The echoes in Malerion's room finally settled, fading into a low hum that vibrated under his skin like a second heartbeat.
He didn't try to meditate again.
Didn't try to force the Fifth Ring open.
It wasn't time.
Not yet.
But the decision inside him that quiet, stubborn shift kept pulsing through his chest like a reminder:
You chose.
Now act.
Malerion stood by the window, watching the Lust Ring neon flicker and smear across the wet street below.
Everything looked the same.
But everything felt different.
The hesitation that had lived inside him for years the fear of breaking the canon, the fear of touching certain threads, the fear of stepping on fate's toes had cracked at the edges.
And because of that…
Because of her…
The crack had become a full fracture.
He spoke quietly:
"…I should see her again."
Not whispered questioned.
hidden under caution.
Just truth.
Alastor materialized in his mind like laughter behind an old radio grille:
"Oh, so you've finally decided to stop pretending."
Malerion didn't deny it.
"She wanted answers. I gave her some. But she walked away before she could ask the real questions."
"And you regret it."
…No.
A beat.
…Yes.
Alastor hummed knowingly.
"Attachment is not a weakness, despite what this place teaches.
But it is a risk.
A large one."
I know.
"And yet you still plan to walk straight toward the succubus who has you on her mind?"
Yes.
"Why?"
Malerion didn't answer immediately.
He looked down at his hands the same hands that had carved his territory from nothing, lifted people from gutter-level fear, and protected rising stars from being devoured too early.
Hands that now trembled faintly with the aftershock of awakening power.
…Because hiding isn't living, he said at last.
"And because she deserves to know who's been guarding her shadow."
Alastor chuckled.
"Very poetic. Are you sure it's you talking?"
Shut up.
"As you wish. But there is another reason, isn't there?"
A quiet breath left Malerion's chest.
Not fear.
Recognition.
…She looked at me differently, Alastor.
"Ah. There it is."
It wasn't the look of someone who sees opportunity. Or threat. Or prey.
He remembered the way her eyes had narrowed, searching him, trying to read him and failing the way her tail flicked with irritation and curiosity, the way her aura spiked when she realized he wasn't like anyone else.
"It was the look of someone who sees a question," he murmured.
"And I am tired of running from people who want to understand me."
Alastor's tone softened, rare and almost proud:
"Then go.
Before the Ring eats the courage you managed to grow tonight."
Malerion nodded once.
HE PREPARES TO LEAVE
He changed into a black coat, something plain, nothing that screamed "Sin Rouge authority."
He didn't want to meet her as a leader.
wanted to meet her as himself.
Touched the doorknob then paused.
One more thought flickered through him.
A memory.
Poster on a cracked wall two years ago.
The first time he had seen her name.
Before she knew him.
Noticed him.
Decided to intertwine their paths.
Funny.
How a decision to protect a stranger had brought him here standing on the edge of something new, something dangerous, something real.
He whispered into the dim room:
"…I'm ready."
And for the first time in years…
He meant it.
THE FIFTH RING RESPONDS
As he stepped out of his room, the air trembled softly.
A pulse of resonance slid through his spine
not violent,
overwhelming,
but a promise.
The Fifth Ring was listening.
Waiting.
Growing.
Almost… approving.
Alastor commented:
"She won't be the only thing that changes you, boy. Remember that."
I know, Malerion answered calmly.
But she's the first thing I choose.
INTO THE LUST RING
He walked down the hallway, past the bar, past the lounge, past Quill silently cursing over a sparking machine (which was very likely Malerion's fault), past Donnie counting invoices, past Rafe half-dozing by the door.
None of them stopped him.
Asked where he was going.
Maybe they sensed it.
Knew.
Maybe the district itself whispered his intent like a secret carried through neon.
He stepped into the street.
The night was bright and loud,
but for him it felt strangely quiet.
Focused.
Clear.
He exhaled and felt the last pieces of fear peeling off him like old skin.
This was not about canon anymore.
Was about him.
His life hoices and path.
And the succubus who had unknowingly pulled him across the line he never dared to cross.
Malerion adjusted his coat and began walking toward the district where Verosika's showcase hall was located.
Alastor's final words drifted through his mind:
"Careful. Flames burn."
Malerion's voice was steady, certain:
I'm not afraid of fire.
And he walked straight into the neon-lit night
toward the woman who had become
the first spark
to ever reach him.