The dawn never came.

Only smoke.

The night above Leonidus burned with a sickly light—the red haze of torches and collapsing roofs. Ash drifted like snow over the courtyards, settling on the marble lions that guarded the gates.

The once-proud banners of gold and crimson hung in tatters, fluttering in a wind that carried the scent of ruin.

Aiden stood among the wreckage of the great hall, the world muffled as if drowned beneath the weight of what had just transpired.

Where moments ago there had been feasting and laughter, there was only silence now—broken dishes, overturned tables, streaks of black ichor that hissed faintly where they touched stone.

And at the center of it all stood Augustus Leonidus, his armor half-fastened, his sword gleaming with mana and soot. His face was carved with disbelief, jaw tight, eyes blazing with something far older than fear—pride wounded into fury.

"Find it!" he roared. "Find that thing!"

His men scattered at once, but the echo of his command was swallowed by the moan of the wounded walls. The monster was gone. The thing that had landed from the roof had torn a hole through the upper gallery and vanished into the mountains beyond the palace.

Catherine stood at the threshold of the ruined hall, her night gown half burned at the hem, golden hair tangled, face ghost-pale. She said nothing, only stared at the gouges in the marble where claws had struck, the black marks that still smoked faintly.

For a moment, her gaze met Aiden's across the ruin. There was no sound, only a thin tremor through the air—recognition, perhaps, or a warning unspoken.

Then came the horns.

Dozens of riders poured through the outer gates, their cloaks bearing the obsidian sigil of the Slayer's Guild—a serpent devouring its own tail. They dismounted in unison, black steel gleaming wet with rain, faces hidden behind bone masks. At their head rode a woman with silver hair braided tight, her armor runed with faint light.

"Viscount Leonidus," she said, her tone crisp as steel. "Stand down your men. The Guild is here by decree of the Council. You've drawn blood where none should have been drawn."

Augustus turned sharply, rage still raw. "Where were you when that thing crawled out of my walls? Your Guild's monsters have breached our home!"

The woman dismounted slowly, boots crushing shards of glass. "Not our monsters," she said. "The Dungeon...."

Murmurs rippled through the room, but she raised a gloved hand and silence fell. "A creature escaped from the wessex sky dungeons three nights past. Half-draconic, half-wrought of corruption. We call it the Abomination of the Thirteenth Seal. It should not exist. Yet it found its way here."

Her words fell heavy, every syllable sharp enough to draw blood.

Aiden said nothing, though inside him something stirred. The name abomination burned behind his eyes—an echo, a memory of darkness clawing through the dungeon's walls. He had seen it before. He had survived it. Barely.

Catherine's hand tightened on the edge of a broken pillar. Weeks ago, Aiden had spoken quietly to her of dungeons awakening soon, of power leaking into the world.

She'd dismissed it as superstition then. Now, with her home cracked open and her husband's men bleeding on the marble, she knew better than to speak at all.

"Secrecy," the Guildmistress continued, scanning the gathered nobles. "No word of this leaves Leonidus. The Council fears panic. We will station twelve slayers here for your protection. Until the creature is contained."

Augustus's voice dropped low. "Protection? You mean surveillance."

"Call it what you wish," she said. "But the monster marked your house. It will return."

The room fell to whispers. Fear traveled faster than fire. Even the guards lowered their eyes.

Then Aiden's voice cut through the noise.

"Why here?" he asked, quietly. "What could it want with Leonidus?"

No one answered.

The Guildmistress's gaze flicked toward him, unreadable. "You're the knight, aren't you? The one who fought beside the Viscount's daughter. Tell me—did you see it?"

Aiden's jaw tensed. "I saw enough."

"Then pray you don't see it again," she said. "Every man who has… lost part of himself in the doing."

.

.

.

It was quite after

Rain whispered against the marble rails, soft as confession. Aiden stood alone beneath the night sky, the world below still smoldering. His sword rested by his side, the edge stained black.

He ran a hand across it—and then, deliberately, across his palm, slicing skin. Blood welled, bright and hot.

From the shadowed edge of the balcony, a voice answered the blood.

"You shouldn't have called me."

The air thickened, bending around a shape not wholly of this world. The Abomination stepped forward—half-dragon, half-elf, its scales glinting like molten glass. Horns coiled down the sides of its head like a crown of ruin, and where eyes should have been there burned twin brands of violet fire.

Aiden didn't move.

"I didn't call you," he said quietly.

The creature tilted its head, the motion disturbingly human. "And yet you bleed. You always call, little lamb."

Lightning cracked beyond the walls, illuminating them both—knight and monster, mirror and maker. For an instant, Aiden saw not a beast but a reflection of himself: something forged, something bound.

"You are ready," the creature said, its voice a low rumble that shook the stones beneath their feet, the air itself trembling as if the world recognized the weight of its words. "To give up your puny life…"

Aiden's hand tightened on his blade, blood still dripping from his palm, steam rising where it met the cold rain. His eyes, golden and unflinching, met the creature's burning violet ones.

"Of course…" he said, his tone calm, almost resigned. "I stand by my promise."

The abomination smiled—a grotesque, almost beautiful twist of its draconic face, smoke curling from the corners of its mouth. "Indeed… indeed you did."

It began to move closer, slow and deliberate, talons scraping across the marble floor like knives on bone. Sparks trailed behind each step, its shadow stretching long and monstrous across the balcony wall.

"And still," it murmured, head tilting, eyes narrowing with something between curiosity and hunger, "you don't fear. Not even a tremor in your soul. Why… why don't I sense even a whisper of fear in you?"

It leaned in, close enough that Aiden could smell the scorched metal and blood on its breath.

"Are you really human, boy?"

Aiden's expression didn't change. Only the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe not anymore," he said softly.

For a heartbeat, silence—then the creature let out a sound that might've been laughter, or a growl dragged through hellfire. The night wind tore through the balcony, scattering ash and rain as the abomination straightened, wings flaring wide.

"Good," it said. "maybe I will find fear in your cries of pain.."

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