Manco’s expression darkened as the woman—Lirien—spoke, her anger matched only by the unspoken weight between them. Their young mistress, Lady Ilyana, the heir of the Azure Blossom Sect, was now a captive of the Crimson Serpent Sect. Once, their lives had been simple: serving the sect, ensuring Ilyana’s needs were met, and guarding her path toward becoming the next master of the sect. But now, that life had been reduced to a desperate mission to save the last shred of their once-glorious legacy.
“We have to act fast,” Manco said, his voice low but firm. “Every moment we wait is another chance for them to tighten their grip on her.”
Lirien nodded, though the doubt in her eyes was evident. “Ilyana… she’s strong, but she’s just a child. And with Vitaliara gone—” Her voice caught, and she shook her head, composing herself. “How did it come to this?”
Manco’s jaw clenched. He didn’t have to answer. They both knew how.
The Azure Blossom Sect, once thriving and secure under the protection of their guardian beast, Lady Vitaliara, had been betrayed from within. Vitaliara’s ethereal presence had been the sect’s cornerstone—a mythical being bound to the sect’s essence, her strength the source of their unparalleled prosperity. She was their protector, their guide, and their pride.
But one fateful day, Vitaliara had weakened inexplicably, her radiant form dimming as if her very essence had been drained. Her strength, which had once repelled any threat to the sect, vanished almost overnight. The elders, who should have rallied around their guardian and prepared for what was to come, instead revealed their true colors.
Half of the Azure Blossom Sect’s elders had already sold themselves to the Crimson Serpent Sect, secretly conspiring to deliver not only the sect’s heir but also Vitaliara’s essence to their new masters. When the Crimson Serpent Sect finally struck, it was a merciless onslaught. The sect’s defenses were shattered before they could even mount a response. It was as if the enemy had known every detail—every hidden passage, every secret ward, every strength and vulnerability.
Manco and Lirien had fought through the chaos, cutting through the invaders in a desperate attempt to reach Ilyana. But by the time they reached her quarters, the sect’s heir had already been taken, dragged into the clutches of the Crimson Serpent Sect. Lady Vitaliara herself, despite her weakened state, had fought to protect her, but she too had been forced to flee. They had last seen her vanishing into the wilderness, pursued by disciples of the Crimson Serpent Sect, her ethereal form flickering like a dying ember.
“Do you think Vitaliara is still alive?” Lirien asked now, her voice barely a whisper. “If she was captured…”
“She isn’t,” Manco said firmly. “They would have announced it if they had her. Vitaliara is too valuable to them to keep quiet. That means she’s still out there, hiding, regaining her strength.”
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Lirien scoffed bitterly. “You’re more optimistic than I thought. But even if she’s alive, she’s not here. We’re on our own, Manco.”
Manco met her gaze, his voice unwavering. “We’re not on our own. We have each other, and we still have a purpose. As long as Lady Ilyana lives, so does the Azure Blossom Sect. That is why, we must act today…..This is our only chance.”
*******
In a chamber where the air in the dim was stifling, heavy with the scent of damp stone and decay, a faint flicker of light from a single torch illuminated the figure hanging from the ceiling, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls.
Lady Ilyana, once the pride of the Azure Blossom Sect, hung by her wrists, her arms stretched painfully above her. Her once-pristine robes were torn and dirtied, her hair matted and disheveled. Trails of grime streaked her pale face, but her gray eyes, though sunken, still held a flicker of defiance.
Before her, untouched, sat a simple meal on a wooden tray—a bowl of rice, a small piece of meat, and a cup of water. The food’s pristine state stood in sharp contrast to her wretched appearance, a silent testament to her refusal to break.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, its rusted hinges groaning in protest. A young man strode into the chamber, the torchlight catching on his immaculate crimson robes embroidered with the sigil of the Crimson Serpent Sect—a coiled serpent, its ruby scales glinting like fresh blood. His hair was slicked back, and his face was devoid of scars or blemishes, a stark contrast to the rough disciples of the sect. His eyes gleamed with amusement, and a self-satisfied smirk curved his lips.
“Ah,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Dear Ilyana. Still holding out, I see.”
His voice echoed in the chamber, smooth and laced with mockery. He stopped a few feet from her, tilting his head as if examining a curious animal.
“You’ve been here for, what… a week now?” he continued, his tone casual. “No attempts to eat. No pleas for mercy. No tears. Quite impressive. Or perhaps… incredibly foolish.”
Ilyana lifted her head slowly, her movements strained. Her gaze met his, unflinching. Despite her wretched state, there was no fear in her eyes—only cold defiance.
“Thalion Veynar,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. “The pampered prince of the Crimson Serpent Sect. Tell me, does it fill you with pride to gloat over someone who cannot fight back?”
Thalion chuckled, the sound low and mocking. “Oh, Ilyana, you wound me.” He stepped closer, his polished boots echoing against the stone floor. “I am simply here to check on you. You’re a guest, after all.”
Her lips twitched into a grim semblance of a smile. “A guest doesn’t usually hang from the ceiling like a butchered carcass.”
“Semantics,” Thalion replied with a shrug. He crouched slightly, bringing himself to her eye level. “You should feel honored, really. My father may have ordered your capture, but I was the one who ensured you were brought here… safely.”
Ilyana scoffed, the sound sharp despite her parched throat. “Safely? Is that what you call this?”
The sound rang out like a thunderclap, reverberating off the stone walls. Ilyana’s head snapped to the side from the force of Thalion’s hand, her cheek stinging and red. Strands of her matted hair fell across her face, obscuring her expression. She didn’t cry out, didn’t flinch. Instead, she stayed perfectly still, her breathing even as she slowly turned her head back to face him.
Her eyes were sharper than ever, blazing with a quiet fury that no slap could extinguish. A faint, defiant smile curved her lips, and despite the reddened mark on her face, her gaze pierced into him like a dagger.
“Did that make you feel powerful, Thalion?” she asked, her voice calm, yet brimming with disdain. “Striking someone who can’t fight back? Is that how the heir of the Crimson Serpent Sect defines his strength?”
Thalion’s composure wavered, his chest heaving as he glared at her. For a moment, his carefully crafted veneer cracked, revealing the volatile anger simmering beneath.
And then his hand shot forward, gripping Ilyana’s face with brutal force. His fingers dug into her cheeks, mushing them painfully, and her head was forced back slightly against the tension in her wrists. The sharp sting of his nails biting into her skin only fueled the ache, but Ilyana’s glare didn’t falter. Her gray eyes burned with unyielding defiance, a silent declaration that no amount of pain would make her cower.
Her defiance, that unrelenting fire, only seemed to enrage Thalion further. His composure shattered as he leaned in closer, his breath hot and acrid against her face. His smirk was gone, replaced by a sneer that revealed his frustration.
“Listen here, you bitch,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. “You are nothing but a mere toy for me from now on. Do you understand that?”
His grip tightened, and Ilyana’s breath hitched slightly, but still, she didn’t avert her gaze. If anything, her defiance deepened, her expression a twisted mirror of her disdain for him. He loomed over her, a man desperate to assert control, and she refused to give it to him.
Thalion’s sneer deepened, his voice dripping with mockery as he continued. “Do you know why I haven’t started yet? Why I haven’t shown you the true meaning of submission?”
He leaned even closer, his lips barely inches from her ear. “Because of that ‘cat’ of yours.” He chuckled darkly, the sound grating and cruel. “I know she’s still out there, somewhere. You won’t tell us where, but don’t worry—we’ll find her. When we do…” He pulled back slightly, his eyes gleaming with malice. “…you’ll watch as we tear her apart, piece by piece. And when she’s gone, you’ll finally understand that you have nothing left. Not your sect. Not your beast. Not even your pride.”
Ilyana’s chest tightened at his words, the venom in his tone cutting deeper than the physical pain. Yet, despite the ache in her jaw and the trembling in her exhausted body, she forced her lips into a faint, mocking smile beneath his grip.
TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!
Just then, suddenly the sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the oppressive chamber, cutting through the tense silence. The door creaked open, and a disciple of the Crimson Serpent Sect burst in, his crimson robes disheveled and his face pale with panic.
“Young Master!” the disciple gasped, bowing hastily despite his urgency. “We are under attack!”