The protocols of this grim engagement are strictly codified: only those up to the rank of magister may be deployed. Should Sanctus commit a Warlock or an elite magis to the Bloody Hunting, the Demon Legion would retaliate instantly, unleashing high-tier demons and generals to ensure their supremacy remains unchallenged. To prevent the demon wars from escalating into a total cataclysm, the seven kingdoms have long adhered to a mutual pact—high-ranking magis are forbidden from partaking in the Bloody Hunting.
"I'll do my best not to die," Seraph remarked, struggling to suppress the burgeoning weight of pressure within his soul.
"'Doing your best' is insufficient! You are strictly forbidden from dying, regardless of the cause!" Eldra asserted, her gaze narrowing with an absolute, frightening intensity. "I will not suffer the loss of a magis of your affinity! Even should you find yourself at a wretched disadvantage, even should you be encircled by a demonic horde... you must employ every desperate measure to survive! I mean every measure! This is not merely for your own sake—do you follow my meaning?"
"Understood," Seraph replied softly.
Yet, even as he spoke, the young man's voice carried no weight of conviction.
"Seek your rest this very hour. You must maintain a singular, iron focus for the fray. Tomorrow, you depart at daybreak for the Bloody Hunting! I require your mageia to be at its absolute zenith," Eldra declared, her voice heavy with expectation.
With a measured gesture, she proffered the Bloody Hunting scroll to the young magis—the requisite seal and testament for any challenger of the hunt.
To mitigate the staggering mortality rates, participation was strictly contingent upon a rigorous audit of one's prowess; the scroll served as the official mark of that eligibility. Furthermore, this artefact acted as a continuous ledger, chronicling every feat and tactical nuance throughout the slaughter. It was a mageia scroll, operating on principles akin to the Sanctus Scroll. Should a challenger lose or suffer the destruction of their scroll, for whatever reason, they were summarily stripped of their station and cast out from the mandate. Likewise, any rendered incapable of further combat would be swiftly extracted by the overseers—a final, desperate measure to preserve their lives.
✧ . ✶ . ⛤ . ✶ . ✧
The young magis strode from the Grandmaster's sanctum; yet, before he could reach the mageia lift, the frantic rhythm of footsteps pursued him.
"Seraph!" Evelyn bellowed.
The young man turned, only to find the girl hurtling toward him. Before he could react, she had flung herself upon him, her arms coiling around his neck with the force of a physical blow.
Seraph nearly buckled under the impact. The girl was considerably shorter than he, compelling him to catch her in a firm embrace, steadying them both lest her momentum drag him to the stone floor.
"Must you persist in this? Should anyone witness such familiarity... it will do irreparable harm to your standing," Seraph remarked, his voice anchored in a grim sobriety.
"I harbour a desperate wish to join your mandate..." Evelyn uttered, though the impossibility of the desire hung heavy between them. She pressed her face against his shoulder, lingering to catch the scent of him before the tides of duty swept them into a long separation.
"Hah..." Seraph loosed a heavy breath, casting his gaze toward the world beyond the pane.
"Granny is quite right; you truly do exhale with the desolation of a greybeard," Evelyn noted, looking up to lock eyes with his shimmering, dual-hued orbs.
"It's because you possess a singular talent for inducing a migraine," Seraph countered, staring into the brilliance of her emerald gaze.
"Then I'll change," the girl declared with sudden, fierce resolve.
"Do no such thing... remain as you are. Never suffer your own sorrow merely to facilitate the happiness of others," Seraph interjected swiftly.
"To do so for your sake... makes me happy," Evelyn insisted.
"Hah... it's best you remain exactly as you've always been," Seraph replied, feeling a profound weariness of spirit.
"Truly?!" she asked, her excitement mounting.
"Mmm," he confirmed.
The girl tightened her embrace about his neck, her grip unyielding.
"I overheard the discourse you shared with Granny just now..." Evelyn prefaced, her voice dropping.
"I see."
"You'll return, won't you?" she asked, the words so thin they betrayed her terror.
"Without fail," Seraph replied, his tone flat yet vibrating with bedrock certainty.
"Cycles ago... I posed that very question to my father and mother," she began.
"Did they likewise enlist for the Bloody Hunting?" Seraph inquired with sombre interest.
"They did... and they offered the exact response you've just given," Evelyn whispered.
"…"
A suffocating silence reclaimed the gallery, broken only by the rhythmic cadence of their shared breath.
Her ruby-red tresses cascaded across Seraph's shoulders, catching the late-morning light until they shimmered with a visceral, mageia-born aura.
"But they broke their word... they never returned," the girl added, her voice fracturing into a sob.
"Evelyn—" Seraph began, intent on offering solace.
"Call me Eve..."
"Evelyn..."
"Eve..."
"Evelyn..."
"Eve..."
"Evelyn..."
"Eve..."
"..."
"Sigh... fine. Eve," Seraph conceded, yielding to her persistence.
"If you return from the Bloody Hunting... I'll let you kiss me," Evelyn whispered faintly. The girl offered what she deemed her most precious treasure to bind the young man before her.
"Last time, you already kissed me—"
The girl moved closer, her arms tightening their hold. Evelyn's small mouth pressed against his with newfound intensity. During their previous encounter, she'd been unskilled—a mere child devoid of experience.
This time, she kissed him with a deep, consuming hunger, holding him as if seeking to sear a permanent sigil upon his very soul.
Their hearts beat in unison, as though aeons were drifting past them in the dark.
As their lips finally parted, Evelyn's cheeks glowed a radiant pink; her eyes were heavy, glistening with an emotion that remained unquenched. Their breaths were feverish, and the clarity of her fair skin began to shimmer, revealing the intricate mana circuitry pulsing beneath.
"I understand now why Father and Mother were always so fond of kissing," Evelyn murmured, her voice sweet and crystalline.
"How is that relevant?" Seraph asked. The young man couldn't fathom why she'd broach such a subject now.
"Because they loved one another," she countered.
"…"
A long silence followed, punctuated only by two pairs of eyes watching each other intently. The girl's gaze carried a profound significance—a meaning that couldn't be mistaken for anything else.
"Eve... you're far too young. You don't yet know—and shouldn't hasten to know—the intricacies of love," Seraph cautioned her.
"Do you know love?" Evelyn asked softly.
"…"
The young man fell silent. In truth, he lacked the certainty to answer.
"I love you..." the girl confessed, her words blunt and natural. Her gaze was honest and searing, the embers within her eyes dancing as if possessed by a life of their own.
"You're but a child... you simply haven't encountered many men," Seraph said.
"And do you love me?" Evelyn pressed, as though his previous evasion had never reached her ears.
"I... forgive me... I don't know," Seraph replied, his voice clouded with ambiguity.
"I love you... no matter what occurs, I'll await your return. I believe with all my heart that you won't break your word," Evelyn reaffirmed.