A full year had passed since the night Pride Ring trembled with Paimon's judgment.
And in Lust Ring, hidden beneath the neon glow and cheap perfume haze, something else had been growing quietly steadily dangerously.
Ouroboros.
Malerion stood inside the expanded Sin Rouge command room, hands clasped behind his back as he looked over the new holographic layout Quill had installed.
Three rings now glowed before him:
Lust. Wrath. Envy
Three footholds, networks, territories stitched together in silence.
He exhaled.
It had been a productive year.
THE NEW INNER CIRCLE
Doors opened and the core members filtered in.
Rafe came first, sharp suit, sharper eyes.
He dropped a thick dossier onto the table.
"Three-Ring Network is stable," he reported. "Lust remains our headquarters. Envy is compliant. Wrath is… manageable."
"Manageable means what?" Malerion asked.
"That I bribed the right people," Rafe replied, "and threatened the rest."
Then Liza stepped in, dressed in black, every movement quiet and precise.
The leader of the Silent Division.
"I've established eight infiltration cells," she said.
"Five in Lust, two in Envy, one in Wrath.
No one suspects they're connected."
Dreg leaned against the wall, massive, scarred, calm as a battlefield after victory.
"The Iron Circle is trained and ready," he said.
"If war comes, we won't be the ones bleeding."
Skit and Bit slipped in behind him, arguing as usual.
"We got informants!"
"Yeah, like twelve!"
"…Six."
"…FINE six!"
Malerion didn't smile, but his eyes warmed.
These were his people.
His Ouroboros.
And they had flourished under the pressure of the last year.
QUILL'S NEW SYSTEM
Quill finally arrived, pushing a large crate that hummed with soft energy.
"This," he said dramatically, patting the crate,
"is the third generation Resonance Shielding Array.
It masks your power spikes even if you sneeze wrong."
"I don't sneeze wrong."
"You do when you break reality," Quill muttered.
The group laughed softly, carefully, the way soldiers laugh when they trust their commander.
Malerion allowed himself a breath.
Everything was moving according to plan.
And then
Footsteps behind him.
Light, rhythmic, familiar.
He Didn't turn.
Didn't need to.
VEROSIKA'S ENTRANCE
"Wow," Verosika drawled from the doorway,
"every time I show up here it looks more like a secret empire."
Rafe choked on air.
Skit and Bit froze.
Liza calmly shifted into 'threat assessment mode'.
Quill mouthed: Oh no, not again.
Dreg crossed his arms, pretending he wasn't amused.
Malerion finally turned.
"Verosika."
She looked dangerously good
sleek outfit, soft glow from the concert she'd finished an hour earlier, hair still scented with stage perfume.
Gave him a tiny half smile.
"Don't 'Verosika' me like you weren't expecting me. You invited me."
"I sent a message."
"That counts."
She stepped closer, confidently ignoring the staring inner circle.
"We need to go over tomorrow's route. The promoter is useless, and I heard rumors Wrath Ring's officials are sniffing around again."
"Rafe will handle them," Malerion said.
Verosika glanced at Rafe, who straightened immediately like a soldier given a royal command.
"…Good," she said. "Because if one more slimy agent tries to push a contract on me, I'm letting Dreg bite him."
Dreg shrugged.
"Could."
"See?" she said brightly. "Perfect."
Malerion gestured to the council.
"You all may continue the briefing."
No one moved.
Because everyone knew what that meant:
They were dismissed.
One by one they exited the room
Rafe first, Liza like a shadow, Dreg lumbering, Skit and Bit whispering about "post-concert tension,"
Quill muttering calculations to hide how awkward he felt.
When the doors closed
Only Malerion and Verosika remained.
THEIR NEW NORMAL
She crossed her arms.
"So. Another year gone and you still haven't destroyed the world.
Proud of you."
"That was never the plan."
"It's Hell. Everyone says that before accidentally destroying a city block."
He studied her.
"You came straight from the concert."
"Mm-hm."
She tapped her nail against his chest, light, teasing.
"You always check on me afterward. Thought I might return the favor."
That was new.
He didn't let it show.
"Did everything go well?" he asked.
"No assassins. stalkers. cursed contracts."
She tilted her head.
"Which means either I'm lucky… or you cleaned the mess before I noticed."
He didn't respond.
She smiled.
"I thought so."
It wasn't flirtation.
Not exactly.
It was familiarity.
Habit.
Pattern.
They had grown used to seeking each other out after chaos
her backstage
him in Sin Rouge
messages at odd hours
information exchanges
occasional protection, honesty.
A strange bond.
Fragile.
Warm.
Unwanted but undeniable.
THE ONE-YEAR CHANGE
"So," she said softly, "am I allowed to see the map? Or is that top secret warlord stuff?"
"Classified."
"Oh please."
She pushed past him and examined the projection anyway.
"Three rings?" she said. "You're expanding fast."
"Faster than intended."
"And you're doing all this while still finding time to… what? Check in on my career?"
He didn't deny it.
Her gaze softened.
"Well," she said, "lucky me."
A SHIFT IN THE AIR
She stepped closer close enough that his domain stirred slightly, a reflex of recognition rather than power.
"I like this," she murmured.
"This… thing. Whatever we're doing."
"It isn't defined."
"Then don't define it."
She smiled small, real.
"Just don't disappear."
A familiar echo of the rooftop conversation.
Of her frustration.
Her curiosity.
Something else she refused to name.
He answered quietly:
"I won't."
"Good."
She turned toward the door but paused.
"Oh one more thing."
She looked over her shoulder, eyes glowing.
"You're coming to tomorrow's concert. Whether you planned to or not."
Then she vanished down the hall, hips swaying, leaving only perfume and the faint echo of her laughter.
Malerion exhaled.
One year had changed everything.
Ouroboros.
His cultivation.
The rings.
And her.
Especially her.
This wasn't friendship.
More like
Gravity.
Soft.
Relentless.
Growing.
And he wasn't fighting it anymore.
13 years to canon