( Lincoln's POV )
The world stopped moving when I moved.
One moment: council chamber, heat and politics, mana crowding the air.
The next: silence. A wide-open field under a washed-out sky. No wind. No trees. Just space.
And her.
Kali stood exactly where I dropped her. Still bound, still angry, still trying not to look afraid.
I unbound her.
Just like that.
The chains cracked apart. Her aura snapped open with a rush like a wildfire escaping a glass jar. Colorless, aggressive, sharp. She didn't collapse — she braced.
Good.
"You're free," I said.
Her outline was still flickering — not from exhaustion, but rage. Her mana surged, then pulled back like a blade being drawn slow.
"Why?" she asked, voice flat.
"I'm not Lumos," I said simply.
That earned a blink. Just one. Then her mana flared again.
"You're something worse," she muttered.
"Maybe."
I folded my arms behind my back, not bothering to hide my own pressure. It didn't need to loom. It simply existed — a gravity spike she couldn't ignore.
"I'm planning on binding you," I said. "Eventually. I won't force you."
She bared her teeth — not in a smile.
"Oh, how noble."
I ignored it.
"You'll be a war asset. A bonded combatant under my control. Not a pet. Nor some trophy.
Silence stretched. Her breathing stayed even, but I could feel the calculation burning under her skin.
"You're royalty," I continued. "Raised to rule. Praised, probably. Feared. Prodigy. Your mana tells me you're only nineteen. Young for a devil of your rank."
Another twitch. Her hands clenched.
"I know what this feels like," I said. "Being cornered. Watching your fate shaped by someone stronger. Happened to me before i awakened."
"Then uncorner me," she spat.
"No."
I stepped forward once. Just enough for our mana to touch. Hers flared higher. Mine didn't move.
"I'm giving you a choice," I said. "Few people get that when I'm involved."
"Bullshit," she hissed. "You already decided."
I shrugged. "I decide a lot of things. But I don't control your pride."
Another breath. Her shoulders shifted. The fire behind her outline sharpened. Wild. But not reckless.
"Your choices," I said, calmly now. "Submit, and become my bond willingly. Fight me, try to kill me and if you win, you walk. If you lose, the bond's forged by force."
Her aura crackled. No fear now — just fury.
"Or run."
I let that sit.
"All end the same," she said. "You win."
"No," I replied. "One lets you keep your pride. The others don't."
Her mana snapped forward. No warning. No scream.
Just attack.
She chose.
And I smiled.
She didn't hesitate.
I respected that.
The instant the last word left my mouth — submit, fight, or run — she struck.
A deep ripple of dark surged up from the ground at her feet, twisted and sharpened into a whip of raw shadow magic. Fast. Precise. Elegant, even. A prodigy's cast, no wasted motion. Her mana surged as the whip cracked toward my chest — aimed for the heart.
It hit.
And didn't.
The tendril of spellwork stopped inches from my skin — not blocked by a barrier, not deflected by mana.
It collapsed.
Folded in on itself like paper pulled into a black hole.
Kali's eyes widened. "What—"
"It's just my mana pressure," I said quietly. "You're standing inside it."
Her whip scattered into stardust. The pressure field around me shimmered — not visibly, but viscerally. Everything that moved too fast, too sharp, got bent out of its own trajectory before it reached me. If i let if flow outwards that is
The stronger the cast, the more mana i have to let flow.
Kali backed up a single step. Her jaw clenched, expression unreadable for a half-second. Then fury bloomed again. She twisted her hands and sent another wave of spellwork into motion: a flurry of shadow spikes, each splitting from the other mid-air like a spiderweb turned weapon.
They all fell short.
Crushed into the dirt by a weight they couldn't escape.
She snarled, spun, launched herself forward — aiming not to strike me with magic now, but with herself. One clawed hand arcing toward my throat, the other already charging a raw blast of pressure-piercing darkness.
I didn't move.
She never reached me. My mana to dense
Her momentum slowed, like she was running through tar — then her body froze mid-air, suspended an inch above the ground. Not by a force pushing her down.
By one pulling her apart in opposite directions.
I finally moved my hand.
Just one. Flicking my mana pressure off
And let her drop.
She landed hard. Rolled. Came up on one knee, panting — hair wild and messy, blood at the corner of her mouth from biting her own lip.
Then, she laughed.
Dry. Tired. Bitter.
"You're even more powerful than the stories said."
I watched her — not gloating. Just looking. Her body trembled. But her eyes hadn't dulled.
"I've heard many stories," I said. "Most of them exaggerations. So I'm curious. How exaggerated was mine?"
She tilted her head — pride leaking back into her voice.
"Not enough."
I gave a half-smile. Small.
"Yet you're still smiling."
"Because," she said, "There's a group that will beat you."
That got my attention.
I raised an eyebrow. "What group?"
She pushed herself to her feet, swaying only slightly. Her mana pulsed — rebellious even now. Bruised ego masked as defiance.
"They are four devils bred to have the most potential possible and raised only with one objective," she said and than smiled. "To kill lincoln."
I stepped forward, just once.
"Oh really. Would you mind telling me who this group might be? I assume they're bred by a king, your father perhaps, since you're a princess?"
She just shrugged — casual, but not careless.
" I don't see how telling you who this group is helps me but I'll say this." a low sigh came from her mouth. "The Devil King isn't my father."
"Interesting."
I let the silence linger. Her words didn't shake me. But they registered. Power like that… it mattered.
Still, I could see her bones trembling under the effort of staying upright. Her mana wanted to drop. Her pride refused.
"I lost," she said, breathless. "I could attack you all day and it wouldn't matter. So go ahead. Bind me."
She spat to the side. "Just make sure I'm there to watch you die when the day comes."
I didn't answer her right away.
Instead, I reached into the inner seam of my coat and pulled out a ring — small, dark metal threaded with inlaid runes. An old one. Forged during the the last war. I'd used it only once before. To seal a vow of vengeance.
This time, it would serve a more practical purpose.
A bond conduit.
She tensed when she saw it. Her aura flickered — fight, fear, or both. But she didn't move. Not now.
"Bonds don't work like collars," I said flatly. "They need a core. Something real. Something that lasts."
She gave a bitter laugh. "And a ring's your idea of permanence?"
"No," I said. "But it's easy to carry. And I don't lose things."
I stepped forward and placed the ring face down, against her chest, just below the collarbone. Not rough. Not soft. Just done.
Our mana touched.
She flinched.
A low pulse passed between us — hers struggling against mine, mine already enveloping hers like a tide swallowing a spark.
Her body jerked once, like a circuit had closed.
Then the ring glowed briefly — a dull, hollow white — before fading back to iron-black.
It was done.
I stepped back.
No grand flare. No dramatic collapse. Just silence, and the sound of her breathing as the bond finished rooting itself deep inside her.
"You didn't chant," she murmured, voice quieter now. "No blood. No vows."
"I don't need to."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm stronger than you."
She scowled.
To test the seal, I reached out with my mana and tugged gently. Not enough to hurt. Just enough make her move without her own will.
She gasped — she took a step forward because i thought it, i could feel her heartbeat, nervous, her pupils narrowing.
Good. Instant response.
It had taken seven days to link Salem and Annabel — because Salem's will was molten steel and Annabel had been dying.
This?
This was a simple difference in strength.
"Fine," she growled, stepping back, hand rubbing at the spot the ring had touched. "You've got your little leash. Happy?"
"No," I said. "Satisfied."
She gave me a hard look. "I'm not your dog."
"Don't test me Kali, i will make you bark if keep that rude tone."
She opened her mouth. Then shut it again.
Smart.
I turned toward the distant city lights.
"Let's move princess. You have a lot of information I'll need."
Kali followed, a few steps behind.
And the bond — cold, clean, absolute. Now hummed between us like a new blade in a quiet sheath.
The road to my home town Duskmere was always quiet.
Old trees lined the path like sentinels, their canopies folding inward to make a tunnel of green and shadow. Wildflowers grew along the ditchbanks. Somewhere nearby, water moved — not fast, but steady. A stream that fed the soil for miles around.
Kali walked beside me. Reluctant. Silent. Her mana curled inward like a snake coiled in tall grass.
She hadn't spoken since the bond was sealed.
Good.
Words weren't needed.
Not here.
We reached the edge of the village by noon. Low cottages. Stone and clay, wood and moss. Faint outlines of humans. Old ones, mostly. A few children.
Her pupils were darting. Like she wasn't used to seeing civilians with free will.
"You'll bring war back to this place eventually," she said under her breath.
"No," I replied. "I keep it out."
We stepped past the carved fence of the last cottage. Vines grew around the window frames. A small wooden windchime hung near the door, tied with green ribbon. It spun gently as I passed.
Then the door opened.
And she was there.
Hair half-gray, apron stained with broth and smoke, sleeves rolled to the elbows. She wiped her hands on a cloth and smiled so wide her eyes nearly vanished in the creases.
"Lincoln," she said, like it was still strange to see me here. "You're early."
"Hello mother." I said softly. "Stew's ready?"
"Always," she replied.
She stepped aside, and I entered without pause. Kali followed — wary, her hair brushing the edge of the doorway.
My mother noticed.
"Oh," she said, surprised. "She's a pretty one."
Kali blinked — hard.
"I've never seen a girl with horns before," my mother continued, not unkind. "But they suit you. Like a crown."
Kali didn't respond.
I didn't expect her to.
"Only devil's of royalty have horns. Isn't that right princess?"
She nodded her head, her mana felt so small compared to when i arrived at king beren's.
The table was small. Only three chairs. My mother moved to the hearth and stirred the pot once, then ladled thick brown stew into bowls. Mushroom. Onion. Mountain garlic. No meat.
She set a bowl in front of Kali.
"Eat," I said. "You're not going to find humans to chew on here."
Kali narrowed her eyes. "I don't eat fungus."
"You do now."
She sniffed it — then glanced at me like I'd poisoned her.
"I'll kill you," she said, quiet.
"You tried that, also you're bonded to me now, so if you want to keep your permission to speak." I said back, flat. "Eat."
My mother slid a slice of bread onto each of our plates like this was the most ordinary conversation in the world.
Kali took a spoonful.
Steam rose.
She hesitated — then placed it in her mouth.
For half a second, her whole body shuddered. Like mana had shocked through her veins.
Then she swallowed.
"…Not terrible."
My mother laughed, still stirring the pot. "That's a compliment, coming from a devil, I assume."
Kali looked away, biting another spoonful in silence.
The fire crackled low behind us. The smell of woodsmoke mixed with garlic and thyme.
I leaned back in my chair, watching them.
Two women. Worlds apart. One who raised me. One who might one day die by my side.
Neither of them really understood the other.
But in this kitchen, for now, there was no war.
Just a stew. A spoon. And silence I didn't need to fill.
The sun dropped just past the tree line by the time we finished eating.
I stood and scraped the last of the bread into my palm, listening to the fire whisper against the stone. My mother wiped down the table — quiet, efficient, as always. She didn't press. She never did.
Kali sat still. Her bowl was empty. Her shoulders tense but no longer resisting the bond. Her mana had shifted — not softened, but… settled. Just a fraction.
Enough to make note of.
"I'll be gone a while," I said.
My mother paused, hand still on the cloth.
"More than a week?"
"Probably. I need to train her, get answers."
I gestured with a tilt of my head, and Kali's eyes flicked toward me without turning.
"She's useful," I continued. "But not like this, i need her loyalty. she's Stage 0 after all."
That made her turn.
My mother's brow lifted, slightly. she knew better than most that the names behind power rarely mattered. But my emphasis, the weight I'd placed on the word, wasn't lost.
"There's no one else at that level," I said. "No human, elf, or dwarf. Not one."
She nodded slowly. "Except you."
I gave a curt nod.
"If the devils stop waiting and start pushing…" I looked down at the empty bowl. "I can't fight a continent's worth of hellspawn alone. But with another Stage 0, even a new one, I can buy time. Break momentum. Maybe even turn it."
"And you trust her?"
"No," I said.
My mother glanced at Kali — then at me.
"But I control her."
A beat.
"Right," she said, drying her hands.
There wasn't approval in her tone. Not disapproval either. Just a kind of resigned understanding. She'd lived long enough to know power rarely came wrapped in kindness.
Kali stood then, slower than usual. She was listening. Always listening.
Yet she didn't speak up. Smart.
I stepped toward the door, gloved hand on the frame.
"I'll be back when I can," I told my mother. "Might miss a few dinners."
She crossed the kitchen and placed a small cloth bundle in my hand. Bread. Salt. A sprig of dried sage wrapped with twine.
"You always say that."
"I always mean it."
She didn't smile. Just touched my arm.
"Don't let her kill you."
I almost smirked.
"She'd need another decade."
Kali finally spoke — one word, just under her breath.
"More like two."
I let it pass.
Outside, the wind was sharper than before — not cold, but reminding.
War was still far away. But not as far as I liked.
I glanced once over my shoulder — at the quiet cottage, the smoke rising in soft curls, the last safe place in a world that didn't know it was already on fire.
Then I stepped into the dusk.
Kali followed.
And the bond between us, quiet, tight, volatile. Hummed like a fuse waiting to burn.