"What a coincidence, Mr. Bane. Or perhaps…" Isaldora's lips curved into a cool, sidelong smirk, "…you're following me." Her eyes held his with amusement. She looked him over, Damn, though. How could he just look so handsome?
Kaelith just chuckled lowly and slid into the seat across from her as though it had been waiting for him.
Her brow arched at his audacity, but she played it cool.
Isaldora leaned back in her chair, studying him with a guarded ease. "You seem pretty comfortable making yourself at home, Mr. Bane. Should I start charging rent?"
Kaelith's mouth twitched, amused. "Only if it comes with your company."
She rolled her eyes, but couldn't fully fight the smile threatening her lips. "Flattery doesn't work on me."
"Good," he replied smoothly, settling in. "Then let's talk about something that does work—business."
That caught her interest. Now he had her attention. She tilted her head, letting him continue.
"I've been keeping tabs on your company. Impressive. Perhaps… we could consider a collaboration between Aether and Duskhowl's ventures. Strength meets vision. Could be mutually beneficial."
She studied him, silent for a beat, fingers lightly tapping her cup. Finally, she gave a slight nod. "Perhaps. I'll consider it."
He smirked like he'd expected that answer. But before he could say more, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen and exhaled. Perfect timing, he thought dryly. His client had arrived.
"Duty calls," he said, rising with that same unshaken composure. "I'll look forward to your answer."
"Of course," she replied smoothly. "Until next time, Mr. Bane."
"Until next time, Ms. Aether." His eyes held hers a second longer than necessary before he turned and walked out.
She watched him go, a faint smile playing on her lips before she shook it away. Then her own phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, and the ease drained from her face; her expression turned grim.
She didn't even bother finishing her coffee. Instead, she pulled a few bills from her purse, tossed them on the table, stood up, and left without looking back.
——
Screams ripped through the trees, sharp and desperate, before becoming just background noise. The forest was pure chaos. The Emberthorn coven's base was falling apart—collapsing into itself, stones cracking, fire eating up everything. The air was thick with smoke and the coppery scent of blood.
And right through the middle of it, Isaldora walked like she didn't have a care in the world. Not a single speck of dirt got on her. Her hood hid most of her face, but her silver eyes glinted from the shadows. She looked completely calm while everything around her burned.
From her peripheral view, she saw a witch come screaming out of the smoke, a whip of fire cracking in his hand. Isaldora didn't even turn her head. She just flicked her wrist and a blade of silver light shot out—shhhink— cutting the man clean in half before his scream even left his lips. He hit the ground in two pieces.
Then another one charged her like a bull, destructive magic—a storm of red, claw-like energy—swirled around his fists, tearing gouges in the earth as he ran. Isaldora's lips curled into a faint, cruel smirk. One moment she was in front of him; in the blur of the next, she was behind him. A sword appeared in her hand out of nowhere. One clean swing and his head hit the dirt, rolling like a messed-up bowling ball.
She didn't even break a sweat. Spells that were supposed to burn or trap her just fizzled out before they could even touch her, like they hit some invisible bubble around her. She walked through all their attacks like it was nothing, her steps light and sure.
[FLASHBACK – AFTER THE CAFÉ]
Isaldora stood by the window, arms crossed, while one of her girls shifted nervously in the chair. She had rushed back the moment Renna's message came through—one of the girls picked up something about Aetherwyn.
Though none of them knew what Aetherwyn truly was — she had made her instructions damn clear to report any whisper, any shred of information, anything tied to it to her at once. That was the job. That was their job. What they didn't know—neither Renna nor the girls—was that every man they were to entertain belonged to the supernatural world.
The girl cleared her throat. "He was completely wasted. Had a big mouth, actually. He just started bragging and couldn't stop himself."
Isaldora said nothing. Just stared at the girl; her patience was thinning.
"He said he was from some coven… Ember-something." The girl squinted, trying to recall. "Emberthorn, I think? He kept going on about his 'glory days,' said they were part of… a royal fall? Yeah. Something about Aether—"
"Aetherwyn," Isaldora cut in.
"Yeah. That. Said the royals trusted them. Said they were too dumb for their own good."
Isaldora's fists clenched at her sides, her knuckles turning white. The Emberthorn Coven. Her parents had considered them among their most loyal allies.
The girl bit her lip, looking down at her hands. "I don't really understand it, but he mentioned deals. Breaking barriers. Magic seals, something like that." She swallowed hard, sensing the dangerous shift in the room's energy. "Is that… important?"
"Very," Isaldora replied, her tone clipped and final.
[PRESENT – EMBERTHORN RUINS]
The last few witches stumbled, backing up, bleeding, and scared. Desperation etched clearly on their faces, they joined hands, their voices cracking as they tried to chant a collective shield spell.
Isaldora didn't break her stride. She stepped directly into their circle, and their magic flickered. It didn't just fail—it got drained by her presence. They froze, leaving their mouths hanging open in horror.
Their high priestess fell to her knees, blood running down her face from the deep gash. She lifted a trembling hand toward her. "Please… I beg you… mercy—"
Isaldora slowly crouched down until her face was level with the weeping woman's.
"Mercy?" Her voice was a soft, almost gentle whisper, which made its emptiness all the more terrifying.
"You betrayed your king. You betrayed your queen. You helped burn the ones who trusted you. And now you dare ask me for mercy?"
The priestess whimpered, sobbing, shaking her head in despair.
"There is no mercy," Isaldora whispered, her silver eyes narrowing into cold, sharp slits. "There are only consequences for the traitors."
She flicked her fingers, and an invisible force slammed into the witches as they began to convulse. Bones snapped like dry twigs. Their bodies bent in ways they shouldn't, ribs tearing through skin, skulls collapsing with wet crunches. Blood sprayed across the ground in thick, wet spatters.
One witch tried to crawl away, dragging what was left of herself across the ground. Isaldora turned her wrist. The woman's spine arched until it broke in three places—crack, crack, crack—the sound echoing like breaking firewood. She dropped to the ground, twitching once before going still.
The Emberthorn burned the same way Aetherwyn once had, and Isaldora felt nothing but a cold, quiet satisfaction. She stood in the center of the carnage, the only thing still standing amidst the gore
She held up her hand, turning it slowly under the dim, smoky light. She was examining her once-polished nails with a scowl. They were covered with blood that was beginning to dry.
"Ugh, are you kidding me?" she muttered with a disappointed pout.
"I just got an expensive manicure the day before yesterday. Blood is such a pain to get out from under the nails."
She delicately stepped over a body that had been split wide open, careful not to get her boots dirty. She tiptoed around the viscera as if it were a puddle on the sidewalk. A twisted, cold smile played on her lips.
"Guess I'll have to spend another whole day at the spa," she sighed, as though mildly inconvenienced by the slaughter she'd just delivered. "Maybe I'll even treat myself to a massage. I did all the work today, after all."
She didn't look back at the destruction. She didn't spare a single thought for the lives she'd just ended. They were traitors. They were stains. And now they were gone. All that mattered was the mess they'd left on her hands.