"Oh no, how could I? Lalaye sits within the Abyssal Progeny’s lurking grounds, yet under your rule it blooms like a lantern in fog. Even His Majesty would marvel."

"You're far too kind, Miss Lilo."

Raz looked humble, a reed bending in wind. He even gave a small bow, his manners polished like lacquer, a gentleman carved from calm water.

But Lilo felt unease rise like a thorn under silk. His presence carried a twist she couldn’t name, like a note off-key in quiet music.

Because of that, she kept her distance like a bird skirting a snare. Yet after entering the city, he’d led her straight to the guest manor, handing all service to others like passing a tray.

If she didn’t know the strongest here was only a Demigod, she’d think he had seen through their plan like light through paper. The thought pricked her like cold rain.

Even now, she found no chance to signal Aphelia, her worry fluttering like a trapped moth against her ribs.

A middle-aged attendant in black livery drifted to Raz’s side like a shadow crossing a wall. He whispered in Raz’s ear, then bowed to Lilo and slipped from the hall.

"My apologies," Raz said, contrite as dusk. "My attendant just reminded me of urgent work. Forgive me, I must leave and can’t keep hosting you."

"But if you need anything, just speak. These attendants will meet your wishes," he added, his gaze sincere as a steady flame.

Lilo had long tired of his entanglement, like ivy choking a path. With this open door, why wouldn’t she step through with a smile?

"Of course, that’s no problem. You’re a diligent city lord, truly. Don’t worry—your hospitality tonight is unforgettable," she said, her tone smooth as fine porcelain.

"Many thanks. Then I’ll take my leave. Please enjoy the banquet to your heart’s content."

Raz removed his small hat and bowed, neat as a folded fan. He turned and departed at a brisk pace, his steps clipping like beads on stone.

Even after he vanished from sight, Lilo didn’t relax, caution hanging like frost. Scarlet sparks slipped free like fireflies, tasting the air as they drifted.

Only when no trace of Raz’s scent lingered did she let out a quiet breath, her chest easing like thawing ice by a riverbank.

The wine in her cup had begun to boil like a tiny spring. A faint aura rose from the rim, a mist curling like breath in winter.

In a blink, her crimson eyes turned gold, sun on blood. A whisper of dragon’s might pressed against the liquid like a mountain on a pond.

A needle-thin shriek rose from the cup, a gnat by thunder. Lilo masked it with a smile, and the guests around her noticed nothing, their chatter a lazy tide.

She watched the bubbles die, then let a cold smile bloom like frost on glass. She set the burned-dry cup aside and drifted toward the dance floor, skirts moving like smoke.

Under the push of dragon’s might, the baleful shade dissolved like ink in rain. The room’s music fluttered on, bright and brittle.

When her golden eyes lit, that true dragon’s might became bane to all foul things, a sun to mold. A touch was enough to make the wine betray itself.

Thankfully, before drinking, she had evaporated it with the tranquil deep-blue flame, steam rising like night on a lake. Otherwise, who knew what poison would coil inside her.

So this city is wrong, she thought, the suspicion a thorny vine. Especially Raz—his awkwardness reeks of roots. This city lord is not as simple as a smile.

The thought tightened her brow like a drawn bow. She meant to slip a message to Aphelia, but attendants appeared at the dance floor’s edges like reeds fencing water.

They weren’t focused on Lilo. Even when she cast a glance like a thrown pebble, their eyes were fishing elsewhere. That only made their stillness a louder lie.

They wouldn’t just stand there, statues in soot. Lilo’s doubt curled like smoke, ready to strike.

So be it.

She let a thin smile show, sharp as a crescent blade. She squeezed into the crowd like a fish into reeds, her form melting until she was gone.

Far from the bright banquet, at the city’s edge, Aphelia slipped past tailing rats like a cat over tiles. She wrapped herself in Aether and walked the cold stone steps.

Tonight the moonlight felt dim, a veiled lamp. Alone under that pale wash, Aphelia looked eerie, a phantom sketched in chalk.

"How strange. Why has the city’s Aether turned like this?" she murmured, her voice a breath on glass.

Scarlet Aether, blood-thick, drifted before her like a reddened fog. How many lives fed this change, she wondered, the thought bitter as iron.

Stranger yet, she saw no passersby, not a thread of movement—streets empty like a drained river. Houses on both sides kept their magitech lamps dead.

Streetlamps stood like mute sentinels, and it wasn’t deep night. Yet everything was dark, a stage stripped for a crime.

It’s like they’re courting criminals, she thought, the idea cold as ash. But the alleys stayed empty, their silence a tight fist.

No thugs, no whispers, no skittering rats—just breathless stillness, a town holding its own tongue.

What a joke, she thought, a spark snapping in the dark. If it’s truly this safe, why do homes bar their doors, and night hush the world so early?

Keeping on like this felt pointless, pressure folding over her like deep water. She rounded a small alley and folded herself into the shadow of a tavern sign.

Pure white Aether surged out with a will like a tidal sea, a pale flood running down dark streets toward the sleeping town.

In a single breath—before the dim moonlight reached stone—Aphelia reeled her will back like a net, her hands cold as river stones.

It shocked her. Her unfailing will and Aether hit walls everywhere, as if groping blind in a sealed vault, formless thought caught on hidden bones.

When she pulled back, many little tails chased, clinging like burrs. She cut the links fast, severing threads like snapping twigs.

If not, things rooted deep in the town would have followed her scent like wolves, their patience a winter hunger.

"What are these things? Not even one pack," she whispered, a tremor in the reed.

Her decoy shard of mind sat high like a hawk on a beam. Several chasing minds tangled below, testing teeth and talon.

Their power surged, a storm beating its drums. Aphelia’s heart rattled like a kettle lid. Those were Demigod-level forces biting at each other.

What in this small city could draw so many Demigods, she wondered, the question a cold blade.

She moved to step from shadow, then froze like a deer under lightning. She slid back into dark and sent her gaze down the street.

Armor knocked in rhythm, metal like hail on slate. A squad in heavy mail marched closer, their presence a dark tide.

They weren’t like the gate soldiers. They wore pitch-black Rune-etched heavy plate, gloom stitched with symbols like thorns.

Weapons set with Mana Crystals and Runes nestled into armor, perfect as a blade in a sheath. Their stride wasn’t patrol; it was pursuit, feet beating like rain.

Soon, Aphelia saw their prey, a figure stumbling like a broken puppet. He lurched for the alley, blood stench rolling out like smoke from a burn.

He seemed spent, collapsing at the mouth of the alley, bones like wet paper. His breath rasped beastlike, hands not-quite-human, fingers crooked like claws.

Instinct held Aphelia still, a bird silenced by a hawk’s shadow. She merged wholly into Aether, a true pool of shade, and waited for the Rune soldiers.

"Help... help me..." came a whisper, thin as a reed scraped by wind. It rose from the heap on the ground, pleading like a thread thrown in storm.

Reflex flared. Aphelia spread her will like a bright net. Had someone else been hiding where she hadn’t looked?

She pulled back at once, heart pricking like needles. The plea aimed at her, at the shadow, a finger pointing through fog.

Cold sweat beaded like dew. What a joke. Aether isn’t something you simply pierce. Without a True God’s reach, even seeing Aether is near impossible.

If that heap were a True God, why would he be hunted to tatters, she thought, doubt cutting like thin ice.

No time to think. The Rune soldiers reached the alley mouth, motion sharp as shears. Mana Crystals flared, a violet storm blooming in iron.

A heavy blade speared the heap, steel cold as river stone. Deep violet Arcane Power ate through flesh like rot, a stain moving under skin.

Before a scream could rip the air, a magitech long spear punched his throat, silence falling like a curtain.

Aphelia had drawn pure white Aether tight, ready to strike like a swan’s wing turned blade. If they saw her, she would burn.

But the Rune soldiers ignored her completely, or they never saw the shadow at all. They dealt only with the twisted "man," efficient as winter.

Steel chopped and thrust, a hail that ended spring. The "man" lost all fight, throat ruined and voice stolen like a coin in mud.

Only his not-human arms trembled, a moth on glass, proof of a thread of awareness clinging on.

"Captain, that’s the last one," came a voice behind the greatsword wielder, a Rune soldier whose tone carried a woman’s chill.

She stepped up with a scroll, parchment pale as bone. Deep violet Arcane Power traced across it, like checking names in smoke.

"Good. Bring him back. He’s lost resistance. We’ve chased long enough," the leader said, his words clipped as cut bamboo.

He confirmed and nodded, his magitech weapon humming like a hive. The Mana Crystal in his guard vanished in a blink, a star swallowed at dusk.

Deep violet light poured into the body like a river into sand. The unconscious man thrashed, limbs flailing like reeds in storm.

It was useless. Several long spears pinned his joints, nails through a puppet. Deep violet crystals flared like cold stars in a winter sky.

A complex array unfolded, lines weaving like spider silk. His body twisted under crushing force, curling into a knot like a dying fern.

Soon, with a faint shimmer, the alley fell still, quiet as a closed book. The street returned to silence, a sealed lake under the dim moon.