The night stretched endless and quiet as Liria arrived at the edge of a small, forgotten village nestled between the blackened hills. It was a place untouched by war, hidden from the greed of kings and the whispers of demons. The kind of place where lanterns flickered warmly in the windows, where soft voices murmured lullabies to children who had never known the taste of fear.
It made her sick.
Or maybe that was the exhaustion clawing at her bones.
She had walked for hours, moving through the wilderness with only the pulse of her magic to guide her. Her body still carried the lingering echoes of battle the smell of smoke, the phantom heat of fire licking up her arms, the feel of blood cooling between her fingers. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.
[You’re hesitating again.]
Liria didn’t flinch at the voice in her head. The system had been silent for hours, watching, waiting, observing her choices with an unnerving patience. But now, as she stood at the village’s entrance, it spoke again.
"I’m not hesitating," she muttered under her breath. "I’m resting."
[Same thing, considering what you’ve been up to.]
She scowled. The system wasn’t wrong. She had left a trail of destruction in her wake, following the orders given to her without question. Until now.
The village was small barely a handful of homes scattered around a central well. A place of quiet existence, of people who had no idea that monsters like her existed beyond their borders.
Liria exhaled and adjusted the hood of her cloak. She wasn’t here to kill. Not tonight.
She needed a place to sleep.
A place where she could close her eyes without the weight of a thousand voices pressing down on her, without the whisper of her voice curling around her mind like a vice.
Azael had let her go, for now. But that wouldn’t last.
Liria pushed forward, stepping into the village with practiced ease, moving through the narrow dirt paths as though she belonged. She knew how to make herself small, how to blend in. A trick learned from childhood, sharpened by necessity.
She passed a bakery where the faint scent of fresh bread lingered in the air, despite the late hour. A blacksmith’s shop, long since closed, but with tools still laid out as if the owner would return at first light. The people here were too trusting.
[If you wanted, you could wipe this place out before sunrise.]
The system’s voice was matter-of-fact, an observation rather than an order.
Liria ignored it.
Instead, she searched for an inn or at least something close to it.
There, just ahead, a small building with a wooden sign swaying gently in the wind. The kind of place that welcomed travelers with too many stories and not enough coin.
Perfect.
She stepped inside, the warmth hitting her immediately. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. A few patrons lingered at the tables, nursing drinks in silence, their conversations little more than murmurs.
The innkeeper, a stout man with tired eyes, barely looked up as she approached.
"Room?" she asked, keeping her voice even, calm.
He eyed her, taking in the cloak, the dust on her boots, the way she stood—like someone who had seen war.
"Two silvers," he said after a moment, voice gruff.
Liria placed the coins on the counter. The man took them, nodding toward the stairs.
"Second door on the left."
She didn’t thank him.
She just climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
Inside the room, it was small, barely more than a bed and a table, but it was enough. She shut the door behind her, pressing her back against it for a moment, exhaling slowly.
Finally.
The silence settled around her like a blanket, thick and suffocating.
[You’re running,] the system said.
She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. "No."
[Yes.]
Liria didn’t argue.
She shrugged off her cloak, letting it fall to the floor. Her armor followed, piece by piece, until all that remained was her tunic and the ever-present weight of something pressing against her chest.
She sat on the bed, staring at her hands. They didn’t shake. They never did.
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But they were still stained.
The system was quiet now, waiting.
She let out a breath and leaned back, her body sinking into the mattress.
For a fleeting moment, there was peace.
And then—
A shift in the air.
A weight that hadn’t been there before.
The temperature in the room dropped, the warmth of the hearth downstairs vanishing as though it had been stolen away. The shadows stretched unnaturally, curling at the edges of the room like living things.
Liria’s eyes snapped open.
She wasn’t alone.
A figure stood at the foot of her bed, draped in darkness, her presence commanding the very air around them. Fiery hair cascaded down her back, flickering like molten gold in the dim light. Her horns curved upward, obsidian black against crimson skin, and her golden eyes glowed with eerie amusement.
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The Dark Sovereign.
Her mother.
Liria didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
She had expected this.
"What do you want?" she asked, voice steady.
Azael’s lips curled into a smirk. "Such a cold greeting."
She took a step forward, the floorboards beneath her bare feet not making a single sound. The movement was effortless, as if she wasn’t entirely bound by the same reality as everything else in this room.
Liria forced herself to sit up, her fingers curling slightly, her magic pulsing just beneath her skin. "I just did exactly what you wanted. The village burned, the people scattered, the ones too weak to fight eliminated. Isn’t that what you asked for?"
Azael tilted her head, golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Is that what you think?"
Liria frowned. "It’s what happened."
"And yet…" Azael exhaled slowly, running a clawed fingertip along the wooden table beside her. "You hesitated."
A sharp pulse of energy flooded the room, thick and suffocating. Liria’s heart pounded against her ribs as her own power instinctively surged in response. The air felt heavier, her very bones vibrating from the sheer force of it.
She clenched her jaw. "I completed the task."
Azael clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "No, darling. You performed it. Like a soldier obeying orders."
She took another step closer.
Liria didn’t move.
"You still cling to your past," Azael continued, voice dripping with something dangerously close to amusement. "You still pretend you’re something in between, walking a line that no longer exists. You’re trying to resist what you are."
Liria narrowed her eyes. "And what am I?"
Azael’s smirk deepened. "Mine."
The word coiled around her, slithering into her mind like an undeniable truth.
Liria’s fingers twitched.
[Your heart rate just spiked,] the system chimed in.
No shit.
Azael reached out, brushing a hand against Liria’s cheek. The touch burned—not from heat, but from something deeper, something raw and ancient. A connection that she had spent years trying to ignore.
Liria forced herself not to recoil. "You didn’t come all this way just to lecture me."
Azael chuckled. "Oh, but I do enjoy a good lesson."
She leaned down slightly, eyes glowing with an unsettling warmth. "You think you have time, don’t you? Time to figure yourself out. To reconcile the past with what’s ahead." Her voice lowered, almost gentle. "You don’t."
Liria’s breath caught for a second.
Azael’s smile didn’t fade, but her voice hardened. "The world is moving, and it will not wait for you to make peace with what you are."
Another pulse of energy, and this time, Liria felt it sinking into her veins, wrapping around her spine like chains made of shadow and fire.
[Hey. Hey. This feels like a problem,] the system said.
"You belong to something greater, Liria," Azael murmured. "You are not some wandering girl, lost between realms of morality. You are the abyss incarnate. And it is time you acted like it."
The weight pressed down harder.
Liria gritted her teeth, every instinct screaming at her to fight back, to push her away, to run.
But she didn’t.
She let it sink in.
Let the truth settle into the cracks she had tried so hard to fill with meaningless resistance.
Because Azael was right.
The past was gone.
There was only what lay ahead.
Liria inhaled slowly, feeling the shadows curl around her, feeling her own power respond to Azael’s presence, recognizing it, welcoming it.
She met her mother’s gaze, unblinking. "Then show me."
Azael’s smile widened.
"Oh, darling," she purred. "I thought you’d never ask."
Azael’s smirk deepened, her golden eyes gleaming with something dark and victorious. "Good girl."
Liria didn’t flinch at the words, but something deep inside her curled uncomfortably at the way Azael said them like she had already won.
Azael straightened, the oppressive weight of her power lifting just enough for Liria to breathe again. "Your training begins soon," she said, stepping back toward the shadows. "Real training. No more pretending. No more half-measures."
Liria’s jaw tightened, but she nodded once. "I’ll be ready."
Azael chuckled, her voice rich with amusement. "We’ll see about that."
She raised a hand, and the room flickered, the very fabric of reality warping as if the space itself was bending to her will. "Sleep, my dear," she murmured. "You’ll need it."
Darkness swept through the room like a tide, and before Liria could resist, her vision blurred, her body sinking back into the mattress as an unnatural drowsiness overtook her.
The last thing she heard before slipping into unconsciousness was Azael’s voice, soft and chilling.
"You will become everything you were meant to be."