Aiden stood on the shattered balcony, wind clawing at his cloak. The taste of ash and copper hung in the air, heavy as guilt.

All around, the manor still groaned from the devastation below—stone scorched, glass shattered, servants wailing beneath the distant crackle of collapsing beams.

The scent of burning wine and iron mingled, an offering to something old, terrible, and hungry.

Then—silence.

The kind that pressed against the chest until breath itself became rebellion.

From the dark between the stars, wings unfolded.

A shadow fell across the courtyard, vast and breathing. Talons scraped marble, leaving gouges deep as wounds. The creature that landed before him was both radiant and wrong—a being born between nightmares and divinity.

Its armor gleamed like molten obsidian, its face too beautiful, too cruel. Elven symmetry marred by scaled skin, curved horns flowing like strands of black flame down its back.

The abomination raised its head, and the world dimmed around it.

Crimson eyes met gold.

Aiden's hand trembled—not from fear, but from something sharper, stranger. Recognition.

The creature's eyes narrowed. Then, suddenly, its hand—massive, scaled, and impossibly strong—closed around his throat.

The world shrank to the press of claw against flesh. Air vanished.

Aiden clawed at the arm, but it was like iron wrapped in flame. The abomination's voice filled the emptiness between heartbeats.

"You know why they called me Abomination?" it asked, almost gently.

Aiden gasped, the word tearing from him. "Why?"

The monster's expression flickered—pain, pride, memory. "Because I remember everything that should have died.

Because I was born from lustful sin of a dragon and an elf." Its grip eased slightly, letting him draw in a ragged breath. "I am neither elf, nor dragon. I am what remains when both worlds bleed into one."

The truth in that voice was ancient. It carried echoes of the first dragons' roar, of elven lamentations sung under burning trees.

Aiden felt the weight of it settle in his bones.

"So you remember your name," Aiden rasped, forcing a smile despite the ache. "Aros..."

The name hung between them like a spark over dry tinder.

The creature—Aros—paused. Something changed in its gaze, an awareness flickering like lightning behind clouds. Then his grip loosened further, talons leaving his neck. "You… remember it too."

Aiden's smile deepened. "Names have power."

"And yours?" Arose's head lowered, his breath hot against Aiden's face. "What power hides in your name?"

Before Aiden could answer, the hand tightened again, the claws cutting into skin. Pain blossomed, sharp and cold.

"Your honeyed mouth won't work this time," Arose growled. "There was a deal. I let you live once. But promises must be kept. I kill you now. Here. In this fragile world of yours."

Aiden struggled for air, mind racing. Not yet, he thought. I still need you.

The system flickered in the corner of his vision—letters etched in faint violet light.

[Lilith is displeased.]

He gritted his teeth. "You'll have to… earn it."

The pressure increased, black creeping at the edges of his sight. But Aiden was no longer the broken knight who had once begged gods for mercy.

He felt his ember pulsing within, fierce and molten. With trembling precision, he drew his knife—small, unassuming, its edge breathing faint fire.

Arose laughed, seeing it. "A knife? Against me? You cannot even reach—"

Aiden whispered the command.

[Serpent Lace Technique.]

The blade bent in his grasp, elongating, curving like liquid flame.

Then it struck—fast as a viper.

The ember-forged whip lashed across Arose's cheek, leaving a searing line of gold fire.

The abomination reeled back, not from pain, but from surprise. Then laughter thundered from his chest—deep, delighted.

"Interesting," Arose said, touching the glowing mark that healed even as he watched. "You are different. Not ordinary at all."

Aiden coughed, rubbing his throat. "Then stop treating me like prey."

Silence stretched—tense, electric. Aiden met the creature's gaze, golden fire against crimson void. "I could help you," he said, voice hoarse but steady. "You don't belong here. You're not an abomination. You're Arose."

Something passed through the creature's expression—conflict, maybe even longing. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of ozone and old blood. For a heartbeat, Aiden thought he saw something human in those eyes.

But then—the sound.

Boots. Steel. Voices.

The Slayers arrived.

Arina led them—her white hair whipping in the wind, her crimson eyes locked on the creature. "Stand down!" she shouted, blade drawn, sigils flaring along its edge.

Arose turned his head, expression almost bored. "More insects."

He spread his wings, each membrane veined with molten light. "Next time, boy," he murmured to Aiden, voice like thunder's whisper. "Next time, we finish what we began."

Then he was gone—vanishing into the night with a gust that shattered the last of the stained glass. The manor's torches flickered wildly, struggling to reclaim their light.

Arina rushed to Aiden's side, hand on his arm. "Are you hurt? Gods, your neck—"

He shook his head, though his breath still came ragged. "I'm fine."

The others poured in—Augustus with his sword still drawn, Catherine pale but composed, Flora and Akidna behind, and Amber kneeling over the wounded servants. Tanya hovered near the door, her face bloodless.

But Catherine's eyes found only one thing: the Slayer's hand on Aiden's arm.

Her jaw tightened.

"Step away from him," she said sharply.

Arina blinked, surprised. "I was only—"

"I said step away."

Catherine moved forward, pushing Arina aside. Her fingers brushed Aiden's chin, turning his face gently to examine the bruised skin. "You fool," she whispered, though the word trembled with relief. "Always putting yourself in danger."

Amber approached, magic glowing faint around her hands. "Let me see his wound."

Aiden held up his bleeding palm, trying to deflect attention. "Just a scratch."

But Flora noticed—her gaze sharp as glass—that both Aiden and Arina bore identical marks: faint red handprints near the throat, thin lines of blood tracing down their wrists.

The same color. The same burn pattern. Linked, she thought. But she said nothing.

Instead, she watched.

Aiden smiled faintly, always the performer. "I'm fine," he said again. "I'm Augustus's knight, remember? It'll take more than that to bring me down."

Augustus gave a bark of laughter, equal parts pride and exhaustion. "Good lad." Then his voice darkened, eyes narrowing toward the broken balcony where Arose had vanished. "But that creature—whatever it is—it will not haunt my home again."

He turned to the Slayers. "Find it. Hunt it. I want its head mounted before dawn."

Arina hesitated. "It's not that simple, my lord. That was no ordinary monster. The Guild—"

"I don't care!" Augustus's voice cracked through the hall. "My people are dead, my house defiled, and you tell me it's not simple?"

Catherine touched his arm, but he shook her off. Rage burned in him now—fueled by fear, by the humiliation of helplessness.

From the doorway, one of the Slayer elders stepped forward—an older man in a crimson cloak, eyes sharp with weary wisdom. "My lord Leonidus," he said quietly, "we understand your grief. But you must listen.

The creature that attacked tonight is bound to the dungeon's heart. It should never have crossed into this plane. Again I tell you...Its presence must remain secret, or panic will spread across the realm."

Augustus turned slowly. "Secret? You come into my house, let a monster tear through my walls, and now you demand silence?"

"Because," the elder said, voice dropping lower, "if word spreads that the dungeon's seals are weakening, the entire continent will fracture before dawn."

The hall fell into stunned quiet.

Catherine's breath caught. In that stillness, memory stirred—Aiden's warning, whispered weeks ago: The dungeons are waking.

She looked at him now, standing too calm amid the wreckage. He met her eyes briefly, then looked away.

She said nothing.

Augustus clenched his fists. "Then you and your Slayers will remain here until this beast is destroyed. If it returns, you'll defend my people—or die trying."

The elder inclined his head. "As you wish... Lord Leonidus."

The Slayers dispersed, taking positions through the manor. Only Arina lingered near Aiden, her expression unreadable. "It knew you...right?" she said quietly.

"Maybe," Aiden replied. "Or maybe I just reminded it of something it lost."

Her gaze dropped to his hand, still bleeding faintly. "That mark—its on me as well, we are still...."

Before he could answer, footsteps thundered again. Augustus approached, still seething. "This ends tonight," he said. "I'll summon someone who can finish what you Slayers could not."

Catherine's eyes widened. "Augustus—"

He raised a hand. "Enough. I've already sent word."

"To whom?" Aiden asked.

Augustus looked at him, and in that gaze was the weight of nobility, desperation, and pride. "To Samael."

The name struck Aiden like a blade.

For an instant, the world went silent again. Only the wind moved, whispering across broken glass.

Samael.

The name from the novel. The father...

of the story's hero. The man whose shadow loomed over the entire age.

Aiden's pulse quickened.

If he was coming, everything would change. Every thread Aiden had spun, every manipulation, every careful mask—it would all be tested.

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