Stefan and Vul arrived at yet another village, their journey never seeming to slow. The streets were busier than the last place they’d stopped, with villagers moving about, chatting, and tending to their daily routines. Without a word, Stefan made his way toward the Designated Treasury Office, carrying a small chest and a flute under one arm. Before disappearing inside, he glanced back at Vul. “Stay put.” Then, he was gone.
Vul stood outside, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed. The small dragon perched on her shoulder curled its tail around her neck, its beady eyes darting around in curiosity. She barely paid attention to it, though. Something else had caught her eye.
A little ways off, a group of women stood together, dressed in fine, flowing gowns with shimmering accessories that glinted under the sunlight. Their jewelry sparkled, necklaces and earrings catching the light every time they moved. They whispered and giggled amongst themselves, their voices soft yet lively. Vul didn’t know what they were talking about, but the way they carried themselves—their confidence, their elegance—it was something she couldn’t look away from.
She wasn’t sure what she was feeling. It wasn’t jealousy, but something close. She had never worn anything like that before. Never had her hair styled into perfect waves or adorned with delicate jewelry. The thought was strange. Unfamiliar. And yet, a part of her wanted to experience it, even if just once.
Her staring was cut short when Stefan finally emerged from the office, a coin sack in hand. He tossed it up slightly before catching it again, his expression somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Well, they sure didn’t appreciate my parting gift,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Vul barely reacted. She was still looking in the direction of the women, though she hadn’t realized she was staring so much. Stefan followed her gaze but saw nothing of interest, just some random villagers. He frowned. “Vul. Let’s go.”
She didn’t move.
Stefan let out a sharp sigh, rubbing his forehead. “Seriously?” He turned on his heel and walked back to her, grabbing her wrist without warning. “Come on, stop spacing out.”
The dragon on Vul’s shoulder let out a small, irritated squeak as she stumbled forward, dragged along by Stefan toward a nearby tavern. The moment they stepped inside, he spoke again, his voice edged with something more serious.
“Do you remember what kind of monster invaded the tavern back then? The one where Angeline and Isaac lived?”
Vul blinked, shaking off her distraction. “It was a woman,” she said after a pause. “She wore a blindfold.”
The second she said those words, Stefan’s grip on her wrist tightened. Vul winced, and so did the dragon on her shoulder, its tiny claws pressing against her as if it could feel the tension too.
Stefan’s jaw clenched, his usual air of irritation replaced by something much darker. His voice came out low, dripping with anger.
“Occulette… that darn witch.”
Stefan’s grip on Vul’s wrist loosened slightly, but his expression remained tense. His mind drifted back, past the years of wandering, past the battles and bloodshed—to a time he barely allowed himself to remember. His childhood was a haze, most of it buried under the weight of survival, but there was one thing he could never forget.
Oculina.
She had been there during the Blanc massacre. He remembered it with chilling clarity—the screams, the fire, the overwhelming scent of blood in the air. And amidst it all, she stood untouched.
Oculina wasn’t just any witch. She was a member of the Order of Midnight, and more than that, she was Val Umbra’s right hand. People spoke of her in hushed whispers, some in reverence, others in pure fear. Her name alone sent shivers down the spines of those who understood what she was capable of.
She was so powerful that many mistook her for a Lord, the highest rank one could achieve before touching godhood itself. Only a rare few held that title, and Oculina was dangerously close to claiming it.
That alone made her a threat unlike any other.
Stefan couldn't believe it. Val had already sent his strongest servant after the last Blanc? That meant he wasn’t taking any chances. Oculina wasn’t just some low-ranking follower—she was his right hand. If she was involved, then things were worse than he thought.
He needed to hurry back to Yro-Ei.
With that thought in mind, he let go of Vul’s wrist, muttering under his breath before turning toward the counter. “I need a place to stay for the night.”
The shopkeeper, an old woman with silver hair wrapped in a loose bun, beamed at him. “Oh, of course, dear! We have a room for you and your daughter.”
Stefan blinked. “She’s not my daughter.”
The woman’s smile froze. Her eyes flicked to Vul, then back to Stefan, her expression shifting ever so slightly. She didn’t look confused. No, it was something… darker.
Oh no.
Stefan immediately saw where her mind had gone, and dread sank into his stomach. “No, no—she just works for me,” he said quickly, trying to backpedal.
That did not help. At all.
The old woman’s face twisted into pure, unfiltered disgust. Her lips curled, her brows furrowed, and she took a step back as if she had just realized she was talking to the most repulsive creature in existence.
Stefan held up a hand. “Okay, listen, that sounded wrong—”
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The shopkeeper shook her head, her disappointment practically radiating off of her. “Son, I don’t know what kind of life you’re living, but I won’t judge,” she said, her voice dripping with judgment.
Stefan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are absolutely judging.”
The old woman took the money, shaking her head the whole time. “A shame, really. You’re a good-looking man.”
Stefan groaned again. “I swear, I will throw myself out the window.”
She simply handed him the key with an exaggerated look of pity. “Try not to keep the poor girl up too late.”
Stefan didn’t even argue anymore. He just grabbed the key and walked away, silently swearing that this was the last time he ever handled lodging arrangements.
Vul followed Stefan up the creaky wooden stairs, her steps light but steady. As they reached the top, she glanced back over her shoulder. The old shopkeeper was still watching her, her face full of pity. Vul didn’t understand why. She blinked before turning back around, looking at Stefan’s back as he walked ahead.
The hallway was dimly lit, the scent of aged wood and faint traces of ale lingering in the air. Stefan stopped in front of a door, pushed it open, and stepped inside without hesitation. Vul followed, peering into the room.
It was small but decent enough. Two beds sat against opposite walls, both covered in simple linen sheets. A wooden nightstand stood between them, and a lone candle flickered on top, casting warm light across the space. The window was small, overlooking the quiet village streets below. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping outside.
Without a word, Stefan tossed the coin sack onto the nightstand and collapsed onto the nearest bed with a sigh. He lay on his back, arms spread out, looking like he had melted into the mattress.
Vul tilted her head at him before walking over to the other bed. Mimicking him, she flopped onto it, arms stretched out. The mattress sank beneath her weight, softer than she expected. She glanced sideways at Stefan.
He turned his head slightly toward her, exhaling through his nose. “We’re heading to Yro-Ei tomorrow,” he muttered. “You better not be seasick.”
Vul blinked. “Seasick?” She tilted her head, clearly not understanding.
Stefan rolled his eyes and shut his own. “Do monsters even get seasick?” he mumbled before letting himself sink further into sleep.
Vul, however, remained awake. She watched him for a moment, studying the slow rise and fall of his chest. Then, she sat up and reached for her leather bag.
Opening it, she carefully sifted through the books Angeline had packed for her. Some were simple books meant for children, their illustrations bright and colorful. Others were far more advanced, filled with complicated words and thick pages.
Her eyes landed on a particular book. The cover was decorated with elegant women in beautiful gowns, sipping from delicate teacups, their postures graceful and refined. It reminded her of the women she had seen earlier.
She ran her fingers over the cover. It was a book about etiquette, poise, femininity, and dance.
Vul stared at it for a long time before slowly opening it, letting the candlelight illuminate the first page.
The small dragon on Vul’s shoulder suddenly stirred, stretching its tiny wings before hopping down onto the bed beside her. It tilted its head, peering at the open book with its beady eyes, as if it, too, was curious about its contents.
Vul flipped through the pages, her red eyes scanning over the illustrations of women in different dance poses. Their limbs were poised elegantly, frozen mid-motion, but the words beside them made no sense to her. She frowned. These were unfamiliar.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out another book—one filled with definitions and explanations. She skimmed the pages, matching symbols between the two books, trying to decipher the meaning.
But then her gaze drifted to Stefan. He was already lost in sleep, his breath slow and steady. His earlier tension had melted away, leaving him looking oddly peaceful.
Deciding not to disturb him, Vul carefully tucked her books back inside the bag and got up. The dragon remained behind, curling up into a small ball on the bed, its tail wrapped around itself. Without a sound, Vul slipped out of the room and headed downstairs.
The moment she stepped into the tavern’s main hall, she was met with a wall of noise.
The place was alive with energy—raucous laughter and deep, hearty cheers filled the air. The sound of boots stomping against the wooden floor mixed with the claps and rhythmic beats of a lively tune played by a group of musicians in the corner. Strings were plucked, drums pounded, and a wooden flute added a bright, cheerful melody to the chaos.
Barmaids weaved through the crowd, balancing trays stacked with frothing tankards of ale. The scent of roasted meat and spiced bread lingered in the air, mingling with the faint musk of sweat and smoke. Candlelight flickered against the walls, casting shadows that danced alongside the drunken merriment.
It was overwhelming.
Vul kept her head low, moving through the chaos until she found a seat at the farthest corner of the tavern—away from the drunken patrons, away from the music, away from the noise.
Settling down, she pulled her book back out, flipping to the page that showed women twirling gracefully on polished ballroom floors. She traced the illustrations with her fingertips, her mind wandering back to the women she had seen earlier.
But something kept stealing her attention.
Her eyes flickered up, drawn toward a group of men gathered in a tight circle, their voices rising in excitement. They cheered, shouted, and exchanged coins between each other, all while fixated on something in the middle of their huddle.
Curiosity tugged at her.
Closing her book, Vul tucked it into her bag and quietly approached the crowd. She slipped through the gaps between the onlookers, her small frame making it easier to squeeze past the broad shoulders of the men.
And then she saw it.
In the center of the circle, two monstrous lizards were locked in a brutal fight.
They were small—no bigger than a hound—but their bodies were covered in thick, jagged scales, rough like stone. Their glowing eyes burned with feral intensity, and their sharp teeth dripped with saliva, eager to tear into flesh. Long, whip-like tails lashed out, tipped with bony spikes that struck the ground hard enough to leave cracks in the wooden floor.
One lizard was a deep, ashen black with streaks of red glowing along its spine, like magma running through cracks in the earth. The other was a sickly green, its scales mottled and uneven, almost like the texture of rotting bark. Both had razor-sharp claws and mouths that smoldered with embers, tiny wisps of flame licking at their teeth as they snarled at each other.
The fight was relentless.
The black-scaled lizard lunged first, its claws swiping through the air in a deadly arc. The green one ducked, spinning its body with surprising agility, its tail whipping around and slamming into its opponent’s side. A loud crack echoed as the black lizard stumbled, hissing in fury.
But it wasn’t down yet.
The moment it regained its footing, it let out a deep, guttural growl before its throat bulged—then, with a sharp exhale, it spewed a stream of fire straight at the green lizard. The flames engulfed its opponent, illuminating the tavern with a bright orange glow.
The crowd roared in approval.
But Vul didn’t cheer.
She watched in complete silence, her eyes fixed on every movement. She studied the way the lizards moved—the way they attacked, countered, dodged. Every strike, every defensive maneuver, every slight shift in their postures before an attack. The way they used their tails as both weapons and shields. The way they adjusted their weight before lunging.
The green lizard, though momentarily consumed by fire, didn’t fall. It let out a screeching hiss before retaliating, leaping through the dying flames. Its jaws snapped around the black lizard’s neck, sinking its fangs deep into the scorched scales. The black lizard thrashed wildly, its claws raking against the green one’s sides, drawing dark, oozing blood.
Vul’s red eyes stayed locked on the vicious exchange. She took in every detail. Every movement. Every weakness exposed in their wild frenzy.
She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t look away.