“Then. Let me grant you the end you long for.”
Vitaliara leapt in front of Gabriela, her golden eyes blazing as her voice roared in his mind. [Lucavion! What are you doing?]
He didn’t waver, his grip on the estoc firm. ‘This is for the better,’ he thought, his inner voice calm yet resolute as he directed his thoughts to Vitaliara. ‘Look at her.’
Vitaliara glanced back at Gabriela, her celestial form trembling as she saw the truth. Gabriela didn’t move to protect herself. She didn’t protest. She simply sat there, lifeless, her gaze fixed on nothing.
[But she can recover!] Vitaliara’s voice cracked with desperation, her plea ringing in his mind. [She’s not beyond saving!]
Lucavion shook his head slightly, his smirk gone, replaced by a cold, pragmatic expression. “Recovery requires a desire to live,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving Gabriela. “She doesn’t have that anymore. She’s already made her choice.”
He raised his sword.
“My…..”
Just then Gabriel’s voice came with a low tone.
Lucavion’s estoc hovered in the air, the faint hum of the [Flame of Equinox] vibrating along its edge as he prepared to strike. But just as the blade was about to fall, a faint sound reached his ears—hoarse, broken, yet filled with more weight than any shout.
“My… daughter… please…” Gabriela’s voice cracked, barely audible, yet it carried through the stillness of the chamber like a thunderclap. Her lips moved slowly, the words drawn from a place deep within her that hadn’t been entirely extinguished. Not as a sect master. Not as a warrior. But as a mother.
Lucavion froze. His sharp gaze locked onto Gabriela, and for the first time, he saw something stirring behind the emptiness in her eyes—a glimmer of purpose, fragile but undeniable. His blade lingered mid-air, caught between his initial resolve and the unexpected weight of her plea.
Vitaliara’s golden eyes widened, a faint shimmer of tears reflecting her own inner turmoil. [Gabriela…] she whispered in his mind, her voice trembling with emotion.
Lucavion’s expression softened, though his grip on the estoc remained steady. He took a measured breath, lowering the blade slightly. “Your daughter…” he murmured, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity and understanding. “If she’s still out there… you can leave it to me.”
Gabriela’s lips trembled, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across her face. Her eyes met his for a fleeting moment, and in that instant, something unspoken passed between them. “You see…” Lucavion continued, a shadow of his smirk returning, though tempered by a rare sincerity. “I’m quite good at taking care of other people’s daughters.”
The faint smile on Gabriela’s lips grew just enough to shine through her exhaustion. “Ah… I am glad…” she whispered, her voice so soft it could barely be heard. The glimmer in her eyes faded, her body relaxing as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted from her shoulders.
Lucavion inhaled deeply, his gaze steady and composed as he raised the estoc one final time. The black starlight along its edge dimmed, replaced by a soft, ethereal glow—the [Sword of Life. Gentle Blade]. The flame coiled with a radiant balance of life’s light, a gesture of respect to the woman before him.
Vitaliara stepped aside, her form trembling but silent as she watched. [You’ll make it painless?] she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper in his mind.
Lucavion nodded once. “Of course.”
He brought the blade down in one smooth, graceful motion. The light from the [Gentle Blade] pulsed gently, wrapping around Gabriela like a shroud, easing her final moments with a warmth that seemed to erase her pain.
As her final breath escaped her lips, the chamber fell silent. Gabriela’s body slumped, her expression serene, as though she had finally found the peace that had eluded her for so long.
Lucavion sheathed his estoc with a sharp click, his expression unreadable as he turned to Vitaliara. “Her daughter,” he said simply, his voice calm yet resolute.
[Ilyana.]
Vitaliara’s voice entered Lucavion’s mind, quiet but firm, carrying the weight of memory. [Her daughter’s name is Ilyana.]
Lucavion paused, his gaze lingering for a moment on Gabriela’s lifeless form. He repeated the name under his breath, testing its weight. “Ilyana,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful yet resolute, as though the name itself carried a new purpose.
The chamber was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint echo of his boots as he turned and began to walk. Vitaliara leapt gracefully to his shoulder, her celestial fur dimmed but steady, the glow in her golden eyes subdued. She didn’t speak immediately, sensing the unspoken gravity in his stride.
Lucavion’s steps were measured, deliberate, as he moved through the broken remains of the chamber. The flickering remnants of his [Flame of Equinox] glimmered faintly in the distance, casting long shadows across the fractured obsidian floor. His mind, however, was focused on the single name echoing in his thoughts.
“Ilyana,” he repeated softly, as if to himself, the sound mingling with the quiet hum of mana in the air.
[What do you intend to do?] Vitaliara finally asked, her voice tentative but curious.
Lucavion’s lips curled into a faint, almost sardonic smile, though his eyes held none of their usual mischief. “Isn’t it obvious? Find her.” He glanced at Vitaliara, his expression sharpening. “If Gabriela held on this long for her daughter, there’s a reason. And I intend to see what that reason is.”
********
Thalion strode briskly through the darkened halls of the Crimson Serpent Sect, his boots clicking against the polished stone floor as he moved toward his father’s residence. The events in the prison chamber had left him agitated, but he shook off the unease with a sharp breath. He needed to speak to Vaelric. Whatever was happening in Thornridge was growing more dire by the moment, and answers were needed.
The narrow corridor gave way to the open courtyard, the cool night air brushing against his face. But as he stepped outside, he froze mid-step, his breath hitching.
The courtyard was littered with bodies.
Countless corpses of his fellow disciples lay strewn across the cobblestones, their crimson robes soaked in blood. The torches lining the perimeter flickered dimly, casting eerie shadows over the carnage. The metallic stench of death filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of burning wood.
“What… what happened here?” Thalion whispered, his voice trembling as his gaze darted from one lifeless form to another. His disciples—his sect’s people—were dead, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and pain. Many bore deep, precise wounds, their deaths clearly the work of someone skilled. Others looked as though they’d been torn apart by sheer force, their bodies mangled and unrecognizable.
For a moment, he was paralyzed, his mind struggling to process the scene before him. He stepped forward slowly, his boots crunching on shattered debris and bloodied cloth. His eyes narrowed, searching for any sign of life among the dead.
“This… this can’t be…” Thalion muttered. “Who… who did this?”
The unease bubbling within him began to grow into something darker—fear. He had seen death before, of course. As the heir to the Crimson Serpent Sect, he had fought and killed many times. But this… this was different. This wasn’t a battle. It was a massacre.
He crouched beside one of the corpses, a young disciple whose wide, lifeless eyes stared blankly at the night sky. A deep slash ran across his chest, the cut clean and deliberate. Thalion reached out hesitantly, touching the blood-soaked robes. They were still warm.
“Who could do this?” he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief. The disciples of the Crimson Serpent Sect were no weaklings. Even the lowest among them were seasoned fighters, skilled in combat and imbued with the sect’s fiery techniques. For so many of them to fall so quickly…
Thalion’s breath came in ragged gasps as he tore through the corridors of the sect, his boots pounding against the stone floor. The carnage in the courtyard burned in his mind, a horrifying image he couldn’t shake. The disciples were dead, their blood soaking the cobblestones, and he had no idea who—or what—could have done this.
There was only one person who might have answers: his father.
Vaelric was the strongest in the sect, the pillar upon which the Crimson Serpent Sect had been built. If anyone could stop this madness, it was him. Thalion clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade as he pushed forward, ignoring the twisting unease in his gut.
As he neared the grand doors of his father’s chambers, he slowed. The faint hum of a presence emanated from within, a powerful energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Thalion frowned, his hand hovering over the door handle.
“Father…” he muttered under his breath. “He’s here.”
The thought brought a small measure of relief. Vaelric’s chambers were forbidden to all but the sect master himself. No one else could—or would—dare enter. The energy inside had to be his father’s. And yet… something felt wrong. The air was thick with tension, and the faint metallic tang of blood lingered.
He pushed the door open cautiously, stepping inside.
The scene that greeted him made his blood run cold.