripping in blood and gore, my senses heightened and my hunger sated—for now.
"Hmm! That look suits you so well," came that infuriatingly familiar voice.
I turned and there she was—Jennifer, leaning casually against a nearby tree, her sharp green eyes locked on me. There was something unreadable in her expression, a strange mix of interest and amusement that I had no desire to decode.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded. "How did you find me?"
"Your mana signature is pretty recognizable," Jennifer said. So she had used her Ascendant ability to track me down.
I rolled my eyes. Of course. Ever since I'd used my Ability Factor against her, she must have memorized the way my Mana felt.
"What do you want?" I asked, already dreading the answer.
"You didn't give me an answer," she said, tilting her head. "You owe me a date."
"A…a what?" I stammered. "What are you talking about? I don't even know you."
"That's the whole point of a date," Jennifer said, smirking. "To get to know each other."
"I…I don't like you," I said quickly, taking a step back as she pushed off the tree and closed the distance between us.
"Is that so?" she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn't so much as flinch at the sight of me, covered head-to-toe in the blood and entrails of the beasts I'd just killed. If anything, she seemed more intrigued. I found myself stepping back again, trying to keep a little space between us.
"Someday, I'm going to kill you," I said, my voice low and firm. I didn't like how boldly she encroached on my space.
"Nothing would make me happier than to die by your hands," Jennifer replied, her eyes gleaming with something wild and reckless. That expression caught me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless.
She grinned at my reaction. "What?"
"Are…are you one of them?" I asked. "A battle junkie?" I'd encountered my share of lunatics who lived for the fight, who treated combat like a drug they couldn't quit.
"Look who's talking," she said, and her smirk widened.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked, frowning. We had already begun moving away from the blood-soaked scene in the woods, walking along the empty road that stretched toward the Enoch Mansion.
"I saw the way you looked back there," Jennifer said, her tone casual but cutting. "When you were tearing those Estries apart. You looked like you were having the time of your life."
"That's not—" I started to argue, but her raised eyebrow stopped me cold. I clenched my jaw, pressing my lips shut. She wasn't entirely wrong. There were moments, dark and fleeting, when the thrill of combat overtook me. I thought I'd controlled those impulses—left them behind. But facing someone like her, someone who pushed me so close to my limits, brought out a side of me I wasn't proud of.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Jennifer said as we reached the gates of the mansion. She glanced at the estate, her eyes assessing every detail of it. "You're a warrior, just like me. Enjoying the fight doesn't make you a monster. It makes you strong."
"Thanks," I muttered, unsure whether I meant it. I pulled open the gate and started to step inside.
"So about that date," she said.
"Jennifer—"
"Call me Jen," she interrupted with a grin. "And when I say 'date,' I mean more duels."
"You want to fight me again?" I asked, meeting her gaze. That reckless glint in her eyes was back, and it sent a shiver through the air around us.
"Yes," she said simply. "To be honest, it felt like you were holding back during our last duel."
I snorted. I'd felt the same about her. "I could say the same about you. It's hard to take a fight seriously when the other person isn't giving it their all."
"Well, then." She smiled, her confidence unshaken. "What do you say to another duel?"
I hesitated, my hand still on the gate. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was curious. I wanted to see what she was truly capable of.
"Fine," I said after a moment.
Jen's grin widened, and she turned, raising a hand in a casual wave. "See you soon."
And just like that, she vanished.
-
Royal Palace
Pandemonium City,
Hudsonia Region,
Kingdom of Ashtarium
October 13th 6407
The Palace was in a state of unrest. Every corridor Lilith passed through pulsed with tension. Servants rushed back and forth, arms full of linens, boxes, and fragrant bundles—each of them moving in the same hurried direction, as if caught in the pull of some silent, unseen current.
She had just come from breakfast, where the last five minutes of her meal had been thoroughly ruined by Delilah—Ella's insufferable cousin, who had rambled on about some drivel Lilith had long since stopped pretending to care about.
Lilith couldn't stand the girl. In truth, she couldn't stand most of the people in this gilded cage of a Palace—except for Ariella. The princess had grown on her over the past few days in a way that unsettled Lilith more than she cared to admit.
"I can feel your presence," she snapped, not bothering to slow her pace. One of Sanders' shadows slinked behind a column, silent and watchful. Typical Royal Guard. Lilith scowled. As if she were going to murder someone in broad daylight.
She pressed on, her eyes catching the fresh decorations spreading across the halls—new banners, fresh garlands, polished crests. The Palace was being dressed up for something. It irritated her that she didn't know what.
Eventually, she found herself at the training grounds—the same open-air terrace where Ariella practiced her archery. The young princess stood poised like a born huntress, channeling mana with smooth precision, each arrow loosed with deadly grace. Impossible shots looked effortless in her hands.
Sanders stood nearby, calm and composed, offering advice on refining her mana flow. His voice was low, instructive—like a mentor shaping a blade with words. Lilith was just about to step forward when a familiar chill crept down her spine. She turned sharply.
"Can you not do that?" she muttered, eyeing the man now standing behind her.
King Rafael, in all his silent, smug glory. He chuckled, amused. To him, she probably looked like a stray kitten trying to growl. And maybe, in his eyes, that's all she was.
"I see you're still around," he said casually.
"Yeah, well, I've got nowhere else to go," Lilith replied, crossing her arms. "Your men dragged me into this Kingdom, remember?"
"And?"
She rolled her eyes. "And... It's not that bad," she muttered, reluctant to admit more.
The truth was, her life had improved. She no longer scrounged for meals. She slept on silken sheets instead of cold stone. For once, she wasn't constantly looking over her shoulder in fear of death, though she still kept a knife under her pillow. Just in case.
"What's going on in the Palace?" she asked, glancing toward the flurry of activity once more.
"They're preparing for Remembrance Day," Rafael said, his tone shifting, if only slightly. Lilith frowned. Remembrance Day. She didn't like the sound of that.
"What's that?" Lilith finally asked.
"It's a holiday," King Rafael replied, his voice carrying the weight of memory. "A day to honor the brave souls who came before us—those who died in the ages before this one."
"You mean before the Long War," Lilith said, folding her arms. "Why bother remembering any of it? The past is over. The dead are dead. The living should keep moving forward."
That had been her mantra ever since she'd learned of her father's death. Move forward. Don't look back.
The King gave her a look that made her uncomfortable—not angry, not scolding… just pitiful.
"To understand the past is to walk a wiser path toward the future," he said quietly. "There's meaning in remembering how the world once was, before it was nearly lost."
Lilith narrowed her eyes. "Were you even around back then?"
She knew Rafael was old—very old—but his exact age was still a mystery to her.
The King gave a small, almost nostalgic smile. "I was born during the start of the Crimson Plague."
He turned and began walking. "Come with me, Lilith."
She raised a brow, but followed. As they moved through the corridor, she noticed more Royal Guards trailing in the shadows—silent watchers she'd learned to sense rather than see.
Why does he even need guards? she wondered. He's the most powerful person in the entire kingdom.
They eventually reached an elevator—sleek and quiet—that carried them down into the depths of the Palace. Not the same floor she had been held on when she first arrived, but deeper still… closer to the bowels of the ancient structure.
When the elevator doors finally slid open, Lilith's eyes widened.
The chamber beyond looked nothing like the royal halls above. This place was raw—mechanical. Gutted machines and fragmented vehicles lined the room, their pieces scattered across long metallic benches. Some had been partially reassembled, others left as skeletal remains of a bygone era.
King Rafael stepped inside, shrugging off his crimson-gold coat. Beneath it, he wore a pristine white shirt, its sleeves already rolled to the forearms with practiced ease. He grabbed a smudged apron from a nearby hook and tied it on, then glanced over his shoulder at her.
"Well? Don't just stand there," he said. "Come in."
Lilith hesitated at the threshold, unsure what to make of the space. It smelled faintly of oil, steel, and something old—something real.
"What is this place?" she asked.
"This," Rafael said as he selected a few tools from the bench, "is where I go to stop being a king. Where I can forget, even for a little while, that billions of lives weigh on my shoulders."
He inspected a rusted engine core, brushing away grime with the care of a man cleaning relics from his childhood.
"As a boy, I was obsessed with motorbikes," he said with a trace of warmth. "Not the kind you see today—those sterile machines that drive themselves with programmable codes. No, back then, you were the machine's heart. If you didn't steer it, it didn't move. No override. No safety net."
Lilith stared at him—at this strange contradiction of a monarch who could obliterate armies, yet chose to spend his time tinkering with forgotten machines.
And for the first time, she wondered—what else does a king long to remember that the world has already forgotten?
King Rafael paused as he examined a worn-out component—part of a broken ignition system, by the look of it. He turned it in his hand like it was something precious, not just a lump of forgotten metal.
"I suppose I've always had a fondness for broken things," he said, voice low, almost musing. "Not out of pity… but because when something is broken, it has potential. Not to be what it once was, but to become something new. Something stronger. Wiser."
He glanced at Lilith with a small smile. "These machines... they were left behind. Scrapped. Abandoned when newer, smarter things replaced them. But there's something honest in their simplicity. Every bolt, every wire tells a story. I like figuring out how to make them run again."
Lilith didn't respond, but her gaze softened slightly as she stepped further into the room, watching him work.
"Fixing old tech... it gives me control in a world where I often have none," Rafael continued, his hands steady as he disassembled a piece with delicate precision. "A machine doesn't lie. It doesn't scheme. If it doesn't work, there's a reason. If you understand it, if you listen carefully... you can make it whole again."
He set the part aside, then added, quieter, "People aren't so different, you know. We all break, one way or another. But most don't get the chance to be rebuilt. They're tossed aside, forgotten like these machines."
Lilith felt the words settle into her chest, heavier than she expected. She thought of her father. Of the people she had lost. Of herself.
"Is that why you let me stay?" she asked, her voice almost too quiet to hear.
The King looked at her then—really looked at her. No mockery, no amusement. Just solemn truth.
"I saw someone who hadn't been given the chance to be anything but broken," he said. "And I've never been fond of giving up on things that still have potential."
Lilith didn't know what to say to that. A strange knot formed in her throat, and she hated the feeling of it.
"Whatever," she muttered, crossing her arms again and looking away. "You sound like a sentimental old man."
King Rafael chuckled, the sound deep and unbothered. "Perhaps I am."
Then, with a glint of mischief in his eyes, he held up a half-fixed engine and said, "Now, do you want to learn how to rebuild one of these, or are you going to stand there pretending you're not interested?"
Lilith hesitated… then stepped forward.
"Fine," she muttered. "But if it explodes, I'm blaming you."
"That's fair," Rafael said, grinning as he handed her a wrench. "Let's see what you're made of."
Lilith took the wrench reluctantly, inspecting it like it might bite her. King Rafael moved to the other side of the worktable and began pointing out components—fuel injectors, ignition coils, pistons that had seen better centuries. His tone shifted into something more casual, almost fatherly. There was no lecture in his voice, only the quiet patience of someone who wanted to share what he loved.
"Loosen that bolt there," he said, nodding toward a rusted casing. "Carefully. If it snaps, it'll take the whole system down."
Lilith crouched beside the exposed engine and applied pressure. The bolt creaked, resisting her at first, but after a few tries, it loosened with a soft click.
She blinked. "Huh. That wasn't awful."
Rafael smiled faintly. "There's something satisfying about doing it yourself, isn't there?"
She didn't answer right away, but her lips twitched. They worked in companionable silence for a while. He explained, and she followed. At times, she asked questions—reluctantly at first, but then with growing curiosity. The mess of tangled wires and broken panels began to make a strange sort of sense.
At one point, she looked up at him and said, "This was... kind of peaceful."
"Exactly," Rafael said. "This room doesn't care if I'm a king. Doesn't care if you're a vampire, or a runaway, or a threat. It only asks that you listen and try."
Lilith studied his face. For all his power, there was something worn in his eyes—like the weight of centuries rested quietly behind them. And in that moment, she realized he wasn't just offering her a distraction. He was offering her a place. A pause settled between them. Then Rafael leaned back against the table, wiping his hands clean with a cloth.
"I've been thinking," he said casually. "You don't like feeling like a charity case. I can see that in the way you bristle every time someone brings you food or asks if you need help."
Lilith scoffed. "Because I'm not helpless."
"I know that," he said. "Which is why I'd like to offer you something. Not as a favor. As an opportunity."
He turned to face her fully.
"Join the Royal Guard."
Lilith blinked. "What?"
"You're quick, you're sharp, and you've got instincts most recruits would kill for. With proper training, you could earn a position. It comes with pay, independence, and a purpose. You'd be doing something on your terms, not out of anyone's pity."
She stared at him, caught between suspicion and interest.
"You serious?"
"As a warborn king with a soft spot for motorbikes," he said with a grin. Lilith looked down at the tool in her hand, then back at the broken machine between them. She didn't say yes. Not yet. But something in her posture shifted—no longer just surviving, but considering. And King Rafael said nothing more, letting her sit with the choice.