Ariella
Holly Palace
Raider city
Ardonia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
December 20th 6414
Following the instructions Jack had given me—a formula etched into my mind like a living blueprint—I began the long path of cultivating my Ability Factor. It wasn't instant, but there was progress. Real progress. I could feel my strength growing slowly and steadily like roots deepening beneath the surface. The methods Jack transmitted ranged from deceptively simple to painfully difficult. Each tested a different part of me—mind, body, spirit.
The first step was the most fundamental, yet also the most foreign: communicating with my Ability Factor. It required me to treat my Factor not as a tool or a power, but as a living presence—a core essence intertwined with my soul. Not something I used, but something I became.
To do this, I began with meditation. Deep, still, focused. I entered a trance-like state, directing my awareness inward, not toward my body, but toward something deeper. Something beneath the physical. Using the Boundless Eye's internal sight, I sank into the unseen layers of myself until I reached it:
My Ethereal Gland.
A pulsing metaphysical node behind the veil of my mind, glowing with radiant patterns of gold and violet. And there, coiled at its core like a sleeping celestial storm, was my Boundless Factor—not just space or time or light, but the feeling of limitlessness itself.
It wasn't just power.
It was potential.
And when I reached out to it—truly reached out—it stirred. Not violently, but with recognition. Like it had been waiting for me to notice. That moment changed everything.
The training with Jack didn't just push me to my limits—it redefined them. It wasn't just about honing my Ability Factor or learning to control the Boundless Eye. Jack was a physical monster, and every session reminded me of that brutal fact.
Even when I activated my battle aura and channeled my most refined sword and bow arts, it didn't matter. That damn pinky of his could still deflect, disrupt, and dismantle my attacks like I was some untrained novice.
And yet—I didn't quit.
Each failure taught me something. Each fall hardened my resolve. I could feel it—my body adapting, strengthening. My muscle fibers thickened with spiritual resilience. My reflexes sharpened. Even my breath control synced better with my mana flow. I was slowly but surely evolving as a Body Cultivator.
It was during one of those training sessions—after getting knocked on my ass again—that it clicked. There was more to mana arts than just flowing energy. At their core was something far more intricate, more fundamental: the Mystic Formula.
I'd heard the term before, but I'd never felt it until now. It wasn't just a concept. It was a living framework, engraved into my body and soul through repetition, failure, and will. The Mystic Formula was what transformed raw mana into a refined, purpose-driven force. Without it, mana was just potential. With it, mana became art.
The more I trained, the more I began to sense the structure of these formulas—not just in my attacks, but in the way I moved, breathed, and focused. I saw the threads behind every Aura Art, every Reinforcement technique, and every radiant attack. I felt the framework aligning itself within me.
At the heart of every Mystic Formula were four key elements. I didn't need Jack to spell them out—I could feel them in my core: There was one's Intent—the will behind the strike. Without it, mana scattered like mist. But focused intent? It turned an arrow into a verdict. Manasoma—the harmony of mana and body. A true fusion. It wasn't enough to guide mana through the body; the body had to become its vessel, its home. That fusion made every movement alive.
Energy Code—the symbolic structure or matrix that shapes the technique's function. At lower levels, you needed to visualize it—see the sigils, trace the circuits. But I was beginning to feel them automatically, forming behind my actions like muscle memory laced with light.
And finally, Soul Signature—the unique spiritual imprint that made every technique mine. No two people could cast the same art in the same way, because their souls' resonance shaped the outcome. That's why, beyond the fundamentals of Reinforcement Art, every practitioner's Mana Arts eventually diverged. Even if two people learned the same technique, their execution would vary because their Mystic Formulas weren't identical. Each one was shaped by intent, body, energy, and soul.
Together, those four elements didn't just form the skeleton of a technique. They formed their soul. And I was learning how to wield that soul—how to shape it, own it, make it sing in harmony with me.
Every time Jack knocked me down, I got up with more than just bruises. I rose with a deeper understanding of the battle art my family had refined over millennia. Strike by strike, I was beginning to decipher its language—its rhythm, its pulse. But that realization came with another: If the Mystic Formula could be rewritten...Then I could craft my own. Variations. Hybrids. Entirely new techniques forged from the foundation of everything I'd inherited.
It wouldn't be easy. I'd have to master the full range of basic Mana Arts first—learn their patterns, break down their codes—and then dissect the Ashtarmel and Lionheart battle arts layer by layer. Only then could I rebuild them into something that belonged to me, something aligned with my instincts, my style, my Boundless Factor.
That thought struck me as I was sent flying again—my body flipping through the air, momentum slamming me roughly three feet from where Jack stood. And yet, as I hit the ground and exhaled, something clicked.
Here, inside my domain, inside Endless Reign… everything was clear. The world bent with me, not against me. The rules were more malleable. My mind was sharper. My intuition—louder. If I were going to create my Mystic Formulas…Then this—my domain—was where they would be born.
I told Jack about my decision to rewrite the Mystic Formula that formed the core of my family's Mana Arts and forge something new. A personal battle art. One that reflected me.
Jack raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed. "Bold move," he said. "While Mana Arts are considered simpler than Magic, don't let that fool you. At their peak, they're just as complex, especially when someone tries to create their variation."
He folded his arms, his voice thoughtful. "That's why most Mana artists stick to the standard techniques. Master the basics, adapt them slightly, maybe fuse them with their Ability Factor—that's the common route. Practical. Efficient." He looked me over with something like approval. "But abandoning the standard foundation entirely? Choosing to build your own from scratch? That's the path of genius."
I scoffed softly. "I don't think I'm a genius, Jack. It's just... I don't know. I feel like inside my domain, Endless Reign, things make more sense. Like I'm meant to create something there."
Jack gave me a flat look. "You are a genius."
I blinked. "Jack—"
"No, listen," he cut in. "You awakened your soul core at the age of eight, without relying on your Vampiric bloodline. You started cultivating from that moment on. Then your vampirism manifested early, years before it was supposed to. And let's not forget—you inherited the Lionheart clan's martial legacy. The battle instincts, the runic physiology. That doesn't happen by chance. Don't sell yourself short."
I glanced away. "The Lionhearts, huh…"
My voice dropped, quieter now. "You know... I've never actually met any of my mother's family. They never visited the capital, and she never took me to Kettlia. Even when we were on the run... we passed through the region, stayed near their lands—but I never saw them. Never met them."
I paused, the weight of it sinking in.
"I know nothing about them. Just the fragments of their battle arts, my mother managed to teach me before she died. And honestly... it wasn't much."
"Don't worry," Jack said calmly. "You'll be visiting the Lionhearts soon enough."
I looked at him, uncertain.
"If you're serious about reclaiming your throne," he continued, "you're going to need the support of your mother's clan. The Lionhearts may be distant, but they're still your blood. I've already made plans for you to link up with them. When the time is right, it'll happen."
I hesitated. "Do... do you really think they'll help me?"
"Why wouldn't they?" Jack replied without missing a beat.
"Because I'm a Vampire," I said flatly. "They're human."
There it was—the divide I'd never been able to ignore. "I'm not a pure Benandanti."
The word felt heavy in my mouth. The Benandanti—one of the original tribes of true Manaborns. Unlike other humans who gained access to mana through accidents, mutations, or catastrophic events like the Crimson Virus, the Benandanti had always been different. They didn't stumble into mana—they were born to it. Their bloodlines ran deep, their traditions even deeper.
They stood alongside the greatest Manaborn races since the age of legends.
And the Lionhearts? They were just one family among many within the tribe. A powerful one, yes—but not the only one.
And yet... I knew nothing about them.
Nothing about their customs. Their loyalties. Their views on hybrids like me.
Everything I had came from my mother—scraps of martial training, fragments of ancient battle arts, bedtime stories half-finished. She never talked about them, never took me to their lands. Even when we passed through Kettlia while on the run, I never once saw the Lionheart stronghold. They were a legacy I carried in blood-but not in name and experience.
"The Lionhearts are more than just human," Jack said, glancing over his shoulder. "According to some old family rumors, they're... more dragon than man."
I raised an eyebrow. "Aren't they blessed by the Dragon God?"
That much I already knew. It was part of what made the Benandanti so dangerous—like Lilith and Eduardo, they weren't just Manaborn. They were born under Divine Protection. Specifically, the Lionhearts were said to be chosen by the Divine Dragon God—the eternal guardian of war, strength, and sovereignty.
Jack nodded. "Yes. But among the Benandanti clans, the Lionhearts are... different. More than just blessed. There's something deeper in their blood—older. You'll see it for yourself when you finally meet them."
"Sure," I muttered, though my voice lacked conviction.
He didn't press it.
Instead, he glanced down at the bow slung across my back—Noct Aeturnum—and shifted gears.
"In the meantime," he said, turning toward the door, "if you're serious about forging your own battle art—separate from the Lionhearts or the Ashtarmels—then that bow needs to become more than just a keepsake. Start by drawing out its true power."
Then he was gone.
I looked down at the weapon in my hands. Noct Aeturnum. A gift from Lil that i treasured deeply. I knew—felt—there was more to it than what I'd seen so far. When I was pushed to the brink, it resonated with me. That resonance had been the spark that allowed my Ability Factor to awaken in the first place.
And yet... while I was growing stronger with every passing day, the bow remained unchanged. Dormant. Still black-gold. Still veiled. But it was only a matter of time. I tightened my grip on the handle, the weight of potential humming quietly beneath the surface.
****
By the time dinner was over, I was back in my room—sitting cross-legged on the floor, lost in meditation. The lights were dim, the silence heavy, broken only by my slow, even breaths. My body still ached faintly from the earlier sparring, but I welcomed it. Pain meant growth.
As I sank deeper into focus, I let my muscle memory replay everything I'd experienced in my fight with Jack. Every strike, every fall, every correction. My mind sifted through the movements like a puzzle slowly solving itself. Layer by layer, my understanding of Mana Arts sharpened.
Tonight, I was reflecting on the Reinforcement Art—a foundational branch of Mana Art techniques. Though often overlooked compared to flashy elemental spells or specialized abilities, Reinforcement was a battlefield staple. Pure utility turned into form.
It came in four core techniques.
The first was the Movement Technique, known as Rapid Step. It enhanced footwork, reflexes, and acceleration—allowing the practitioner to move with supernatural speed and fluidity. What made it so versatile was how it evolved based on the user's talent and affinity.
For me, it had become second nature.
Thanks to my Crimson Flash Sword Art, I had long since internalized its core mechanics. My Rapid Step wasn't just a movement enhancer—it had become an instinct. My body moved before thought, dashing, pivoting, disappearing in red streaks of light.
Then came the Power Technique, called Validus. It was designed to amplify raw strength, durability, and the impact behind attacks. Ideal for humans or races that lacked innate physical dominance—like early-stage mages or spellcasters. Ironically, it had also been popularized by the very beings who needed it least: Vampires, Lycans, and Dragons. For them, mastering Validus meant converting their monstrous potential into refined devastation.
But for me? It had always felt… optional.
I was a Vampire. More than that—an Oldblood, born of Royal lineage and steeped in body cultivation. My strength had never been in question. I didn't need to reinforce what already overwhelmed. As a result, I hadn't devoted much time to mastering Validus. I never needed it.
But now, I was starting to think that was a mistake. Power was no longer just about brute force. It was about efficiency, control, and adaptability. Jack had shown me that. He didn't just overpower me—he outmaneuvered the way I used my strength. And that meant I had to evolve.
Beyond Rapid Step and Validus, two more techniques completed the core of Reinforcement Art.
The third was Skyfall—a technique that enhanced agility and enabled flight. Unlike Rapid Step, which kept your feet on the ground, Skyfall was designed for vertical freedom. It reshaped how you moved through space, granting swift aerial maneuverability and multidirectional burst control.
I hadn't mastered it yet, but I'd used fragments of it instinctively—small leaps, brief glides. Nothing near true flight. Not yet. But inside Endless Reign, where gravity and space obeyed me differently, I felt like Skyfall would eventually become more than a movement art. It could become an extension of my domain itself.
Then there was the fourth and most subtle technique—Full Guard.
Unlike the others, Full Guard didn't enhance outward action. It turned focus inward. Heightened awareness. Sharpened reflexes. The enhancement of internal sense. It let you feel the flow of battle before it arrived. Hear the breath of an enemy before they struck. Sense energy shifts before spells ignited.
It wasn't flashy—but it was vital. Especially for someone like me, whose Boundless Eye and domain relied on perception. I realized I'd barely scratched the surface of what Full Guard could offer. With proper mastery, it could link directly into my Mystic Eye—bridging the physical and metaphysical into a single, seamless awareness. I wouldn't just react to attacks.
I'd see them before they happened.
I opened my eyes slowly, the lingering warmth of mana humming beneath my skin. Four techniques. Four pillars. That was the foundation of Reinforcement Art—my foundation. And if I was going to rewrite the Mystic Formula and craft a battle art of my own, I couldn't afford to leave any of them incomplete.
Rapid Step—mastered. Validus—underutilized, but understood. Skyfall—raw potential, barely tapped. Full Guard—unexplored, but perfectly aligned with my path. I set my goal in stone: I would master all four.
Not in isolation. Not as fragmented techniques. But as a complete system—a unified style that resonated with my Boundless Factor. Each technique would become an extension of my domain, a piece of Endless Reign's evolving law.
I closed my eyes again, steadying my breath as I prepared to enter my soul realm. That was where I trained at my deepest level, where I could spar against my own echoes, refine formulas in slow time, and commune with the core of my Ability Factor.
But just as my consciousness began to descend inward—just as I felt the first strands of spiritual immersion—
Boom.
The entire building shuddered. My eyes snapped open. A dull red glow flashed through the window. Distant screams echoed from the outer halls. Then another explosion—closer this time. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Without thinking, I grabbed Noct Aeturnum. My mana surged through my limbs on instinct. I pushed open the door to the hallway—and was met with chaos. Flames. Shattered stone. And shadows streaking through the corridors.
We were under attack.
The moment my foot crossed the threshold, instinct screamed. I spun—just in time. A deadly presence surged from behind. I leapt aside, landing in a rough roll, already drawing Noct Aeturnum into position. My fingers moved on reflex. The mana arrow loosed before thought could catch up, slicing through the air with pinpoint precision.
A flash of steel answered it.
The arrow shattered mid-flight, deflected by a curved blade. The attacker stepped into view—clad in matte-black armor, every inch of them covered. A sleek helmet masked their face, but I didn't need to see it to feel the killing intent pouring off them.
In their hand: a chakram blade, its edge humming with embedded mana. Without hesitation, they hurled it at me.
I didn't flinch. My breath slowed, and I summoned Endless Reign. In an instant, my domain expanded—an invisible pulse that flooded the room. The air shifted. Space bent. Within my territory, I dictated the rules.
The assassin faltered, their body stiffening as Endless Reign's pressure settled over them. The chakram's velocity dipped, its arc losing some of its deadly momentum. I stepped forward, calm now. My bow met the spinning blade and—clang—deflected it cleanly to the side.
They realized too late—they had entered my space. I nocked an arrow into Noct Aeturnum, the bow responding with a hum that resonated deep in my bones. I channeled one of its exclusive techniques—Eclipse Snare. The air around the arrowhead darkened as it shimmered with threads of voidlight—an entangling snare woven from strands that devoured illumination, designed to bind and cripple.
But the assassin moved first.
With a sharp clap of his arms, a surge of mana exploded from his body. His aura crackled like rupturing glass. A radiant glyph—a complex geometric framework—formed between his clasped palms, and from it erupted a blinding beam of light. He advanced as he cast, unphased by the demands of movement and spellwork. A martial artist trained for warfare. Precision. Efficiency.
And speed.
Too fast.
Eclipse Snare required a charge time—too long to track someone like him. Each second I aimed was an eternity he wouldn't grant me.
I dropped low, breath tight, and activated Rapid Step. The world blurred. My feet struck the ground in a pattern honed through training, and I weaved through the light beam's path with narrow margins. The air scorched past my cheek. No time to hesitate.
My Boundless Eyes flared.
Through their vision, I perceived not just movement—but the pathways of light themselves. Invisible to normal perception, these pathways bent and flowed around spatial distortions. My arrow didn't need to aim at the assassin—I could let it follow the flow.
I released.
The mana arrow launched, not as a simple projectile, but as a ripple that warped space with every pulse. The assassin tracked it instantly, prepared to evade.
And then—it vanished.
Snuffed from reality mid-flight.
The assassin paused, his breath steadying. His body relaxed just enough to signal confidence. He reached behind him and drew a second chakram blade, gleaming with crimson light. The shift in his stance told me everything—he intended to end it. His aura surged in defiance, pushing back against my domain like a blade slicing through silk.
He lunged.
And that was when the arrow reappeared.
Silent. Precise. Ruthless.
It emerged from behind him—phasing back into existence through warped space—and pierced through his back, exploding out his chest with a sharp crack of shattering bone and light.
His body jerked forward, the chakram slipping from his fingers with a dull clatter. I stood my ground, Noct Aeturnum still drawn, gaze locked on the fading shimmer of his aura. He was already ensnared—Eclipse Snare had bloomed in full, its web of lightless strands coiling around him like a sentient trap. It didn't just absorb light—it fed on mana, draining every drop of power from its victim. The more he struggled, the tighter the net constricted.
His limbs trembled but offered no resistance now. The fight was over.
I approached cautiously, my instincts sharp despite the victory. Kneeling beside him, I reached for the matte-black helmet and unclasped it. A faint hiss escaped as the seals broke. I pulled it free—
—and froze.
"Emmett Levine," I breathed.
The face beneath the helm was unmistakable. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dim, but I would never forget that sharp jawline or the scar near his brow.
A Royal Enforcer. R.E.T.U. One of the elite. He wasn't just any soldier—he was a former Royal Guard… one of the men assigned to watch over me during my childhood in the palace.
What was he doing here?
Why had he tried to kill me?
The weight of betrayal hit like a blow to the ribs, but I steadied myself, tightening my grip on the bow. This wasn't just an attack. This was a message. And I needed to know who sent it.
But then, everything changed.
The ambient energy in the room twisted, vibrating with unnatural pressure. Emmet's dim eyes suddenly flared—no longer dull, but brimming with raw, unstable mana. A surge of power erupted from his body, blasting me across the room. My domain, Endless Reign, collapsed under the weight of the detonation, shredded like paper in a storm.
I hit the floor hard, skidding back as shards of mana tore through the air. Emmet's body trembled violently, yet he remained standing, arms slack, head tilted. Mana leaked from his pores in strands—dark, unstable, and unrefined. His eyes were glassy, vacant, like he wasn't there anymore. Like something—or someone—had taken his body as a puppet.
And then, he looked at me.
But the voice that came from his mouth wasn't his.
"There you are, Ashtarmel."
Cold. Measured. Possessive.
He raised his hand, and mana spiraled into a lance, preparing to strike. His body launched forward—fast and direct—but before he could reach me, the wall exploded inward in a shower of debris and dust.
A blur of muscle and fur tore through the chaos. A monstrous wolf—black and shaggy, built like a tank—slammed into Emmet mid-air, its powerful jaws clamping down on his neck. The crunch was sickening. Reinforced teeth sank through flesh and bone, blood spraying across the wall like ink from a shattered pen.
I blinked, stunned, as the creature landed between me and Emmet's twitching body. Towering. Massive. The size of a bear, but sleek and lethal like a predator bred for war. Its fur rippled with strength, muscle coiled beneath every step.
Then the wolf turned slightly, and I recognized him.
"…Ben," I whispered.
-
Royal Palace
Pandemonium city, Royal capital city
Hudsonia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
April 17th 6412
Lilith sat in the Royal Guard's main operations office, hunched over a stack of files spread across the desk in front of her. The room was dimly lit, quiet but for the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional crackle from the enchanted lantern on the wall. She was deep in analysis, reviewing intel she had gathered during her recent trip to King's Crown City.
Though Zohan Amadi's memories had led her to the building where the Broker once made contact, the location had long since been scrubbed clean. No lingering traces of mana, no physical evidence, no residual echoes—nothing. It was like the place had never existed.
Now, she was combing through building records, searching for any lead on who had leased or operated in that space over the past few years. Alias names, false companies, shell registrations—so far, all dead ends. She let out a quiet sigh and leaned back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
No progress. Again.
Her thoughts drifted—unwillingly—to the events of the day. Soon, the Prince of Xibalba would arrive. And with him, the Queen Consort Rosa Mircalla. A formal dinner had been arranged to welcome their esteemed guests. Lilith had already seen the guard protocols, the seating charts, and the guest list.
It wasn't just another political event. It was a stage. One where every word, every glance, every pause in conversation would be measured—and Ariella would be at the center of it.
Lilith's jaw tensed.
She turned back to the files, but her focus was fraying. Somewhere between duty and instinct, a storm was beginning to stir.
Lilith stepped out of her office, file in hand, the door clicking shut behind her as she prepared to head toward the southern wing of the palace. Her mind was still occupied with dead leads and hollow files when the muffled sound of laughter echoed from the corridor ahead.
A moment later, a group of Royal Guards turned the corner—talking loudly, laughing amongst themselves. There were seven in total, dressed in the crisp crimson-black uniform of the Royal Guard, each bearing the seal of House Ashtarmel on their shoulder pauldrons. Most of them were Vampires, their auras cold and disciplined, while two among them were Manaborn humans, their power simmering just beneath the surface.
All of them were Ascendants, ranging from Adept to Warrior Realm—seasoned, confident, and dangerous in their own right. As soon as they saw her, the mood shifted. The laughter faded. The banter stopped. Half-smirks vanished into guarded silence.
Lilith walked past them without pause, her expression unreadable, though she noticed the way their gazes lingered—half-curious, half-measuring. She had never been part of their circle. Despite wearing the same uniform, she was younger, more reserved, and Non-awakened. A Manaborn with no cultivation, yet treated like she was special due to the special relationship she had with the Princess and the King.
That hadn't made her many friends.
And she hadn't needed any.
But one of them stepped forward anyway, peeling away from the group with a lopsided grin.
"Hey, Lilith," called Emmett Levine, casually tossing a chakram from one hand to the other. The other rested on the strap of the twin-blade harness slung across his back. His jawline was as sharp as ever and his brown hair, a tousled mess, that fell into his eyes with no care for regulation, hiding the scar on his brow. "You heading towards the briefing for tonight?"
Lilith slowed, turning just slightly to face him.
"Emmett."
She gave him a nod—neither cold nor warm. Lilith had never been particularly close with the other Royal Guards. Most of them were years older than her—veterans with long service records, many bonded to noble houses. Even as a Non-Awakened Manaborn, Lilith carried within her an edge of superiority that didn't win her many allies.
She didn't need their approval. And they didn't offer it. Well—except for Emmet Levine.
He had always been different. Friendly, but not in a fake way. Curious without being intrusive. He didn't shrink under her cold demeanor, nor did he challenge it. He just… talked. As if he didn't care who she was supposed to be.
He smiled wider, undeterred. "Big night. Xibalba's royalty showing up, seems it's all the palace can talk about."
"Huh uh," Lilith said. I made a move towards the south wing, when Emmett called out to me.
"That's not the way to the briefing room." He said.
"Need to get to the South wing," she said. "Surveillance pre-check. I need to verify the shield lattice for the banquet chamber."
He gave a half-nod. "Figures. Well, see you at the banquet."
Lilith nodded while she kept on her walk. Behind her, the guards resumed their conversation, quieter this time. She moved through the palace corridors with silent purpose, her boots barely making a sound on the polished marble floors. The guards she passed offered brief nods, which she returned with the same calm restraint that had become her signature. No wasted words. No unnecessary gestures.
As she approached the banquet hall, the ambient mana of the palace began to shift. The royal engineers and arcane technicians had already begun tuning the shield lattice—a complex web of protective enchantments woven into the structure itself. These shields didn't just defend against physical threats—they filtered psychic interference, illusion, toxin dispersal, even time-displacement techniques.
Exactly the kind of layers a gathering like tonight's would demand.
A state dinner welcoming the Prince of Xibalba and Queen Consort Rosa Mircalla wasn't just a show of diplomacy—it was a high-risk convergence of ancient power, political tension, and unpredictable bloodlines. Which meant every line of defense mattered.
Lilith arrived at the banquet hall doors and placed her palm against the mana-lock panel. It pulsed with violet light, recognized her authority, and opened with a quiet hiss.
Inside, the hall was already partially prepared—gleaming silver chandeliers hovered high above, their crystal cores humming with stored light mana. Rows of long tables, still bare, were being aligned by royal staff under the supervision of two Wardens and a Court Architect. At the far end, the high dais—where the King, Queen, and honored guests would sit—was surrounded by half-raised barrier fields in mid-configuration.
Lilith's eyes swept the room with practiced precision.
Two ventilation ducts—one too wide. Three mana flow points—none warded for reversed channels yet. The stage had no underlayer ward. And the left servant access hall hadn't been fitted with a single pressure seal.
Sloppy.
She tapped her comm-uni and murmured, "Guard Captain, this is Lilith. I'm beginning my sweep of the banquet hall. We need a secondary ward team dispatched—shield lattice is incomplete."
A moment later, a calm voice responded through the link. "Understood. Support en route."
She deactivated the device and walked forward, already drawing her own scanning device—a slim, wand-like device engraved with her personal resonance code. With a simple flick, it began to shimmer, detecting magical imbalances, active enchantments, and invisible spatial tethers.
Lilith made quick work of the initial scans, muttering occasional commands to the staff as she worked.
"Widen the radius on that anti-charm field—someone will trigger it just by breathing wrong."
"Don't link the shadow wards to the chandelier mounts. I want them anchored independently."
"Swap those escort mana lines from direct to indirect routing. Too easy to overload."
As she moved along the perimeter, her instincts hummed. Not from danger—yet—but from the weight of significance. Something was brewing. She could feel it in the way the walls vibrated beneath her fingers. Like the palace itself was holding its breath. Lilith paused at the far end of the hall, her gaze lifting to the high seat where Ariella would be seated tonight.
So much attention. So many agendas. And too many hands trying to shape her fate. Lilith's grip tightened around the scanning device.
Not while I'm still breathing.