"She doesn't look…" I swallowed, the word sticking in my throat like a shard of ice. "…bad."
Grayfia's voice followed, steady and cool as the chamber's shadows. "She is burning."
I turned toward her, confused. "Doesn't look like it."
"That is because the burn is of the soul."
Her tone carried no exaggeration, no metaphor. It was a fact.
I looked back at Lilith, my… mother. The word itself felt foreign, like a garment two sizes too large draped over me. She lay upon the blackstone dais, her body unnaturally still. Not the stillness of rest, but something colder, suspended, as if even time was afraid to touch her.
"If she's doing all this for me…" My voice cracked, low, hesitant. "Why? I'm not worth—"
"Do not finish that thought," Grayfia cut in sharply.
Her interruption startled me. I turned to her, expecting ice, but what I found in her gaze made me falter. Her eyes—silver, unyielding, piercing—fixed on mine with such intensity that I felt the unfinished words retreat back down my throat, smothered before they could escape.
I exhaled slowly. "Alright. I won't finish it." My hands shifted awkwardly at my sides. The thought still lingered, gnawing, but her warning pressed heavier than my doubt.
Her gaze stayed on me a moment longer, sharp as a blade poised at my chest. She wanted me to understand that some things weren't up for debate—not even with myself.
I turned back toward Lilith. Her beauty was haunting. She looked like she had been sculpted from moonlight and shadows, flawless in form, eternal in silence. But beneath that perfection was something wrong. Too still. Too quiet.
I leaned forward, frowning. "Is she… breathing?"
"Yes," Grayfia replied quickly, her tone clipped and precise. "Barely."
I studied her again, searching for the faintest rise of her chest. It was there, but fragile—so subtle it seemed less like breath and more like an echo of what breath used to be.
"She is sustaining herself," Grayfia explained, her words deliberate. "With what remains of her essence. It is like burning furniture to keep a house warm. Eventually, there will be nothing left to burn."
The weight of her words pressed against me, sinking into my ribs.
"So she's… keeping herself alive by consuming her own soul?" I asked quietly. "And no one has found a way to stop it? No one tried to feed her essence, or restore what she's lost?"
Silence hung between us. Grayfia's eyes did not waver, and that silence spoke more loudly than any dismissal could have.
I clenched my jaw. "So there really is nothing."
"It is an incurable condition," she said at last. "A curse of nature itself. Demon Sleep has no reversal. All who fall into it perish."
My chest tightened. "Except her."
"Except her," Grayfia confirmed. Her voice, though steady, carried the faintest thread of reverence. "Because she resists. Because she burns herself to resist."
Her gaze softened in a way I had rarely seen, as though even her stone heart was touched by Lilith's struggle. "She endures for you, Dominic. Even if she never wakes again."
My throat closed around the words that tried to form. "…Why?"
"I have told you before," she said.
I shook my head. "You told me she's enduring for me, yes. But that doesn't explain it. Why sacrifice herself for someone like me? Why hold on, if all she gets for it is suffering?"
Before I could retreat into self-loathing again, Grayfia's hand landed on my shoulder. Cold. Solid. The weight of her touch was unyielding, anchoring me against the tide of thoughts I wanted to drown in.
"You will be worth it," she said firmly.
Not as comfort. Not as hope. As certainty.
Her conviction unsettled me more than her silence ever could. It was like being told the world would end tomorrow, and believing it because the words carried no room for doubt.
I broke eye contact, looking back at Lilith. "So that's why you brought me here. To remind me of what I can't afford to ignore."
Grayfia inclined her head slightly. "To remind you of the stakes. To remind you that you cannot save everyone."
Her words struck differently than before. They weren't harsh, but they cut deep, carving through the illusions I didn't realise I still clung to.
"You believe I'm already thinking of ways to fix this," I said quietly.
"You are," she replied without hesitation. "And that instinct will keep you alive. But you must also learn that not every wound can be healed. Some fires consume until there is nothing left."
Her gaze lingered on Lilith. "If you attempt to extinguish such a fire, you risk destroying the flame entirely."
The chamber seemed colder with each word.
Grayfia finally turned away, her voice softening. "Come. You need to rest. Tomorrow, I will begin your physical training."
I tore my eyes from Lilith with effort. The act felt unnatural, as though leaving her behind was a betrayal in itself. The air felt heavier with each step I took away, as if her presence refused to release me.
"Rest," I repeated, my voice faint. "You expect me to rest after this?"
"You will," she said, not turning to look at me.
"And if I don't?"
Her silver eyes flicked back over her shoulder, calm yet sharp. "You will."
Something in her tone left no space for argument.
I exhaled, surrendering. "Fine. Bed, then."
She led the way out of the chamber, her footsteps measured against the obsidian floor. The moment we crossed the threshold, the air grew colder, less oppressive, as though we had stepped beyond the reach of Lilith's quiet fire.
"You're quiet," Grayfia remarked after a time, her eyes forward.
"I'm thinking," I admitted.
"About what?"
"My mother's curse. The prophecy you seem convinced of. And the fact that my maid thinks bedtime is a matter of strategy."
She stopped, turning slightly. Her expression was unreadable. "And your conclusion?"
"That I can't decide if I'm the luckiest or unluckiest person alive."
A faint twitch crossed her lips, too restrained to be called a smile, yet more than her usual impassivity. "Sleep. We begin at dawn."
"Dawn," I echoed. "Do demons even have dawn?"
"We have the concept," she replied simply. "It is enough."
Her calm composure might have ended there, but it didn't. She halted, turned toward me with precision, and then—
Chu~
The sound was soft, yet it struck me harder than any blow. Her lips brushed the corner of my mouth, deliberate and precise. Not passion. Not comfort. Something deeper, impossible to decipher in a single heartbeat.
I froze. The world tilted. Questions stormed my mind faster than my tongue could form them. Why did she do that? What did it mean? What am I supposed to—
Before the questions could surface, she resumed walking, her tone as steady as ever. "You needed to stop talking."
I stared after her, stunned. "That's your way of shutting me up?"
"It was effective," she said without looking back.
It was. Too effective. The image seared into my thoughts, refusing to fade.
She stopped again before a set of tall, dark doors. "This is your room."
For a moment, the silence stretched. Then the words slipped from my mouth before I could restrain them. "Come, sleep with me."
Her composure faltered—the slightest hitch in her breath, barely audible, yet enough.
"W-What?!" she stammered, cheeks flushed, composure shaken.
I almost laughed, but the sound died in my chest. Instead, I let the moment linger, etching the sight of Grayfia Lucifuge—cold, unbreakable, the Queen of Annihilation herself—losing balance.
"I meant," she said, forcing steadiness back into her tone, "that this is your room. For you. Alone."
I leaned against the doorframe, feigning ease though my heart raced. "That's one interpretation. Mine was warmer."
"Your interpretation is incorrect."
Her face flushed deeper. She turned quickly, her silver hair swaying with the motion. "Rest. I will wake you when it is time."
The door shut behind her with more force than necessary.
I remained where I stood, staring at the polished black wood. Her hurried footsteps faded, leaving me with silence and the lingering weight of her presence.
When I finally entered, the vastness of the room swallowed me. Obsidian floors gleamed under dim light. Tall windows framed by night-black curtains stretched high above. A bed, enormous and cold, awaited in the centre.
I lay back, staring at the canopy.
But silence offered no peace.
The memory of Lilith's faint breathing returned. The invisible burn of her soul. Eighty-seven percent attrition. My System had whispered it, numbers carved into the back of my mind.
Demon Sleep. Incurable. Thousands lost. No survivors.
Except her.
Her who had burned herself away, piece by piece, for me.
"Idiot," I whispered to the ceiling, my voice unsteady. I wasn't sure if I spoke to her. Or to myself. Or to both.
The silence swallowed the word whole, leaving only the weight of what lay ahead.