Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the floating island of Kure Jima, 250 km from Noctheris, a place where humans and other species coexist together, where many mysteries hide and many mysterious characters lurk in the shadows if u ask the old residents u will found out that this island have knack for attracting trouble but is it really true and if it is then why... In the heart of a blazing city district, severed from the main island, a boy stood trembling, his blood-stained sword heavy in his hand. Before him, a pink-haired girl smiled, her face obscured, her clothes soaked in blood that dripped from a gaping wound in her chest where a blade had pierced her. The air was thick with smoke and despair, mirroring the boy’s spiraling emotions—fear, confusion, and a searing anger at himself that gnawed at his core. Lost in the chaos, he unleashed a scream of agony, the sound tearing through the inferno.

Then, with a jolt, he awoke, drenched in sweat, tangled in his bedsheets, the haunting vision lingering like a ghost in his mind. Caelus jolted awake, drenched in sweat, the same haunting dream gripping him—a fiery city, his blood-stained sword, and the pink-haired girl, her faceless smile and bleeding chest etched in his mind. Why did it torment him? What happened that night? His memories were a jumbled haze, each attempt to recall them met with excruciating pain that tangled his thoughts into knots. Shaking, he stumbled to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face to shake off the dread, preparing for another day at high school—his second year. In the dining room, his little sister, smiling warmly, set out breakfast; their parents, often absent due to work, left them to handle the household. Over small talk and toast, they chatted lightly before getting ready. Caelus pulled on his favorite black hoodie, covering his gray hair and shielding his face from the sunlight he’d come to loathe, then walked alone down the street toward school, the dream’s weight lingering in every step.

Walking through the bustling streets to school, Caelus passed countless unfamiliar faces, their features blending into a blur he didn’t bother to memorize—maybe he’d seen them before, maybe not. His mind wandered with random thoughts, a desperate attempt to drown out the nightmare of the burning city and the pink-haired girl that had haunted him these past days. Lost in this mental fog, he barely noticed his surroundings until he collided with someone, snapping back to reality. Papers scattered across the pavement, and he instinctively bowed, mumbling apologies as he helped gather them. Looking up, he saw her—a strikingly beautiful woman with luminous, almond-shaped eyes that shimmered like amber in the morning light, her raven-black hair cascading in soft waves past her shoulders, and a serene smile that seemed to radiate warmth. Her elegant frame was draped in a flowing, emerald-green coat that caught the breeze. Suddenly, Caelus’ mind grew hazy, a strange urge surging within him, his body trembling as if pulled by some unseen force. Clenching his jaw, he bit his tongue hard, a trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he fought to stay in control. The woman’s smile widened, her voice soft and melodic as she spoke, but he ignored her, heart pounding, and hurried toward school with quick, unsteady steps, leaving her words behind.

Caelus reached his classroom, shrugged off his bag, and slumped into his seat, the room still mostly empty in the early morning quiet. He scrolled aimlessly through his phone until a gentle hand rested on his shoulder. Turning, he met Dan Heng’s calm, familiar smile. “Yo, how are you?” Dan Heng asked, sliding into the seat beside him. Caelus forced a smile. “All good. You?” “Same as always,” Dan Heng replied, their friends since fr middle school days. As they chatted, a cheerful voice cut through. “Caelus!” It was March 7th, his childhood friend, trailed by her friend Sabine. “What’re you two boys discussing this early?” March teased. “It’s not early anymore, March,” Caelus shot back, “and it’s nothing important Dang heng said.” She snickered, hmph. Soon, their homeroom teacher, Madam Herta, a renowned genius, strode in, and the students scrambled to their seats. The first day of Caelus’ second year began uneventfully—classes droned on, which suited him fine. At lunch, sitting with Dan Heng, March, and Sabine, he overheard some boys buzzing about a rumor: a cute junior transfer student with beautiful white hair had joined the first-year class. Normally, a teenager might perk up at such gossip, but Caelus felt nothing stir. These days, little interested him. He wasn’t normal—not by a long stretch. That part of him had been stripped away at birth, and some memories, sharp and dangerous, were better left locked away.

After parting ways with his friends post-school, Caelus headed toward the grocery store—his dear little sister had insisted he pick up supplies on the way home, claiming she couldn’t manage it herself. Yeah right, that little raccoon, he thought, but he’d rather not face her fury and risk skipping dinner, so he complied. Groceries in hand, he began the walk home along the footpath, finally acknowledging the nagging issue that had plagued him since leaving school: someone was tailing him. He’d glanced back several times, spotting nothing, but his instincts screamed otherwise—this wasn’t paranoia. Who could it be? They wouldn’t dare act in the bustling afternoon streets, but to lure them out without leading them straight to his door, he needed a plan. Veering into a quieter, emptier alley, Caelus heightened his senses, ears sharp, hands poised in his jacket pockets, ready to defend if this stalker tried anything. Moments later, a ruckus erupted behind him; turning, he spotted two delinquent-looking men harassing a beautiful young girl. Sigh, these types never learn, he mused. Closer inspection revealed she wore their school uniform—definitely a year younger than him—with a delicate presence: long, flowing silver-gray hair cascading down her back in a soft, luminescent gradient, strands framing her face to enhance her gentle yet mysterious aura, and captivating teal eyes exuding calm intensity. She matched the description from lunchtime rumors perfectly; this had to be the cute white-haired transfer student. As he pondered, one thug grabbed her hand, her expression twisting in displeasure. Deciding to intervene, Caelus stepped forward—just as the girl delivered a swift kick to the grabber’s groin. The man groaned, stumbling back in pain, while she leaped away, unzipping her guitar case to reveal—not a guitar, but a three-pointed long battle spear. Why a schoolgirl carried such a weapon was irrelevant; from her fierce gaze, she had no intention of letting these assholes off easy. Caelus hurried closer as one snarled, “You fucking bitch, I’ll make you pay for that!” Their bodies morphed grotesquely—height surging, muscles bulging, teeth sharpening into fangs. Werewolves? No, more specifically borisins, a subspecies of foxians. Oh great, Caelus thought, now dealing with a spear-wielding deadly lady and these two dumbasses. The kicked borisin lunged at her with feral speed, claws extended, but she pivoted gracefully, her spear whipping around to slash at his arm, drawing a spray of blood as he yelped and recoiled. The second borisin charged from the side, jaws snapping, aiming to tackle her, but she spun low, thrusting the spear’s butt into his knee with a crack, sending him sprawling. Undeterred, the first recovered and swiped wildly, forcing her back, but she countered with a fluid arc, the spear’s tips grazing his chest and tearing fabric and fur. He roared, transforming further, his companion rising with a limp to flank her. They attacked in tandem—one slashing high, the other low—but she leaped, using the spear as a vault to flip over them, landing behind and sweeping the blade across the second’s back, eliciting a howl of agony as he dropped to his knees. The first whirled, but she was faster, jabbing the spear into his thigh, twisting it before yanking free, blood pooling as he collapsed, clutching the wound. Victorious, she raised her spear high, poised to deliver a final, serious blow to the downed borisin’s chest—until Caelus surged forward, grabbing the shaft just in time, halting her strike mid-descent, his grip firm as he met her intense teal eyes.“You wanna go to jail or something?” Caelus snapped, locking eyes with the girl’s intense teal glare, his hands straining to hold back her spear. Before she could respond, the second borisin lunged at her, shoving her back. Caelus reacted swiftly, driving a hard punch into the borisin’s stomach, sending him crashing into a nearby wall with a crack that spiderwebbed the concrete. Turning his attention to the two battered delinquents, he hissed with venom, “You guys wanna run with your tails between your legs, or should I call the police?” Knowing they stood no chance after the thrashing from the girl, the borisins limped away, disappearing into the alley. Caelus sighed, turning to the mysterious spear-wielding girl. “You know, you shouldn’t commit murder in the stre—” His words caught in his throat as he faced her, her spear now pointed directly at his chest, her eyes sharp and unyielding. Before he could speak, her voice cut through, cold and deliberate: “Caelus Duskveil, the fourth Duskborne lord of the night, I have come here to kill you.”

Chapter Text

Caelus froze, the tip of the girl’s spear grazing his chest, her words echoing in his skull like a death knell. Caelus Duskveil, the fourth Duskborne lord of the night. The title hit him like a freight train, stirring something deep and buried—a fragment of memory that burned behind his eyes, too fleeting to grasp. His heart pounded, not from fear of the spear, but from the weight of her words. How did she know that name? “Who are you?” Caelus’s voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto the girl. The spear’s tip hovered at his chest, a cold reminder of her threat. “How do you know that name?”
“Firefly,” she said, her tone steady despite the faint flush creeping up her cheeks. “My name is Firefly, war dancer of the Crimson Hunt Syndicate.”
“Crimson Hunt Syndicate?” Caelus echoed, the name unfamiliar, stirring no memories. No matter, he thought, keeping his guard up. “Why does your organization want to kill me, Miss Firefly?”
She stiffened, gripping her spear tighter. “You’re a danger to the world. The fourth Duskborne lord of the night—the one destined to become the most powerful vampire lord alive.”
Caelus raised an eyebrow, his voice dry. “Oh? And what are my crimes, if you’d kindly remind me, Miss War Dancer of the Crimson Hunt Syndicate?”
“I—uh—” Firefly faltered, her confidence wavering.
Here’s my chance, Caelus thought. He’d rather avoid a fight, especially against someone whose skills he couldn’t gauge. Relaxing his stance slightly, he watched her lower her spear a fraction. “What were your instructions, exactly?”
“To… observe you,” she admitted, her eyes darting away. “To keep an eye on you and… eliminate you if you become a threat.”
“I see.” Caelus tilted his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “So, does helping a cute junior at school fend off two creeps count as a crime worthy of a death sentence?”
Firefly’s face turned scarlet. “I—that’s not—” She bowed abruptly. “I’m sorry!”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” Caelus said, waving a hand. “So, you’re my observer, right? Let’s go. The middle of the street isn’t exactly ideal for discussing confidential matters.” He glanced at her spear. “And maybe put that back in your guitar case.”
“Hmm.” Firefly nodded, her expression softening. At least she’s reasonable, Caelus thought as they began walking, him in front, her trailing behind. He didn’t love having a spear-wielding assassin at his back, but provoking her further seemed unwise.

A few minutes later, they reached a quiet park, the distant crash of ocean waves filling the air. Caelus set his grocery bag on a bench in a secluded corner and gestured for Firefly to sit. She hesitated, then perched on the edge, her spear—now disguised as a guitar case—propped beside her. They faced the horizon, the sea’s rhythm steady under a twilight sky.
One minute passed. Two. Three. She’s not gonna talk, is she? Caelus sighed inwardly. He cleared his throat, shattering the awkward silence. “So, Miss Firefly, what does your organization do, exactly? If you don’t mind sharing.”
“We hunt criminals,” she said, her voice firmer now. “Magic-related criminals, to be precise. We’re part of the Obsidian Concord.”
Caelus’s brow furrowed. The Obsidian Concord—a shadowy coalition of five organizations from different world governments, united to hunt magical threats. Or, more accurately, to pursue their own agendas under the guise of justice. Few knew of their existence, but Caelus had heard whispers. “I see,” he said, masking his recognition. “So why send you to… observe me?”
Firefly hesitated, then spoke. “Two months ago, at the Scorched Banquet on the Night of the Crimson Moon, you became the fourth lord of the night—a lord who was never meant to exist. According to the prophecy of the old gods, the one who claims that title, a descendant of the sinful god Zorathys, will change the world forever upon ascending their throne. Every powerful organization, even the island defense ministry of Kure Jima and the nation of Noctheris, wants to control you—or eliminate you.”
Caelus leaned back, processing. “So they sent you to watch me. And kill me if my ‘activities’ don’t align with their interests.”
“Yes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
He sighed. “How many other organizations know who I am?”
“I don’t know,” Firefly said. “I just follow orders. I was chosen by our three heads to be your observer.”
“Chosen, huh?” Caelus gave her a teasing smile. “You must be pretty skilled, then.”
She fidgeted, her cheeks pink again. “N-no, there are other capable war dancers too…” Not much experience with guys her age, huh? Caelus thought, amused but keeping it to himself.
“Well, since you’ll be watching me from now on, I guess we’ll see each other often,” he said, standing. “I’m not exactly committing crimes, so I’m heading home. See you tomorrow, yeah?” He flashed a grin.
“Y-yeah,” Firefly mumbled, looking flustered.As Caelus walked toward his apartment, he sensed Firefly trailing him. He stopped, turning with a raised eyebrow. “Miss Firefly, we agreed to meet tomorrow. I can’t exactly vanish overnight, and I’m sure your Syndicate could track me down if I tried.”
“I’m not following you, senpai!” she blurted, then froze. “I-I mean, you’re my upperclassman, so it makes sense to call you that… right?”
Caelus chuckled. “No problem with it.” They continued walking, and he noticed she stayed close. Same street, huh? A few minutes later, she entered the same building. Then pressed the same floor button in the elevator. “Oi,” he said, deadpan. “You’re living next door, aren’t you?”
“Don’t get me wrong, senpai! It’s so I can keep an eye on you!”
“More like stalk me 24/7,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, flashing a smile.
As they stepped out of the elevator, Caelus spotted his younger sister, Stelle, leaning against their apartment door, arms crossed. “You dumbass,” she called, eyeing his grocery bag. “Where’d you wander off to?”
“I didn’t,” he shot back. “And I’m not a dumbass.”
“Yeah, yeah, you—” Stelle stopped, her eyes landing on Firefly. A mischievous grin spread across her face. “Oh, I see. My big brother’s been hanging out with girls now, huh? Growing up so fast!”
“Oi, you’re younger than me!” Caelus snapped. “And she’s not my—”
Before he could finish, Stelle shoved him aside and grabbed Firefly’s hands, her eyes sparkling. “What’s your name? What grade are you in? Where’d you meet my brother? Are you in our school? What class?”
Firefly blinked, overwhelmed by the barrage. She glanced at Caelus, pleading for rescue. He sighed, lightly bopping Stelle on the head. “Oi, you little raccoon. She’s not my girlfriend. Firefly just transferred to our school yesterday, and she’s our new neighbor.”
“Really? That’s awesome!” Stelle beamed at Firefly. “What’s your name again?”
“Firefly,” she replied, managing a small smile.
“Nice to meet you! I’m Stelle!” She tugged Firefly’s arm. “Wanna have dinner with us? Come on, please, please, please!”
“Uh, I—” Firefly stammered, glancing at Caelus.
He groaned inwardly. There goes my peaceful life. “Fine,” he muttered, opening the door. “Let’s go, then.”

The scent of charred garlic and soy sauce wafted through Caelus and Stelle’s cramped apartment, where Caelus battled a wok of overcooked vegetables and dubious chicken strips. The grocery bag from his earlier run-in with Firefly had provided the bare minimum for a questionable stir-fry. Stelle, lounging on the couch like a self-appointed food critic, offered zero help. “Yo, big bro, you’re gonna burn the kitchen down! We’ll lose our deposit again!”

“Zip it, Stelle,” Caelus snapped, prodding a piece of chicken that looked more like charcoal. “You’re not lifting a finger, so no complaints.”

Firefly hovered near the counter, clutching her guitar case like it was her only anchor in this chaotic scene. Her eyes flicked nervously between the siblings, clearly unprepared for this level of domestic mayhem. “Um… Caelus, do you need help?” she asked, her voice barely cutting through Stelle’s laughter.

He shot her a skeptical look. “You know how to cook, Miss Transfer Student?”

“N-not really,” she admitted, her cheeks pink. “I… mostly eat out.”

“Figures,” Caelus muttered, tossing a limp carrot into the wok. My new shadow’s useless in a kitchen. He kept his tone light, but his glance at Firefly carried a silent question: How’s a supposed normal girl so bad at normal things?

Stelle vaulted over the couch, landing beside Firefly with a grin that spelled trouble. “Ooh, transfer student? Spill the deets! Where’d you move from? How’d you meet my brother? You two got a thing going on?” She waggled her eyebrows, nearly knocking over a stack of plates.

“Stelle, chill,” Caelus said, brandishing his spatula like a weapon. “She’s just our new neighbor. Don’t make it weird.”

“Yeah, right!” Stelle smirked, leaning closer to Firefly. “New neighbor, huh? Next thing, you’re sneaking over for late-night study sessions, all ‘oh, Caelus, help me with math!’”

Firefly’s face turned tomato-red. “N-no! It’s not like that! We just… met at school!” She shot Caelus a desperate look, clearly begging for backup.

Caelus sighed, rubbing his temple. “Stelle, I’d trade you for a goldfish at the night market. At least it’d be quieter.”

They shuffled to the rickety dining table, a thrift-store relic wobbling under mismatched plates and the steaming wok. Caelus plunked it down, muttering, “Behold, my culinary masterpiece. Eat at your own risk.”

Firefly peered at the dish, her expression a mix of courtesy and quiet horror. “It’s… creative,” she said, nudging a piece of chicken that seemed to glare back.

“Chow down!” Stelle declared, piling her plate high. “If we get food poisoning, we’ll haunt Caelus together, right, Firefly?” She elbowed her, sending her fork skittering across the table.

As they ate—or, in Firefly’s case, poked cautiously at her food—Caelus studied her, his mind racing. She’s supposed to keep tabs on me, but she can’t even handle a family dinner. Some war dancer. He kept his face neutral, leaning back. “So, Firefly, you settling in okay? New school, new neighborhood… must be a lot.”

Firefly froze mid-bite, a broccoli floret dangling from her fork. “Y-yeah, it’s… different. I’m still figuring things out.” Her eyes met his, a flicker of understanding passing between them—keep the cover, don’t slip.

Stelle, oblivious, leaned in with a grin. “Different how? Like, new city vibes? Or are you secretly a rock star with that guitar case? You gonna serenade us?”

Caelus choked on his water, coughing to cover a laugh. Firefly’s grip on her case tightened, her voice squeaking. “It’s just… a hobby! I’m not good or anything!”

“Sure, sure,” Stelle said, winking. “I bet you’re hiding some mad skills. Right, Caelus? You’ve seen her play, haven’t you?”

“Nope,” Caelus said, his tone dry as he fished a stray napkin out of the wok. “Haven’t had the pleasure.” He shot Firefly a teasing glance, enjoying her squirm. Let’s see how she plays this off.

“I-I’m really not that good,” Firefly stammered, her eyes pleading with him to change the subject. “It’s just… something I carry around. For, um, practice.”

Stelle snorted, shoveling food into her mouth. “Lame. I was hoping for a concert. You’re gonna have to show us something cool to make up for it, new girl.”

The table fell quiet, save for the clink of forks and the distant buzz of the city through an open window. Caelus caught Firefly’s gaze again, a silent agreement to keep their secrets buried. He leaned forward, keeping his voice casual. “So, you got any big plans for the semester? Joining any clubs, or just… keeping an eye on things?”

Firefly caught the hint, her posture relaxing slightly. “Just… focusing on school. Getting to know people.” She hesitated, then added softly, “And maybe keeping up with certain… classmates.”

Caelus smirked, catching the double meaning. “Good luck with that. Some classmates are more trouble than they’re worth.”

Stelle, missing the subtext entirely, slammed her fork down. “Trouble? You’re the king of trouble, Caelus! Remember when you set off the fire alarm trying to ‘cook’ in the school lab?”

“That was one time,” Caelus groaned, tossing a pea at her. It missed and rolled under the table.

Firefly stifled a laugh, her first real smile of the night breaking through. Stelle pounced, slinging an arm around her. “See? You’re laughing! You’re totally one of us now, Firefly! Welcome to the chaos!”

Caelus rubbed his temples, muttering, “There goes my sanity.” But as he watched Firefly’s shy grin widen, he couldn’t help a small smirk of his own. A war dancer next door, playing normal. This is gonna be a nightmare. Still, something about her awkward effort to fit in was… oddly endearing.

As Stelle launched into another exaggerated story—this time about Caelus getting stuck in a locker—Firefly listened, wide-eyed, occasionally glancing at Caelus. He shrugged, mouthing, “She’s exaggerating.” Firefly’s smile lingered, and for a moment, the weight of their hidden identities felt a little lighter.

“Wanna stay for dessert?” Stelle asked, already rummaging for ice cream. “We’ve got… uh, half a tub of something. Probably not expired!”

Firefly hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Thanks… Stelle.”

Caelus sighed, leaning back. Great. My observer’s officially part of the family circus. He caught Firefly’s eye one last time, a silent pact sealed over burnt stir-fry: their secrets stayed between them. For now.

Chapter Text

The clatter of dishes and Stelle’s relentless teasing faded behind Firefly as she slipped out of Caelus and Stelle’s cramped apartment, her guitar case slung over her shoulder. The hallway’s dim fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting long shadows on the chipped paint of the walls. She glanced back at their door, her teal eyes lingering as Caelus’s sarcastic grin and Stelle’s chaotic energy replayed in her mind. For a moment, she almost felt… normal. Like a regular high school girl, not a war dancer bound by blood oaths to the Crimson Hunt Syndicate. But the weight of her spear, hidden in its deceptive case, grounded her. Focus, Firefly. You have a job to do.

She unlocked the door to her own apartment—unit 4B, conveniently next to Caelus’s—and stepped into the sparse, half-unpacked space. Boxes littered the floor, labeled with cryptic shorthand only she understood: Gear. Files. Rituals. The Syndicate had arranged this place in a hurry, a bare-bones setup for her mission. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting a cold glow over the room. She set her guitar case against the wall, unzipping it to check her spear. The three-pointed blade gleamed, its edge still flecked with dried borisin blood from the alley fight. She frowned, grabbing a cloth to clean it, her movements precise but distracted. Caelus’s words echoed in her head: “Deal. But… I still have to report to the Syndicate.” She’d almost let her guard down at dinner, caught up in Stelle’s chaos and Caelus’s disarming sarcasm. Almost.

As she stacked a box of books—mostly decoys, with a few Syndicate-coded texts hidden among them—a soft rustle broke the silence. Her hand froze on the cloth, her senses sharpening. The air felt heavier, charged with something unnatural. Slowly, she turned, her grip tightening on the spear. In the corner of the room, perched on a cardboard box, sat a black cat. Its eyes glowed an unnatural crimson, like embers in a dying fire, and its tail flicked with deliberate menace. Firefly’s heart skipped, but she kept her voice steady. “Vermilion,” she said, bowing slightly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

The cat’s mouth opened, and a voice slithered out—low, melodic, and laced with a cold authority that made Firefly’s skin prickle. It wasn’t the cat speaking; it was her, one of the three heads of the Crimson Hunt Syndicate, her essence woven into the animal’s form. “You’ve been swift, Firefly,” Vermilion purred, the words curling like smoke. “Entering his domain so soon. The shared meal, the laughter—it serves our purpose well.”

Firefly’s jaw tightened, but she kept her gaze lowered, respectful. “I entered Caelus Duskveil’s apartment to gather intelligence, as instructed. His sister invited me in—it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

The cat’s eyes narrowed, glinting with amusement. “And those borisins in the alley? A convenient excuse to draw him near, wasn’t it? Don’t think I missed your little performance. You let them harass you to pull him out, to test him.”

Firefly’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t deny it. “It worked,” she said, her voice firm despite the guilt twisting her gut. “The borisins weren’t Syndicate plants, but I used the situation. Caelus intervened, just as I predicted. I saw his reflexes, his strength—more than a normal human’s, even if he’s suppressing it. He’s… dangerous, but he doesn’t seem to know it yet.”

Vermilion’s laugh was a low, chilling hum, reverberating through the cat’s small frame. “Clever girl. But don’t grow complacent. The fourth Night lord is no ordinary mark. The Scorched Banquet changed him, even if the details elude us all. You saw the shadow in his eyes when he struck that borisin. He’s awakening, Firefly, and when he does, the balance will shift.”

Firefly’s fingers twitched on the spear, her mind flashing to the alley—Caelus’s fist cracking the wall, his voice dripping venom as he sent the borisins running. She’d felt it then, a flicker of something ancient and dark in him, the same shadow that the Syndicate whispered about. “He doesn’t seem aware of his full potential,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought my mission was to observe him, to eliminate if he becomes a threat.”

“Observe, yes,” Vermilion’s voice sharpened, the cat’s tail lashing. “But your presence is key to containing him. The Obsidian Concord demands vigilance, and we must ensure he remains... manageable. Problems are already stirring, and Sable’s disappearance proves this island hides deadly secrets. You were chosen because you’re subtle, Firefly. Don’t forget that.”

The words stung, but Firefly nodded, her expression hardening. “I understand, ma’am. I’ll report everything. His routines, his friends, his... daily life. The Scorched Banquet—I’ve heard the name in briefings, but what exactly—”

“Details are for those who need them,” Vermilion cut in, her tone a velvet blade. “Focus on your task. Watch him closely. Every habit, every weakness. It may unlock what we need to keep him in check and to kill him if needed."

Firefly swallowed, her mind racing. The Scorched Banquet—a term shrouded in Syndicate lore, something tied to ancient prophecies and blood moons, but the full truth was kept from operatives like her. She hadn’t pressed Caelus on it, and he hadn’t volunteered. “I’ll get closer,” she said. “He trusts me, at least a little. I can use that.”

“Good,” Vermilion purred. “But beware, Firefly. Kure Jima is a crucible. The Government, the island’s own defenses —they’re all pieces in a larger game. And you, my dear, are a pawn who must play her part perfectly. Fail, and you’ll burn out, just like your namesake.”

The cat leaped off the box, landing silently on the floor. Its form shimmered, the crimson glow fading from its eyes as Vermilion’s presence withdrew, leaving only an ordinary animal blinking up at Firefly. She exhaled, her knees weak, and sank onto a nearby box. The spear clattered softly as she set it down, her hands trembling. Just observe, she told herself, clinging to the illusion of simplicity. That’s all.

She resumed unpacking, her movements mechanical, but her mind was elsewhere. The borisins in the alley hadn’t been planned, but she’d seen the chance and taken it, letting them corner her to draw Caelus out. His reaction—swift, brutal, protective—had confirmed the Syndicate’s suspicions: he wasn’t just a high schooler with a foggy past. He was something more, something dangerous. And yet, at dinner, he’d been… kind. Sarcastic, sure, but human in a way she hadn’t expected. It made her mission harder. Don’t get attached, she told herself, shoving a stack of files into a drawer. He’s a mark, not a friend.

The black cat meowed softly, curling up in a corner as if nothing had happened. Firefly glared at it, half-expecting Vermilion’s voice to return. “You’re not fooling anyone,” she muttered, but the cat just yawned. She turned to her window, gazing out at Kure Jima’s skyline, where the city’s lights flickered like stars against the darkening sea. Somewhere out there, the other factions were moving. Sable was missing. And Caelus, the boy next door, was a ticking bomb she was tasked with watching—or destroying.

She picked up her spear again, running her fingers along its edge. “I’m not expendable,” she whispered, more to herself than the empty room. “I’ll prove it. To Vermilion. To the Syndicate. To him.” But as she said it, a flicker of doubt crept in, stirred by Caelus’s smirk, Stelle’s laughter, and the strange warmth of their chaotic dinner. For the first time, Firefly wondered if Kure Jima’s shadows might swallow her, too.

The apartment door clicked shut behind Firefly, leaving Caelus and Stelle in the lingering haze of burnt stir-fry and awkward laughter. Stelle had already vanished into her room, blasting some upbeat track that vibrated through the thin walls, oblivious to the storm brewing in her brother’s mind. Caelus cleared the table mechanically, his thoughts a tangled web he couldn’t quite unravel. Too convenient, he mused, scraping remnants into the trash. All of it. He bid Stelle a distracted goodnight and retreated to his room, the door closing with a soft thud that echoed his unease.

He collapsed onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight, and stared at the ceiling. Moonlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting silvery shadows across the room like ghostly fingers reaching for secrets. Caelus pulled his black hoodie tighter around him, his gray hair splayed across the pillow. The events of the day replayed in his head, each one slotting into place with suspicious ease. Firefly stalking him from school—subtle, but his instincts had caught it. Then the alley, those borisins harassing her, drawing him in like bait on a hook. Her spear flashing, her declaration: I have come here to kill you. But in the park, she’d folded so quickly, admitting she was just an observer. And now, dinner in his home, laughing with Stelle like they were old friends. She seemed relaxed, almost too much for someone sent by a shadowy syndicate. Lack of experience? Or a calculated plan to lower his guard? He couldn’t be sure. Not yet. But Kure Jima had a way of twisting coincidences into traps, and Firefly felt like one waiting to spring.

His gaze drifted to the window, the moon hanging full and mocking in the night sky. Its White-tinged glow stirred something deep within him, a phantom ache that clawed at the edges of his memory. The Night of the Scorched Banquet. The words slithered through his thoughts, unbidden and unwelcome. What happened that night? He tried to grasp it, to pull the fragments together, but pain lanced through his skull like a blade, blurring his vision. Four months—his memories of the past four months were a haze, patches of fog where clarity should be. It was as if someone had reached into his mind and erased pieces, leaving only echoes. He didn’t remember what transpired, why it unfolded, or how he’d survived. But the consequences… those were etched in his soul, sharp and unforgiving. The blood on his hands, the screams in the flames, the title thrust upon him: the fourth Nightlord. Actions of a past self he couldn’t recall, burdens he never asked for.

Caelus rubbed his temples, wincing. He’d wanted a quiet life, really. To blend into the crowds of Kure Jima, to be normal among the humans, foxians, and whatever else lurked in the shadows. High school, friends like Dan Heng and March, simple days without the weight of prophecy. But fate was cruel, a relentless tide pulling him under. He had been right about that—the one whose words still haunted him, a figure from the fringes of his fractured past. You can’t run from your fate, Caelus. The world burdens you with it for a reason. No, he wouldn’t give in. He’d see the end of this path, carve his own destiny, not bow to some seer who claimed to glimpse the future. Even if his inherited powers remained dormant, flickering just out of reach, he’d master them in time. For now, though, the immediate shadow loomed: Firefly, his cute but deadly observer. What were her real intentions? The Syndicate’s puppet, or something more insidious?

He needed answers, and he couldn’t unravel this alone. With a sigh, Caelus unlocked his phone, the screen’s glow cutting through the dim room. He scrolled to a contact marked simply with an initial, his thumb hovering for a moment before pressing call. The line rang once, twice, then connected.

“Hey, it’s me. Caelus.”

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen window, painting the cramped apartment in hues of gold and shadow. Stelle hummed a cheerful tune, flipping pancakes with a practiced flick of her wrist, the scent of butter and syrup cutting through the lingering ghosts of Caelus’s failed stir-fry from last night. Unlike her brother, Stelle had a knack for cooking, her movements as precise as a dance, spatula twirling like a baton. Caelus sat at the table, nursing a glass of orange juice, his gray hair still mussed from a restless night. His mind churned with thoughts of Firefly, the alley, and the cryptic phone call he’d made before bed. Just another day in his not-so-normal life.

“Yo, big bro, you look like you saw a ghost,” Stelle teased, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of him. “Dreams messing with you again?”

“Nah,” Caelus lied, forcing a grin. “Just thinking about how you’re hogging all the syrup.” He grabbed the bottle, dodging her playful swat. Normalcy felt like a mask he wore, fragile and ill-fitting, but he’d keep it up for Stelle’s sake. She didn’t need to know about the shadows creeping closer or the weight of a title he didn’t understand. They ate in comfortable banter, Stelle rattling on about some new game, while Caelus nodded, his thoughts drifting to the moonlit ache of the Scorched Banquet. Another day, another dance with fate.

At school, the classroom buzzed with early morning chaos. Caelus slumped into his seat, scrolling through his phone, when Dan Heng slid in beside him, offering his usual calm smile. “Yo, you good?” Dan Heng asked, adjusting his glasses. “You’ve got that look again.”

“All good,” Caelus replied, pocketing his phone. “Just the usual weirdness. You?”

“Same as always,” Dan Heng said, their middle-school friendship a steady anchor in Caelus’s storm. Their chatter was light—homework gripes, weekend plans—until a familiar voice cut through.

“Caelus!” March 7th bounded in, her pink ponytail bouncing as she plopped into the seat beside them, Sabine trailing behind with a quieter grin. “Hey, Cae, why didn’t you reply to my messages yesterday?” March’s eyes narrowed, playful but probing.

“Oh, shoot,” Caelus chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. With everything yesterday—Firefly, borisins, that call—I forgot to check. “I was, uh, super busy, you know. Housework and stuff.”

March eyed him skeptically, leaning closer. “Housework, huh?” She always knew when he was dodging—his avoidance of eye contact was a dead giveaway. As he was deflecting, a nearby group of boys erupted into chatter, their voices carrying across the room.

“Hey, remember that new junior I mentioned yesterday?” one said, leaning on a desk. “The transfer with the white hair? She’s officially starting today.”

“Really?” the others chimed in, leaning in eagerly.

“Yeah, but don’t get your hopes up,” the first boy said, rubbing his head where another had flicked him. “Ow, don’t do that, you buffoon!”

“Chill out,” another laughed. “Why no chance?”

The boy smirked, lowering his voice. “Saw her in the park yesterday, sitting on a bench with some guy. Looked cozy.”

“Tch,” the group muttered in unison, cursing their luck. “Who was it?”

“I’m trying to remember!” the boy snapped, annoyed. “It’s ‘cause you flicked me, messed up my brain cells!”

As their banter escalated, the boy’s eyes scanned the room, landing on Caelus. His face lit up with recognition. “You!” He jumped off the desk, striding over. “Caelus, you were with her yesterday in the park, weren’t you?”

Caelus froze, his stomach dropping. Great. Just what I need. “Uh, I think you’re mistaken—”

“No, it was you!” the boy interrupted, pointing. “I saw you two chatting!”

March’s eyes narrowed, a sinister-sweet smile curling her lips as she grabbed Caelus’s shoulder. “Ohh, would you elaborate?”

The boy, oblivious to the tension, grinned. “You know, the new transfer student. White hair, super cute. I saw her with Caelus in the park yesterday, all buddy-buddy.”

“Tch,” the other boys muttered, side-eyeing Caelus with envy.

“Ohh, really?” March’s smile widened, her tone dripping with mock innocence. “Wow, Caelus, such a busy man with all that housework.” She stood, sauntering to the wastebin, pulling papers from her bag. With a dramatic flourish, she tore them to shreds and tossed them in.

“What was that?” Caelus asked, dread creeping in.

“Oh, nothing,” March said, turning away with a huff. “Just your math homework I did for you. Humph.”

“Why, March?!” Caelus wailed, comedic tears in his eyes as he mourned the shredded pages. The boys’ questions about the new girl fell on deaf ears as he slumped in his seat, the weight of his lie sinking in.

Dan Heng patted his back, suppressing a laugh. “Don’t worry, treat her to a meal later. She’ll forgive you.”

Before Caelus could protest, Madam Herta strode into the classroom, her presence silencing the chaos. “Settle down,” she barked. The class scrambled to their seats, and the day droned on—lectures, notes, the usual grind. Caelus’s mind wandered, Firefly’s face flickering in his thoughts. Too convenient, he mused, scribbling absently. Her showing up, the alley, the park… she’s playing a game, but what’s the endgame?

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Madam Herta paused at the door, turning. “Oh, yes, Caelus, meet me in the staff room. I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, Herta-san,” Caelus replied, wincing as her hand fan sailed through the air, smacking his head.

“Address your teacher properly, you idiot!” she snapped, exiting as laughter rippled through the room.

“Yes, Madam Herta,” Caelus muttered, rubbing his head. The other students filed out, their chatter fading, but Caelus’s thoughts lingered on Firefly. Her relaxed demeanor, her quick shift from assassin to neighbor—was it inexperience, or something deeper? And the Scorched Banquet… that name haunted him, a void in his memory that throbbed with pain whenever he reached for it. Four months of fog, consequences he couldn’t escape, and a fate he refused to accept. I’ll decide my own path, he vowed, standing. But first, he needed to deal with his deadly observer—and find out what she was hiding. And Madam Herta’s summons? That was another shadow waiting to fall.

Chapter Text

Caelus wove through the fading bustle of Kure Jima High’s hallways, the after-class clamor softening into a distant hum as he neared the staff room. His mind churned—Firefly’s spear grazing his chest, her cryptic claim about the Crimson Hunt Syndicate, and the persistent fog of the Scorched Banquet clawing at his memories. Madam Herta’s summons felt like a lifeline, pulling him toward clarity. She wasn’t just his teacher; she was a cornerstone of his world, her enigmatic presence stirring reverence and a quiet adoration that warmed his chest. Last night, under the moon’s cold glare, he’d called her, spilling every detail of the alley fight, Firefly’s threat. Now, what did she want? Was this about his frantic call, or something deeper?

He rapped on the staff room door, the sound muffled by the heavy wood. “Enter,” came Herta’s voice, sharp yet laced with a melodic warmth that always pulled him in. Stepping inside, he entered her sanctum—a cluttered haven of curios, magical relics pulsing with latent energy, their surfaces etched with intricate, glowing patterns. Shelves brimmed with artifacts humming softly, each whispering arcane secrets. At the center sat Madam Herta, the Witch of the Void, her beauty as mesmerizing as it was unearthly. Her silver hair spilled in loose waves, framing a face frozen in youthful radiance—not by her design, but a side effect of the immense magical power coursing through her, defying time’s grasp. Her petite frame, barely grazing five feet, was cloaked in a flowing black robe, its fabric shimmering with subtle sigils that flickered like stars. Her violet eyes, sharp yet softened with a knowing warmth, locked onto him, gleaming with secrets that made his heart skip—not from fear, but from the deep bond they shared.

“You’re late, Caelus,” Herta said, her voice carrying a playful edge as she set down a magic mirror, its surface rippling with shadowy mists that pulsed under her touch. She leaned back, her delicate fingers brushing the desk’s edge.

“Sorry, Herta,” Caelus replied, flashing a lopsided grin, his gray hair catching the faint glow of the curios. He knew the correction was coming—she never let “Herta” slide—but it felt right, a small gesture of their closeness, forged through years of trust.

Her eyes narrowed, and with a swift flick of her wrist, her hand fan sailed across the desk, smacking his forehead with a soft thwack. “That’s Madam Herta, you cheeky brat,” she chided, though her lips curved into a fond smile. She rose, moving with a grace that seemed to weave the air itself, the faint hum of magic trailing her like a shadow. As one of the world’s most powerful witches, Herta worked with Kure Jima’s island defense forces and the Noctheris government, hunting high-priority magical criminals with ruthless precision, earning her the title Witch of the Void—a name whispered in awe and fear across the magical world. Yet here, in this relic-strewn room, she was his mentor, his confidante, the one he turned to when the shadows grew heavy.

She gestured to a chair across her desk, its wood inlaid with faintly glowing curios that thrummed under her presence. “Sit. We need to talk about that mess you got yourself into yesterday.”

Caelus sank into the seat, the chair creaking as he met her gaze. He didn’t fear her—never could. Their bond was intimate, not romantic but rooted in the way a student adores a teacher who’s seen their rawest moments. She’d flicked his head, thrown her fan, or simply corrected him countless times for dropping the “Madam,” but it only deepened his respect and affection for her. Last night, he’d laid it all bare—the alley, the borisins, Firefly’s spear at his chest, her claim about the Syndicate and his title. Her youthful face, framed by that silver hair, and those amethyst eyes, glinting with wisdom and mischief, had been the voice on the phone, guiding him through the panic. “So, Madam Herta,” he said, emphasizing her title with a teasing smirk, “you gonna tell me how to handle my new stalker? Or is this about something bigger?”

Her fan snapped open, and she gave his head another light flick, her smile both exasperated and affectionate. “Watch it, Caelus. You spilled everything last night—Firefly, the Syndicate, that alley stunt. You’re neck-deep in Kure Jima’s chaos again, aren’t you? This island’s a trouble magnet, and you’re its favorite target.”

Madam Herta’s expression shifted, her playful demeanor giving way to a steely seriousness that made the air feel heavier. The curios hummed softly, their glowing patterns casting flickering shadows across her youthful face. “I tweaked and twisted some files yesterday after your call,” she said, her violet eyes narrowing slightly, “and gathered information from my sources. The Crimson Hunt Syndicate—be grateful, Caelus.”

Oh, there she goes again, Caelus thought, suppressing a grin. Madam Herta loved her praise—deservedly so, given her unrivaled genius in witchcraft and magic, but sometimes she leaned into it a bit too much. An angry Madam Herta was a storm he’d rather not weather, so he played along, his voice warm with the adoration he genuinely felt. “Madam Herta is a peerless gem,” he began, leaning forward with a teasing glint in his eye. “Madam Herta is an unrivaled genius, and Madam Herta is an inimitable beauty.”

She nodded, her lips curving into a satisfied smile, the faintest flush touching her cheeks. “Good boy. Now, as I was saying,” she continued, her tone crisp, “the Crimson Hunt Syndicate was founded after the war between the First Nightlord’s Warlord Domain and the Second Nightlord’s Night Kingdom Domain. It was formed to hunt down terrorist groups that refused to honor the peace treaty signed by both Nightlords 278 years ago. The Syndicate started with strong spiritual mediums—war veterans, highly proficient in their craft. From there, they grew into the powerhouse they are today, with a string of successful high-priority target eliminations and an impressive mission success rate.”

“Hmm,” Caelus said, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking under him. “Sounds impressive.”

“It is,” Madam Herta replied, her voice carrying a hint of respect. “They began during a time of major instability between world governments, sparked by the Second Night Kingdom War between the First and Second Nightlords. Their influence has only grown since.”

Caelus rubbed his chin, processing. “So, Madam Herta,” he said, his tone shifting to a playful plea, “can you get this new observer off my tail?” He widened his eyes, attempting his best puppy-dog look, hoping to charm her.

Herta’s fan snapped open, and she flicked his forehead with a swift thwack. “No can do, Caelus,” she said, her voice firm but laced with amusement. “No matter how much you plead or whine. The Crimson Hunt Syndicate holds major influence with world governments, including Noctheris. This Firefly girl you mentioned? She was sent here with government permission. Even I can’t pull strings that high.” She chuckled lightly, her eyes glinting. “Besides, thinking about it, having her around might be good for you. You’re reckless enough to need a keeper.”

“Ahh, having fun at my demise, I see,” Caelus shot back, mock-pouting, though his lips twitched with a smile.

Herta leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, the magic mirror beside her pulsing faintly. “Firefly is a Class S operative in the Crimson Hunt Syndicate, personally trained by Vermilion, one of their three heads. She’s extremely proficient in hand-to-hand combat, spirit magic, and martial arts combat magic. Her assessment files show top scores, and she’s a strong spiritual medium.” Herta paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “But one thing doesn’t add up. You said she called herself an assassin, right?”

“Yeah,” Caelus confirmed, nodding.

“According to my information, she’s more of a combat mage than an assassin,” Herta said, tapping the desk. “Her file is heavily redacted beyond that. That’s all I could dig up.”

“Thank you, Madam Herta,” Caelus said sincerely, though his mind was already racing. A combat mage, not an assassin? What’s her real game, then?

Herta’s gaze softened, but only for a moment. “You’re welcome. Now…” Her tone shifted, and Caelus braced himself. “Madam Herta,” he said hesitantly, his voice quieter, “you know what happened that night, don’t you? The Scorched Banquet?”

Her violet eyes sharpened, pinning him in place. “I’ve told you multiple times, Caelus,” she said, her voice like a blade wrapped in velvet. “It’s for your own safety that you don’t know. Don’t push it.”

“But—” he started, desperation creeping in.

“No buts,” she snapped, her fan flicking his head again, harder this time. “It’s my final verdict. Understood?”

“Yes,” Caelus muttered, looking down, his shoulders slumping. “I understand.”

Herta sighed, her expression softening as she leaned back. “Listen, Caelus. Try to stay out of trouble and avoid Firefly as much as you can. Do that, and I’ll see if I can pull some strings to get her off your tail. Deal?”

“Yes, Madam Herta,” he said, still staring at the floor, though a spark of hope flickered in his chest.

“Good. That’s all for now,” she said, her tone brisk again. “Inform me if anything else happens.” As Caelus stood to leave, she called out, “Oh, and one more thing.” With a smirk, she tossed a thick stack of papers at him. He caught it reflexively, blinking in confusion.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the bundle.

“Your punishment, of course,” Herta said, her smile wicked. “For not doing your math homework. Submit it tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on, give me a break!” Caelus wailed, his eyes comically teary as he clutched the papers. Herta’s laughter followed him as he trudged out of the staff room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Caelus trudged toward the school’s exit, the weight of Madam Herta’s words—and her math homework punishment—clinging to him. The stack of papers felt heavier than it should, a reminder of the normalcy he was desperately trying to hold onto. She won’t tell me about the Scorched Banquet, he thought, frustration simmering in his chest. Even if it’s for my own good, I need to know what happened that night. But the truth was a double-edged sword. Uncovering it might unravel the fragile life he’d built as a high school student, stripping away the mundane mask he wore. Ugh, it’s so frustrating. He needed to clear his head, to shake off the tangle of prophecies, syndicates, and half-remembered nightmares.

“Man, it’s really hot these days,” he muttered to himself as he stepped out of the building, the late afternoon sun beating down on Kure Jima’s bustling streets.

“Yeah, totally,” a voice replied, startling him.

Caelus froze, his heart lurching as he spun around. There, leaning against the wall with her bag slung over one shoulder and that deceptive guitar case propped beside her, was Firefly. Her silver-gray hair caught the sunlight, shimmering like a halo, and her teal eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and warmth. “Hey, were you waiting for me?” he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

“Of course,” she said, straightening up with a small smile. “I’m your observer, after all.”

So much for avoiding her, Caelus thought, cursing his luck under his breath. Me and my terrible timing. “You said something, senpai?” Firefly asked, tilting her head, her expression innocent but her eyes sharp.

“Ah, no, nothing,” Caelus said quickly, waving a hand. “So, uh, let’s go home, I guess.” He started walking, hoping to keep some distance, but her voice stopped him.

“Senpai!” she called, her tone hesitant. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “You see, I need to, uh, do some shopping,” she said, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “But I can’t, you know, let you out of my sight. So… could you come with me?”

Caelus stared at her, deadpan. Shopping? Now? “You’re saying I have to go shopping with you?” he asked, his voice flat.

“No, no!” Firefly said quickly, her cheeks flushing as she waved her hands. “It’s not like you have to. I can do it later.” Her shoulders slumped, her teal eyes dropping to the ground, and for a moment, she looked like a kicked kitten—small, dejected, and entirely too genuine.

Caelus glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and his resolve wavered. Why does she have to be this cute? he thought, then immediately scolded himself. No, no, Caelus, stay strong. She’s probably acting. Yeah, that’s it—a Syndicate ploy to lower my guard. But her expression seemed so sincere, tugging at his heart. Ugh, I can’t take it. He sighed, running a hand through his gray hair. “Fine, I’ve got some free time today. We can go shopping.”

“Really?” Firefly’s face lit up, her smile so radiant it nearly blinded him. So cute, Caelus thought, and then—

A sharp pain surged through his body, his vision blurring for a split second. Not again, he thought, gripping his head as the world tilted. The familiar haze of his fractured memories clawed at him, flashes of fire and blood flickering in his mind. Firefly’s voice cut through the fog. “Caelus-senpai, are you alright?”

He covered his face with one hand, biting his tongue hard enough to taste blood, the sharp sting grounding him. “It’s nothing,” he said, forcing a strained smile as he lowered his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Hmm,” Firefly said, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she nodded. They began walking toward the shopping mall, the hum of Kure Jima’s streets filling the silence between them.

The glass doors of the shopping mall slid open, and Firefly stepped inside, her teal eyes widening with childlike awe as she took in the sprawling chaos of Kure Jima’s central mall. Neon signs flashed, music pulsed from overhead speakers, and the air buzzed with the chatter of shoppers weaving through stores. Caelus trailed behind, clutching his stack of math homework papers, his amusement growing as he watched her gawk at the glittering displays. “What, never seen a shopping mall before?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

Firefly’s cheeks flushed, and she fidgeted with the strap of her guitar case. “No, I mean… you know, we used to live in designated dorms at the organization,” she admitted, her voice trailing off in embarrassment. “We only went out for duties and missions. This is… my first time.” She froze, eyes widening as if she’d said too much. “No, no, wait, I shouldn’t have—”

“Ohh,” Caelus cut in, grinning widely. “So, Miss Observer lived cooped up in a dorm, never seeing the outside world? Wow, how tragic.”

“It’s not!” Firefly pouted, crossing her arms, but her blush deepened, making her look even more like a sulky kitten. “Anyway, let’s go. I’m not asking you to carry my bags.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to,” Caelus shot back, still smirking as they began their shopping. They moved through aisles, picking up essentials—groceries, toiletries, nothing exciting. Caelus kept half an eye on her, noting how she scanned each item with a mix of curiosity and caution, like she was memorizing the layout of a battlefield instead of a supermarket.

Then, Firefly stopped dead in front of a sweet shop, her gaze locked on a display of oak cake rolls, their golden swirls glistening under the store’s lights. Caelus glanced at her, then at the sweets, raising an eyebrow. “You wanna buy those, huh?”

“I… no,” Firefly said quickly, tearing her eyes away. “Vermilion said to avoid unnecessary calories.” Her voice was firm, but her longing glance betrayed her.

“Oh, because you’ll get fat?” Caelus said, barely suppressing a laugh. Firefly’s glare could’ve burned a hole through him, and he turned away, whistling innocently to avoid her wrath. “Anyway, that’s all you need? Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, following him toward the mall’s exit. But as they passed a brightly lit arcade corner, something else caught her eye. Caelus groaned inwardly. What now? It was a claw machine, plastered with vibrant decals from a famous kids’ TV show about characters battling in robot suits. Caelus’s lips twitched—March and I used to watch that show all the time as kids. He glanced at Firefly, who was practically pressing her face against the glass, staring at the prizes inside.

“Senpai, what’s this?” she asked, her voice brimming with curiosity.

“It’s a claw machine,” he explained, leaning against the machine. “You put in coins, control the claw to grab a prize, and if you drop it in the basket, you keep it. If you miss, you’re out of luck.”

“Is that so?” Firefly mused, her eyes sparkling. “I want to try it!”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Caelus said, extending a hand expectantly.

She blinked. “What?”

“The coin,” he said, deadpan.

“Oh, right!” Firefly fumbled in her bag, pulling out a coin. Caelus showed her how to work the controls, and she dove in with fierce determination. One try. Two. Three. By the eighth attempt, she still hadn’t nabbed a prize, and her purse was empty. She stared into it, dejected, her shoulders slumping. “I can’t spend any more money on this,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible over the arcade’s noise.

Caelus should’ve laughed—really, he should’ve—but her crestfallen expression hit him like a punch. Why does she have to look like that? he thought, exasperated with himself. Why am I like this? He sighed, stepping beside her. “Here, let me try.”

“Really?” Her face lit up, hope flickering in her teal eyes.

“Just once,” he said, taking a coin . He studied the prize pool, his gaze landing on a specific keychain—a figurine of a character in a mecha suit labeled Firefly Type-4. Is that why she wants it? Because of the name? he wondered, glancing at her. Firefly was laser-focused on the claw, her intensity almost comical, like she was ready to curse the machine if it failed her. Caelus swallowed a laugh, adjusting the claw carefully over the keychain. He could feel her gaze burning into the glass, her breath held as if the fate of the world hung on this moment.

He pressed the button. The claw descended, Firefly’s focus unwavering. Caelus was sure the mall’s noise couldn’t drown out the pounding of her heart. The claw snagged the keychain, lifting it slowly toward the basket. Firefly’s hands clenched, her lips moving in what looked like a silent prayer to some god of luck. Time seemed to stretch—seconds into minutes—until, with a soft thud, the keychain dropped into the basket.

Firefly gasped, grabbing the prize and clutching it to her chest. She jumped in pure joy, her silver-gray hair bouncing as she spun in place. Caelus watched, stunned. The same girl who’d ruthlessly dispatched two borisins and threatened to kill him was now bouncing like a kid over a cheap keychain. Is this her real personality? he wondered, unable to reconcile the fierce war dancer with this gleeful teenager. He cleared his throat to get her attention. She froze mid-spin, her cheeks flushing as she realized he was staring.

“Shall we go now?” Caelus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she nodded, still clutching the keychain, her embarrassment palpable. They exited the mall, stepping onto the footpath as the sun dipped lower, painting Kure Jima’s skyline in hues of orange and purple. Firefly glanced at him, her voice soft. “I’ll pay you back for the coin later.”

“No need,” Caelus said, then caught himself. “I mean, take it as a gift. You’re doing the hard job of being my observer, right? Consider it a present from me to my cute observer for her hard work.” His tone dripped with sarcasm, but Firefly’s blush deepened, her eyes widening.

Is he flirting with me? she thought, shaking her head. No, no, it’s a scheme. He’s trying to throw me off. I’ll pay him those 100 credits later. Definitely. She nodded to herself, resolute, as they walked.

Suddenly, a deafening BOOM shattered the evening calm. Both turned, their eyes locking on a plume of fire and smoke rising from a factory in the distance, its silhouette stark against the twilight sky. Caelus groaned, muttering under his breath, “Great, just what I needed today.”

Chapter Text

The air thrummed with the aftershock of the distant explosion, a fiery glow bleeding into the twilight sky as pedestrians froze, their murmurs rising like a tide. Smoke curled from the factory district, a dark omen against Kure Jima’s fading light. Firefly’s grip tightened on her guitar case strap, her teal eyes sharpening with a soldier’s resolve. Without warning, she shoved her shopping bags into Caelus’s arms, nearly toppling his stack of math homework. “Hey, what’re you doing?” he snapped, scrambling to balance the load.

“I have to check the explosion,” Firefly said, her voice cutting through the chaos with cold professionalism, a far cry from her earlier glee over a keychain. “It’s protocol. Operatives in the area respond first. The island’s in our zone, so I’m going to report it.”

Caelus blinked, masking his unease with a shrug. “Good luck, then.”

Firefly’s gaze lingered on him, sharp and searching, as if peeling back his forced nonchalance. Then, with a single fluid leap, she vaulted onto a nearby rooftop, her silhouette swallowed by the smoky horizon. Finally, a break, Caelus thought, exhaling as he adjusted the bags. He turned to head home, the weight of Herta’s warnings—avoid Firefly, stay out of trouble—anchoring his steps.

But a gnawing guilt clawed at his chest, sharp and relentless, like a blade twisting deeper with each step. It wasn’t just unease—it was a suffocating ache, a visceral pull that made his stomach churn and his throat tighten. Why do I feel like this? he thought, his heart pounding as if accusing him of betrayal. She’s a Class S operative. She can handle herself. She threatened me, for crying out loud. He muttered reassurances, his voice barely audible over the hum of the city. “She’s fine. She’s trained for this. I don’t need to get involved.”

Yet the guilt sank its teeth deeper, painting vivid flashes in his mind: Firefly’s teal eyes, wide with determination but shadowed by something vulnerable; her small frame disappearing into the smoke; the factory’s flames licking higher. What if she’s walking into a trap? The thought gripped him, cold and heavy, like a hand squeezing his lungs. He saw her crumpled in an alley, blood pooling, her guitar case abandoned—images his mind conjured unbidden, each one tightening the knot in his gut. No, no, stop it. She’s not my responsibility. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the visions, but they clung like damp rot.

If I follow her, I’m screwed, he reasoned, his steps faltering. More trouble, more chaos. And Madam Herta? She’d skin me alive if she found out. The memory of her fan smacking his head, her icy glare, sent a shiver down his spine. But the guilt was louder, a pulsing ache that made his hands tremble around the bags. Firefly’s joyful bounce over that Firefly Type-4 keychain flickered in his mind, clashing with the image of her facing danger alone. What if she’s not as invincible as she seems? His chest tightened, the guilt now a living thing, clawing at his ribs, whispering that leaving her to face the unknown was a choice he’d regret.

He stopped dead on the footpath, the bags rustling in his grip, his gaze locked on the distant smoke. “Damn it,” he muttered, the words bitter with defeat. He couldn’t walk away—not when the weight of his guilt felt heavier.This isn’t about her, he thought, jaw clenched. It’s duty. He wasn’t chasing a girl; he had powers, a debt to Kure Jima, the island that took him in when the world rejected him. With great power comes great responsibility, he recalled, the words grounding him. Kure Jima gave him a home, Madam Herta gave him guidance, and March, Dan Heng, and Stelle gave him family. He’d protect it at any cost. Herta will understand. She has to.

Resolve ignited, Caelus stepped toward the smoke—when a hand clamped his shoulder, yanking him back. “Caelus, what the hell are you doing, zoning out like a damn fool?” Dan Heng’s voice was a sharp snarl, thick with exasperation and a flicker of worry. His teal hair was disheveled, his piercing gaze drilling into Caelus. “That explosion’s got the whole city losing it, and you’re just standing here like some clueless idiot!”

“Perfect timing, Dan Heng!” Caelus said, a wry grin masking his tension. He shoved Firefly’s bags and his math homework into Dan Heng’s arms. “Hold these.”

“Oi, hold up, you reckless dumbass!” Dan Heng barked, stumbling under the weight. “What are you—running off to get yourself killed again?” But Caelus was already sprinting down the street, weaving through startled pedestrians toward the alley Firefly had vanished into.

“That moron,” Dan Heng growled, clutching the bags, his eyes narrowing as he watched Caelus disappear. “Always charging into chaos. He’s gonna owe me big for this crap.”

Caelus’s heart hammered as he raced through the narrow alley, the smoky air thickening with each step toward the factory district. Duty burned brighter than his guilt, drowning out the ache. I’m not doing this for Firefly, he chanted, boots pounding the pavement. I’m doing this for Kure Jima. For everyone who gave me a home. The crackle of flames and wail of sirens grew louder, pulling him deeper into the heart of the chaos.

Firefly’s boots slammed onto the factory district’s rooftop, the acrid stench of smoke and scorched metal searing her lungs. Below, the factory was a raging inferno—flames devoured shattered windows, and twisted steel beams groaned like dying beasts. Sirens wailed faintly, drowned by the roar of the blaze, but the Crimson Hunt Syndicate’s protocol blazed brighter in her mind: Respond first, report fast. Her teal eyes raked the chaos, her grip iron-tight on her guitar case, the hidden spear within itching for release. She vaulted to a lower ledge, her movements sharp and fluid, every muscle honed by Vermilion’s brutal training.

A hand clamped her shoulder, and her instincts ignited. Heart pounding, she spun, her leg snapping out in a vicious kick that sent the figure crashing to the rooftop. In a heartbeat, she pinned them with her knee, her spear flashing from its case, its wicked tip hovering a hair’s breadth from their throat. Then she froze, eyes widening. “Caelus?!” she hissed, voice sharp with disbelief. His gray hair was a mess, amber eyes bugging out as he sprawled beneath her. She yanked the spear back, its blade dissolving in a flicker of spirit magic, and hauled him up with a grip that belied her petite frame.

“Senpai, what in the blazing hells are you doing here?” she snapped, her teal eyes flashing like storm-lit seas as she brushed soot off her jacket, masking the adrenaline still spiking her pulse. “I didn’t sign up for a babysitting gig, and I definitely didn’t ask you to tail me! You trying to get yourself roasted, or are you just allergic to staying out of trouble?”

Caelus rubbed his chest where her kick had landed, wincing but flashing a cocky grin that screamed defiance. “Oh, calm your spear, Miss Syndicate Hotshot,” he shot back, voice dripping with mock offense. “I didn’t follow your sparkly little trail. I’m here because protecting Kure Jima’s my job too. This island’s my home, and when some idiot starts blowing it up, I don’t sit around twiddling my thumbs. You get that, right, or is your rulebook too thick to let you think straight?”

Firefly’s jaw dropped, then snapped shut, her glare hot enough to rival the flames below. “Your job? You?” She jabbed a finger at his chest, her voice laced with biting sarcasm. “What, you think you’re some caped hero now? Got any clue how to fight, or are you just planning to charm the fire into submission with that dumb grin?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me,” Caelus retorted, leaning in with a smirk that danced on the edge of reckless. “I’m the strongest vampire in the world, sweetheart. I could bench press you and your fancy spear without breaking a sweat.”

Firefly choked on a laugh, half incredulous, half amused, her eyes glinting with a mix of irritation and reluctant respect. “Strongest vampire? Please. You’re about as threatening as a soggy bat,” she fired back, folding her arms. “Big talk for a guy I just flattened in two seconds flat.” But her gaze lingered, reassessing the defiance in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw. The smoke thickened, the flames roared louder, and the weight of their shared stakes crackled between them like a live wire. Whatever this explosion was, it wasn’t random—and they were both neck-deep in it now.

the cracked pavement. Smoke choked the air, thick with the stench of burning oil and molten steel, while the distant wail of sirens remained faint—too faint. The island’s guards hadn’t arrived, leaving the blazing chaos untouched. Firefly’s teal eyes flicked to Caelus, her earlier irritation buried under a soldier’s focus. “I saw two silhouettes slip inside,” she said, her voice low and clipped, gripping her guitar case tighter. “We can’t wait for backup. We need to move.”

Caelus nodded, his amber eyes narrowing as he scanned the factory’s shattered entrance, adrenaline drowning out the ache of his earlier guilt. “Then let’s go. If they’re stirring trouble on my island, they’re my problem too.” His tone carried a stubborn edge, the bravado from their rooftop clash tempered by resolve. Strongest vampire or not, I’m not letting my home burn.

They slipped through the gaping hole where the factory doors once stood, the heat hitting them like a fist. Inside, the air was a haze of smoke and flickering embers, machinery twisted into grotesque shapes by the blast. Firefly moved like a shadow, her steps silent, while Caelus kept pace, his senses sharpened by the instincts he rarely acknowledged. The crackle of flames and the groan of collapsing beams filled the silence, but Firefly’s sharp gesture halted them near a crumpled security station.

Three guards lay sprawled across the floor, their uniforms scorched and bloodied. Firefly knelt beside the nearest, a grizzled man clutching a gash across his chest. His breaths were shallow, his eyes glassy but fighting to focus. “Hey, stay with us,” Firefly urged, her voice firm yet gentle as she checked his pulse. “What happened? Who did this?”

The guard’s voice rasped, barely audible. “Two intruders… a man and a woman. Moved like ghosts… too fast.” He coughed, blood flecking his lips. “They’re after… the artifact. Lower levels… sealed vault.” His gaze flickered to Caelus, then back to Firefly. “Stop them… before…” His words cut off as his body slumped, his final breath rattling out.

Firefly’s jaw tightened, her hand lingering on the guard’s wrist before she stood, her spear materializing in a shimmer of spirit magic. “An artifact in the lower levels,” she said, her tone grim. “That’s what caused this. We need to find that vault before they do.”

Caelus clenched his fists, the guard’s death fueling the fire in his chest. “A man and a woman, huh? Let’s hunt them down.” His voice was steady, but his mind raced—an artifact? Here? 

They descended a warped metal staircase, the heat intensifying as they ventured deeper into the factory’s bowels. The air grew oppressive, the walls scarred with blast marks and strange, glowing runes that pulsed faintly in the dark. Firefly’s eyes darted to each one, her Syndicate training kicking in. “These runes… they’re not just decorative. They’re wards. Whatever’s down there, it’s powerful.”

Caelus grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. I could use a challenge. You ready to back up your fancy spearwork, Miss Hotshot?”

Firefly shot him a glare, but a spark of amusement flickered in her teal eyes. “Keep up, Mr. ‘Strongest Vampire.’ Don’t trip over your ego and get us killed.” Their banter was sharp, a lifeline against the suffocating dread of the factory’s depths, as they pressed toward the sealed vault—and the intruders lurking within.

---

As the warped staircase spiraled downward, the factory's bowels grew darker and more oppressive, the air thick with the metallic tang of scorched machinery and something older, more arcane—faint whispers of power humming from the walls' etched runes. Firefly led the way, her spear held low and ready, its three-pointed tip glinting in the sporadic flicker of emergency lights. Caelus followed close, his senses on edge, every shadow a potential threat. The heat from above had dulled to a stifling warmth, but the silence was unnerving—no shouts, no footsteps, just the distant rumble of settling debris.

Firefly paused at the bottom landing, her teal eyes narrowing as she scanned the corridor leading to a massive, rune-warded vault door, its surface scarred but unbreached. “There’s something weird here,” she whispered, her voice taut. “We came all this way without any resistance. You’re saying…?” he replied.

Caelus nodded grimly, his amber eyes flicking to the empty hall. “Yeah. Considering we didn’t see any guards heading down here, that only means those two intruders have already cleared the path.”

Firefly’s grip tightened on her spear. “Which only means—”

“They’re right here,” Caelus finished, his voice a low growl. They assumed defensive positions in unison—Firefly angling her spear forward in a fluid guard, Caelus shifting into a low stance, his hands flexing as latent power stirred in his veins, unbidden but familiar.

The echo of slow, deliberate clapping shattered the silence, reverberating off the rune-scarred walls like mocking applause. “Excellent, excellent,” a deep male voice drawled, laced with amusement and menace. They whipped toward the sound, weapons raised, and there he stood at the vault’s threshold—a towering figure, easily 6'4", clad in iron armor beneath a tattered priest's overcoat that billowed like shadowed wings. His white hair and beard framed a face etched with age and malice, a diagonal scar bisecting his left eye, giving it a perpetual, predatory squint. Strapped across his broad back was a massive battle axe, its blade etched with glowing sigils that pulsed like a heartbeat.

“Ah, how fortunate I am,” the man said, his scarred eye glinting as he stepped forward, the clapping ceasing with a final, resonant smack. “When I came to this forsaken island, I didn’t think the fourth Nightlord himself would come to greet me—with his little minion at his side, no less.”

Caelus’s frown deepened. Firefly’s spear snapped up, its tip leveled at the man’s chest. “I’m not his minion,” she snarled, her voice steel-edged. “State your name and surrender without resistance.”

The man threw his head back and laughed, a booming sound that rattled loose dust from the ceiling. “You make good jokes, girl,” he rumbled, wiping a mock tear from his unscarred eye. “Surrender? To a war dancer pup and her leashed Nightlord?”

Firefly’s frown deepened, her stance unyielding. “Furthermore, I don’t think you understand—I’m not the one you should be paying attention to.”

His grin widened, predatory and knowing, as if savoring a private jest.

The words hung for a split second, then Firefly’s instincts screamed. She lunged, shoving Caelus hard to the side just as a razor-sharp sword whistled through the air where his head had been, embedding itself in the wall with a vibrating *thunk*. The blade hummed with dark energy, its edge notched with runes that matched the man’s axe. From the shadows behind him, a woman’s silhouette emerged—lithe and lethal, her form cloaked in swirling shadows, a second sword already drawn and gleaming.

Caelus rolled to his feet, heart pounding, his eyes locking on the newcomers. “Ambush,” he muttered, fangs itching at his gums as his vampire blood surged. Firefly spun her spear in a defensive arc, her teal eyes blazing. The game had changed—they weren’t hunters anymore. They were the prey.
Caelus and Firefly pressed back-to-back in the dim corridor, the rune-warded vault door looming like a silent sentinel behind them. The air hummed with tension, thick as the smoke drifting down from the upper levels, and the faint pulse of the etched symbols on the walls seemed to quicken, as if sensing the standoff. Caelus faced the towering man, his amber eyes locked on the scarred priest's predatory squint, every muscle coiled for the fight. Firefly mirrored him, her spear a deadly extension of her arm, pointed at the woman who had emerged from the shadows.

The woman was a vision of lethal elegance, her lithe frame cloaked in a flowing, asymmetrical coat of deep crimson and black that swirled like liquid night around her. Long, wavy hair the color of amethyst cascaded down her back, framing sharp, porcelain features and eyes like polished garnets—cold, unyielding, and devoid of warmth. Her expression was an impenetrable mask of impassivity, as if the unfolding drama was nothing more than a distant echo, unworthy of even a flicker of emotion.

They stared each other down in the flickering emergency lights, the silence broken only by the distant crackle of flames above. Caelus's voice cut through first, low and edged with steel. "Who are you? How do you know my name? What's your purpose here?"

The man tilted his head, his white beard catching the rune-glow like frost on iron. "Ah, so many questions for this old fool," he rumbled, his scarred eye narrowing with dark amusement. "But I suppose you should know the name of your killer before you die. It would be most unfortunate if you perished without that courtesy."

As the words hung in the air, the woman remained statue-still, her garnet eyes fixed on them with that expressionless void, her second sword held loosely at her side like an afterthought. The man spread his arms wide, the overcoat parting to reveal the gleam of his iron armor beneath. "I am Father Malachai Vorne, of the Cathedral of the Ebon Shroud."

"Cathedral of the Ebon Shroud?" Caelus echoed, his frown deepening, the name stirring vague shadows in his fractured memories.

Firefly didn't flinch, her spear unwavering as she kept the woman in her peripheral vision. "A nest of cultists," she said flatly, her voice carrying the weight of Syndicate briefings. "Extremists from Dravania. They murdered and tortured Vaelori people—called them 'bad blood' that needed cleansing in the name of their twisted god."

"Yes, of course," Malachai replied, his tone almost nostalgic, as if reminiscing over a fond sermon. He hefted his massive battle axe from his back with casual ease, the sigils along its blade igniting in a crimson flare.

Firefly pressed on, her teal eyes never sliding from the woman before her, whose impassive stare seemed to pierce straight through. "Thirty-two years ago, the resistance forces fought the dictator High Chancellor Vortigern Krael. They killed him after a five-year bloody war, with help from the UN. The extremists were either slaughtered or captured—your kind scattered like roaches."

"But the conflict didn't end," Firefly continued, her grip tightening on her spear as the woman's cold gaze remained unchanging, a void that absorbed all light. "The church and the dictator had already sown seeds of hatred against the Vaelori in too many hearts. To prevent another war, the UN took in Vaelori refugees—"

"This *accursed* island gave them refuge!" Malachai interjected, his voice rising to a thunderous snarl, veins bulging in his neck as his scarred eye blazed with unquenchable fury. "Not only that—you people aided those resistance ants! Because of *you*, my brothers in arms were butchered like animals or shackled in forgotten pits, their screams echoing in my nightmares for decades! I rotted in a UN dungeon for twenty-eight years, chained like a dog while those *devil-spawned Vaelori vermin*—those pale-eyed abominations, carriers of tainted blood that corrupts everything it touches—crawled free to infest this rock, breeding their filth and mocking the divine order we fought to uphold! They are no people; they are a plague upon the world, a curse from the abyss that demands extermination—flayed alive, their screams a hymn to the true faith, their blood a libation to wash away the sins they were born with!"

His face twisted into a maniacal grin, spittle flecking his beard as he slammed the axe haft against the floor, sending a shockwave of sigil-light rippling through the runes. "But now, I am *free*. And I will finish what we couldn't all those years ago. I will sink this island of yours into the silent depths of the ocean—drown every last one of you in vengeance for my fallen brothers. No matter the cost!"

The words echoed like a death knell, the woman's garnet eyes unchanging, a frozen abyss reflecting nothing but the cold calculus of obedience. Malachai's gaze snapped to her, his voice a venomous command. "Hyselins—end them."

Only then did she move, her sword rising in a slow, deliberate arc, shadows coiling around her like obedient serpents. Caelus felt a chill race down his spine, the weight of old wars crashing against his own buried past. Firefly's breath steadied beside him, her voice a fierce whisper. "Over my dead body, old man."

Malachai's laugh boomed again, but it cut short as he lunged, his axe a crimson blur aimed to bisect them both. The woman—Hyselins—struck in perfect sync, her shadows lashing out to ensnare their flanks. Caelus dodged left, his vampire speed igniting as he closed the distance bare-handed, fists blurring in a savage hook that cracked against Malachai's armored jaw—the impact reverberating up his arm like striking granite, but drawing a grunt from the giant. Firefly vaulted right, her spear clashing against the woman's sword in a shower of sparks, the force driving her back a step as dark ether lashed at her ankles.

The corridor exploded into motion—steel ringing on steel, shadows clashing with spirit magic, the runes on the walls flaring wildly as the artifact within the vault stirred in response. Caelus's fangs ached, his blood humming with power he hadn't fully tapped since the Banquet, his hands a whirlwind of punches and grapples against Malachai's unyielding bulk, while Firefly danced on the edge of exhaustion, her wounded shoulder burning but her resolve unyielding. They fought as one, back-to-back against the cultists' relentless assault, the air thick with the promise of blood and revelations yet to come.
The corridor devolved into a maelstrom of violence the instant Malachai's command sliced the air like a blade. "Hyselins—end them." His axe, a crimson comet trailing hellfire, descended in a crushing overhead chop that cratered the stone floor where Caelus had stood a heartbeat before, sending jagged fissures spiderwebbing outward and hurling shards of rock like lethal hail. Caelus twisted away on vampiric instinct, the heat singeing his hoodie as he closed the gap bare-handed, fists blurring in a desperate haymaker aimed at the priest's exposed jaw. But Malachai was a fortress of iron and fanaticism—his free arm snapped up, the armored bracer deflecting the blow with a bone-rattling *clang* that numbed Caelus's knuckles and sent him staggering back, the impact reverberating up his arm like a thunderclap.

Across the narrow space, Firefly met Hyselins's assault with a ferocity born of steel. The woman's sword lashed out in a precise, emotionless arc—cold as her garnet stare, shadows trailing the blade like ink in water, warping the air into deceptive afterimages that feinted high while striking low. Firefly parried with a sweeping spear thrust, the three-pointed tip grinding against steel in a shower of sparks that lit her teal eyes like twin infernos, the clash driving her boots skidding back across the debris-littered floor. She countered with a fluid spin, her spirit magic flaring blue along the shaft as she aimed for Hyselins's midsection, the spear whistling through the air with enough force to impale plate armor. But Hyselins sidestepped with mechanical grace, her impassive face unchanging—a porcelain doll in a storm—her cloak billowing as shadows coiled to absorb the glancing blow, the tip merely raking a shallow gash across fabric that knit itself closed in wisps of ether.

Caelus pressed his attack, circling Malachai with predatory footwork, his breaths coming in sharp bursts as he feinted left and struck right—a vicious uppercut to the ribs that connected with armored plating, the *thud* echoing like a drumbeat but yielding nothing but a dull ache in his hand. The old man swung back with contemptuous ease, his axe a horizontal reaper's sweep that forced Caelus to duck low, the blade's wake scorching his hair and filling his nostrils with the reek of singed follicles. "Stay back, you lumbering relic!" Caelus snarled, lunging again, but Malachai's reach was a wall of death—every close-quarters bid met with a bracer bash or axe haft that kept him at bay, turning the fight into a frustrating dance of near-misses and bruising deflections. Sweat beaded on Caelus's brow, his vampire strength coiling uselessly against the priest's unyielding guard, each failed breach widening the gap between fury and futility.

Firefly fared better, her war dancer training a whirlwind of precision against Hyselins's calculated void. She darted in low, spear thrusting in a rapid chain—feint to the thigh, sweep to the knee, overhead stab to pin the woman like a butterfly—but Hyselins parried each with effortless economy, her sword a silver blur that deflected without flourish, shadows rippling to blunt the spear's spirit-infused edge. A shallow cut bloomed on Hyselins's forearm from a grazing tip, dark blood welling like ink, but the woman didn't flinch, her expression a frozen tundra, eyes reflecting only the cold math of survival. Firefly pressed, her breaths ragged, shoulder wound throbbing with every twist, but Hyselins's defenses were impenetrable—a fortress of shadow and steel that absorbed blows without yielding ground, turning Firefly's aggression into exhausting exertion. "Fight back, damn you!" Firefly growled through gritted teeth, her next thrust glancing off an ether-woven barrier that hummed like a struck tuning fork.

The battle ground on in a brutal stalemate, the corridor a cacophony of clanging metal, grunts of effort, and the acrid sizzle of arcane backlash. Minutes stretched into an eternity of sweat-slicked desperation, Caelus's hands raw and knuckles split from futile barrages, Firefly's arms burning from the spear's relentless recoil. Malachai's scarred eye twitched with growing annoyance, his booming laughter fading into a guttural snarl as he parried another of Caelus's desperate hooks. *These brats are more annoying than I assumed,* he thought, sweat beading under his overcoat despite his bulk. *We need to end it—the island guards will arrive soon, and their meddling could ruin everything.* His gaze flicked to the vault door, its runes pulsing with restrained power, the artifact within calling like a siren's song.

"Hyselins—cover me!" he bellowed, disengaging with a thunderous axe swing that forced Caelus back into the wall, the impact denting metal and drawing a hiss of pain from the Nightlord. The woman obeyed without a word, her impassive mask unchanging as she surged forward, shadows exploding from her cloak in a writhing barrier that lashed out like thorny vines, coiling toward Firefly to intercept her inevitable charge.

Firefly saw the shift too late—Malachai lumbering toward the vault, pulling a fist-sized charge from his coat, its surface etched with volatile sigils that glowed like embers in hell. "No—you're not getting that artifact!" she snarled, breaking from Hyselins to lunge, her spear arcing in a desperate vault to skewer the priest mid-stride. But Hyselins was there in an instant, her sword intercepting the thrust with a bone-jarring *clang*, shadows erupting to ensnare Firefly's legs and yank her off-balance, slamming her to the ground in a tangle of etheric chains. Caelus roared, charging to aid her, but Malachai's parting backhand—fueled by armored spite—sent him sprawling, the world spinning in a haze of pain.

Hyselins pressed her advantage mercilessly, her movements a cold symphony of precision: sword strikes raining down in measured arcs, shadows whipping to trip and bind, forcing Firefly into a defensive scramble while Caelus hauled himself up, fists flying in futile attempts to breach the woman's guard. They fought like cornered wolves, spear and knuckles a desperate blur against unyielding shadow and steel, but Hyselins was an unbreakable tide—parrying, deflecting, her garnet eyes empty as she herded them away from the vault, inch by grueling inch. Firefly's thrusts glanced harmlessly, Caelus's punches thudding against invisible barriers, their advance halted by the woman's inexorable wall.

Behind them, Malachai slapped the charge onto the vault door, its sigils syncing with the runes in a flare of crimson light. A low hum built, then detonated in a deafening *boom*—the door buckling inward with a shriek of tortured metal, wards shattering in a cascade of arcane backlash that lit the corridor like a solar flare. Shards of rune-fragmented steel rained down as Malachai shouldered through the breach, his laughter echoing from the vault's depths. "The artifact is mine—and your island's doom follows!"

Caelus and Firefly, locked in their savage dance with Hyselins, could only watch in impotent fury as the old man vanished into the darkness. The woman's shadows tightened, her sword pressing the attack with mechanical relentlessness, ensuring they remained ensnared in combat—trapped in the corridor's hell, the artifact slipping from their grasp as the vault's ominous hum swelled like a gathering storm.
Malachai burst from the vault's yawning maw like a demon unchained, the door's shattered remnants groaning in his wake, fragments of rune-shards still smoldering on the floor. The air within the chamber beyond hummed with a low, malevolent throb—an empty echo where the artifact should have lain—but the priest's scarred eye blazed with unbridled fury, his white beard flecked with sweat and grime from the depths. Hyselins halted mid-strike, her sword frozen in a lethal arc, shadows recoiling like scolded hounds as she stepped back, her garnet eyes as impassive as ever, awaiting command.

"Where is it?" Malachai thundered, his voice a seismic rumble that vibrated the corridor's walls, axe clutched in a white-knuckled grip. "The artifact—where have you hidden it, Nightlord? Speak, or I'll carve the truth from your bones!"

Caelus and Firefly, panting and bloodied, exchanged a fleeting glance over their shoulders—confusion mirroring in their eyes amid the haze of exertion. The artifact? They hadn't even breached the vault; whatever Malachai sought, it was gone before they'd arrived. Caelus wiped a trickle of blood from his split lip, his bare fists still raised, knuckles raw and bruised from the futile barrage against the priest's armor. A mocking grin cracked his face, defiant through the pain. "How the hell would *I* know? *You* were the one who came crawling here searching for it. Guess your old brain forgot to remember the right place, huh? Or maybe your god's playing a prank on his favorite fanatic."

Malachai's face contorted, veins throbbing like serpents under his scarred skin, his scarred eye weeping a thin rivulet of blood as rage boiled over. "Insolent whelp! May the Ebon Shroud choke the life from your cursed tongue!" he spat, spittle flying like venom. He whirled on Hyselins, his command a whip-crack. "Kill them! End these vermin now!"

Hyselins nodded once, a mechanical tilt of her porcelain head, her expression an unchanging void—cold as the abyss she served. Without a sound, she lunged, her asymmetrical coat flaring like raven wings, dual swords a silver tempest slicing through the smoke-choked air. Shadows erupted from her form in writhing tendrils, coiling to ensnare and blind, her first strike a low sweep aimed to hamstring Firefly while the second thrust sought Caelus's throat in a fluid, emotionless blur.

"If not the artifact, then at least I can kill you tonight for interfering with my plan!" Malachai roared, charging back into the fray with earth-shaking strides, his axe a flaming reaper's scythe carving wide arcs that forced Caelus to dive and roll, the blade's wake scorching the floor into molten slag. The priest joined the assault like a landslide, his free hand lashing out in armored haymakers that cratered the walls, turning the corridor into a kill-box of flying debris and blistering heat.

Caelus met the onslaught bare-handed, his vampire blood a roaring inferno in his veins, fangs bared in a savage grimace as he weaved through the axe's devastating sweeps. He ducked a horizontal cleave that sheared a support beam clean off, the metal screeching as it toppled, then exploded forward in a desperate clinch—fists hammering Malachai's midsection like pistons, each impact thudding against unyielding iron with bruising force that jarred his shoulders and drew grunts from the giant. But close quarters were a nightmare; Malachai's reach and bulk turned every advance into a gauntlet of bracer bashes and knee strikes, one armored elbow clipping Caelus's jaw and sending him spinning into a pile of rubble, stars bursting in his vision as blood filled his mouth. "Come on, you rusty zealot—fight fair!" Caelus coughed, hauling himself up with a snarl, launching a flurry of hooks that glanced off the priest's guard, drawing sparks but no purchase, his arms burning from the relentless, fruitless barrage.

Firefly danced a deadly ballet against Hyselins, her spear a blue-veined whirlwind of spirit magic thrusting and sweeping to keep the woman's shadows at bay. Hyselins advanced like a specter of inevitability, her swords weaving precise, dispassionate patterns—high feint to low riposte, shadows lancing out like frozen needles to pierce Firefly's defenses. Firefly parried a downward slash that numbed her arms to the elbows, the *clang* echoing like a death knell, then countered with a spinning vault that grazed Hyselins's cloak, tearing fabric but drawing no blood, the wound sealing in a whisper of ether. Firefly growled, her wounded shoulder screaming with every twist, sweat stinging her eyes as she dodged a shadow tendril that coiled around her ankle, yanking her off-balance. She twisted free, spear lashing out in a desperate overhead stab, but Hyselins sidestepped with chilling economy, her impassive gaze unchanging as her blade nicked Firefly's thigh—a shallow burn that drew a hiss of pain, blood soaking her uniform but slowing her not a whit. Firefly pressed, her strikes fiercer but landing only glancing blows, Hyselins's shadows absorbing the spirit magic like a sponge, turning the war dancer's superior footwork into a grueling stalemate of exhaustion and near-misses.

Malachai pressed his assault with renewed mania, his axe swings growing wilder, more desperate, each miss cratering the floor and sending tremors through the structure. "Die, Nightlord! Drown in your own tainted blood!" he bellowed, a backhand axe haft catching Caelus across the ribs and hurling him into the wall, the impact cracking bone and drawing a ragged gasp as he slid down, vision blurring. Caelus rose with a roar, tackling low to unbalance the giant, his fists pummeling the priest's knee in a frenzy of blows that dented armor but buckled nothing, Malachai's retaliatory stomp forcing him to roll away as the floor buckled beneath him.

Hyselins, silent as death, herded Firefly toward the corridor's end, her swords a relentless metronome—parry, thrust, shadow lash—each exchange chipping at the war dancer's stamina, a shallow gash opening on Firefly's forearm from a deflected blade that kissed too close. "Senpai— the vault!" Firefly shouted through gritted teeth, her spear clashing in a high block that shuddered her frame, Hyselins's advance unyielding, shadows weaving a net that kept her pinned, unable to break free toward the open door.

Caelus glimpsed the breach through the chaos—Malachai's charge had succeeded, the vault's interior a yawning void of pulsing darkness, the artifact's absence a mocking secret. But the cultists' fury was absolute, their combined onslaught a tide that battered Caelus and Firefly without mercy, fists and spear straining against axe and shadow in a symphony of bruises, cuts, and unyielding rage. The distant wail of sirens grew louder, a promise of aid too late to turn the tide, as the fight teetered on the knife's edge of survival, the island's fate hanging by a thread in the blood-slicked corridor.
The vault corridor was a slaughterhouse of shadows and steel, the air thick with the metallic reek of blood and ozone from clashing magics. Caelus's fists hammered relentlessly against Malachai's armored bulk, each bare-knuckled strike landing like thunderclaps that dented plate but rebounded with bruising force, keeping him at arm's length from the priest's lethal swings. Sweat stung his eyes, his breaths ragged gasps as the axe's crimson arcs whistled past, carving furrows in the walls that spat embers and dust. Firefly whirled like a tempest opposite him, her spear a blue-streaked blur of spirit-infused thrusts that Hyselins parried with cold precision, the woman's shadows coiling to blunt every assault, her garnet eyes an unchanging void that absorbed Firefly's fury without a ripple.

In a desperate gambit amid the chaos, Firefly's free hand dipped into her skirt pocket, fingers closing around a crumpled paper bird— a Syndicate talisman, folded with explosive runes under . With a flick of her wrist, she hurled it toward Hyselins, the origami construct fluttering innocently through the smoke before the woman raised her sword to swat it aside. But the bird detonated mid-air in a deafening *crack*, erupting in a blinding blur of acrid smoke and disorienting flash that filled the corridor like a thunderclap, choking the air with choking gray haze and illusory sparks that seared the eyes.

Hyselins staggered, her impassive mask cracking for a fraction of a second as she coughed, shadows flailing blindly. Seizing the moment, Firefly lunged through the murk, her blood-slick hand snatching Caelus's wrist in a vise grip. "Move—now!" she hissed, yanking him toward the vault's jagged breach. They tumbled inside together, the smoke billowing after them like a pursuing specter, slamming the fractured door remnants shut behind with a groan of protesting metal. The chamber beyond was a cavern of cold stone and pulsating runes, the artifact's pedestal empty—a hollow altar bathed in an eerie, absent glow that hummed with frustrated power.

Firefly released him, spinning to brace the door with her spear's haft wedged against it, her chest heaving as blood trickled from her wounds. "That won't stop them for long," she panted, teal eyes darting to the seams where shadows already probed like fingers. "Senpai, why aren't you using familiars? Your vampire blood—summon them! We need the edge!"

Caelus slumped against the wall, wiping sweat and blood from his brow, his bare hands throbbing from the futile pummeling. "Huh?" he muttered, avoiding her gaze, the words tumbling out low. "I... can't use them."

Her glare intensified, sharp as her spear's tip. "What?"

He sighed, rubbing his neck, voice rising louder despite the ache in his ribs. "I *can't* use them, alright? Not reliably. Not since... you know." The admission hung heavy.

Firefly stared, dumbfounded, her mouth parting in disbelief before snapping shut. "What? Hey—don't look at me like *that*!". She snarled, jabbing a finger at him, her voice a whip-crack of frustration. "You can't even summon your familiars, and you charged in here to fight? Are you suicidal or something?!"

"Hey, if I hadn't come, you'd probably be skewered by now, Miss 'I-Can-Handle-It-Alone'!" Caelus shot back, pushing off the wall with a wince, his grin strained but defiant. "What, you want me to sit on the sidelines knitting while you play hero? Fat chance—"

Their banter cut short as the vault door shuddered, a shadow-blade slicing through the seam like a scalpel through flesh. Hyselins's form materialized in the breach, her amethyst hair framing that unchanging porcelain mask, garnet eyes void of triumph or rage—just cold, mechanical intent. Her sword plunged forward in a lightning thrust aimed straight for Caelus's chest, shadows trailing like venomous barbs.

They leaped backward in sync, side by side, boots scraping against the vault's rune-etched floor as the blade buried itself in stone where he'd stood, cracking the pedestal with a resonant *thrum*. Caelus's heart hammered, the near-miss igniting a spark in his blood. He leaned close to Firefly, voice a urgent whisper amid the settling dust. "Can you create a barrier? Protect yourself—full seal."

Firefly nodded once, sharp and trusting, her hands already weaving spirit sigils that flared blue around her form, a shimmering dome of ethereal light snapping into place like a second skin. "Why—?"

Caelus didn't answer. He exploded forward instead, a blur of vampiric fury hurtling toward Hyselins, fists cocked for a killing blow. The woman reacted with glacial precision, her sword whipping free in a reverse grip, shadows coiling along the blade like eager serpents. She impaled him straight through the chest—the steel punching through muscle and rib with surgical cruelty, emerging from his back in a spray of crimson, pinning him mid-leap like a butterfly on a spike.

Firefly gasped in horror, her barrier flickering as her hands flew to her mouth, teal eyes wide with raw shock. "Senpai—!"

Malachai's laughter boomed from the doorway, a guttural, triumphant bark that echoed off the vault's walls. "Dumbass Pierced like the weakling you are—your bloodline's curse ends here!"

Hyselins's garnet eyes, for the first time, fractured—widening a fraction in stark surprise as Caelus's hands clamped down on the blade protruding from his chest, fingers wrapping the steel in a vise that creaked under the pressure. Blood poured from the wound, soaking his hoodie, but his amber gaze lifted to hers, fangs bared in a feral, unyielding snarl. "Gotcha," he rasped, voice thick with pain but laced with dark triumph.

"Now!" Caelus shouted to Firefly, his grip tightening as yellow lightning erupted from his body in a cataclysmic surge—veins of electric fury spiderwebbing across his skin, coiling from the impaled wound like vengeful serpents. The chamber ignited in blinding light, the vault's runes shattering in sympathetic overload as raw, unchecked power poured forth, the air ionizing with ozone and thunder's roar.

*BOOM.*

The explosion ripped through the factory like the wrath of a god unchained, a violent dome of yellow lightning and shockwave erupting from the vault in a deafening cataclysm that hurled Hyselins backward into the corridor wall, her shadows evaporating in wisps of scorched ether. Malachai staggered, his axe raised too late as the blast slammed him like a tidal wave, armor denting and overcoat shredding in the gale-force winds. The factory's structure buckled—beams snapping like matchsticks, walls crumpling inward as the detonation propagated upward, scattering debris in a lethal rain.

Outside, the island guards—now encircling the perimeter with weapons drawn and barriers raised—froze as the light tore through the night sky, a searing pillar of yellow fury that silhouetted the crumbling silhouette against the stars. Pedestrians blocks away on Kure Jima's streets shielded their eyes, gasps rippling through the crowd as the shockwave rattled windows, the factory's remains exploding outward in a storm of twisted metal and flaming chunks that lit the horizon like a false dawn. Sirens wailed in frantic harmony as the blast's roar echoing across the floating isle.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Madam Herta's office at Kure Jima High, casting striped shadows across the cluttered desk and shelves of curios. On a small TV mounted in the corner—tuned to the local news channel *Kure Pulse*—the broadcast played with the volume low, the anchor's voice steady and reassuring. “Last night’s explosion in the factory district has been officially attributed to a gas leak by island authorities. Emergency teams contained the fire, with minimal structural damage reported beyond the site. No fatalities, though several guards were treated for minor injuries. The government assures residents that investigations are underway, and safety measures are in place to prevent future incidents…”

Caelus sat slumped in a steel chair, his wrists and ankles bound by shimmering purple chains—arcane restraints pulsing with containment runes that bit into his skin like frost. His hoodie was singed and torn, but thanks to his vampire self-healing, the chest wound from Hyselins's sword had already knit closed, the cauterized scar hidden beneath the fabric, leaving him sore but unmarked. His amber eyes flicked nervously to the floor, avoiding the piercing glare of Madam Herta, who stood behind her polished desk, her fan clutched so tightly it creaked.

Firefly sat beside him, her uniform torn and patched with hasty bandages over her shoulder and thigh, her teal eyes fixed on the floor, though her clenched fists betrayed her unease. Her spear rested against the wall, its tip dulled from the battle, and her usual spark was dimmed by exhaustion and the weight of Herta’s unspoken judgment.

Herta’s gaze was a blade, sharp and unrelenting, her petite frame radiating authority as she leaned forward, her voice low and venomous. “A *gas leak*? That’s the story the island government’s spinning to keep the public calm?” She snapped her fan shut with a crack that made Caelus flinch. “Do you have any idea the mess you’ve caused, Caelus? The entire factory district reduced to rubble, guards scrambling to cover up your little lightning tantrum, and now the authorities are weaving lies to prevent panic! And you—” she whirled on Firefly, who stiffened but met her gaze—“you were supposed to report, not drag this reckless Nightlord into a war zone!”

Caelus opened his mouth, but the chains tightened, their runes flaring purple as they sensed his movement, forcing a wince. “It wasn’t her fault,” he muttered, voice hoarse from the previous night's strain. “I went because it’s my duty to protect this island. Those cultists—Malachai and his shadow witch—they were after something in that vault. If we hadn’t—”

“Enough!” Herta’s fan slammed onto the desk, the impact rattling a stack of papers. “Duty? You call that display of uncontrolled power *duty*? You could’ve leveled half of Kure Jima with that stunt! And now the artifact’s gone, the Ebon Shroud’s fanatics are in the wind, and we’re left cleaning up your catastrophe while the government parrots ‘gas leak’ to keep the peace!” Her eyes narrowed, pinning Caelus like a specimen under glass. “You’re lucky you’re still breathing, Nightlord. But those chains stay until I’m certain you’re not a walking disaster waiting to spark again.”

Firefly shifted, her voice quiet but firm. “Madam Herta, the vault was empty before we got there. The artifact… someone else took it. Malachai was furious—he didn’t find what he wanted either.” Her gaze flicked to Caelus, a mix of frustration and reluctant respect. “And… senpai didn’t have to follow me, but he held his own. We stopped them from doing worse.”

Herta’s glare softened a fraction, but her lips remained a tight line. “Held his own? He nearly obliterated you both! And you, Firefly, should know better than to let an untrained Nightlord play hero.” She turned back to the TV, where the anchor droned on about “structural assessments” and “community safety measures.” “The island government will handle the cover-up, but you two are on a leash. No missions, no heroics, until I say otherwise you will get ur message from your higherups, later Firefly nodded. And Caelus—” her eyes bore into him, cold as the void—“one more spark out of you, and those chains become permanent. Understood?”

A few hours earlier

The rubble-strewn sewer echoed with the distant drip of water and the faint crackle of lingering fires above, the air thick with the stench of scorched metal and damp rot, as the blast's deafening roar subsided into a ringing silence, Firefly stirred, her head throbbing like a war drum. She pushed herself up from the cold, slime-slicked stone, coughing against the dust that clogged her lungs. The ground had given way beneath them—the explosion's fury ripping open the factory's foundation, dumping them into the island's underbelly, the sewer system twisting like veins below Kure Jima's surface. Dim light filtered through cracks in the ceiling, casting erratic shadows from the flickering flames above.

"Caelus," she whispered, panic rising like bile in her throat. *He needs to be okay.* She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the sharp twinge in her shoulder and thigh, her teal eyes scanning the debris-strewn tunnel. Rubble piled in chaotic heaps, and the faint glow from burning fragments provided just enough illumination to navigate. She stumbled forward, calling his name in hushed urgency, her heart pounding until—there, slumped against a collapsed pipe, his form half-buried in dirt and shards.

She rushed to him, dropping to her knees and flipping him onto his back with trembling hands. His chest rose and fell—shallow but steady. "He's still breathing," she murmured to herself, relief flooding her as she assessed his wounds. But as she pulled back his torn hoodie, her eyes widened. The gruesome impalement from Hyselins's sword, the gashes from Malachai's axe—they were... mending. Flesh knit together before her eyes, ragged edges smoothing into scars that faded like mist, returning to unmarred skin as if the injuries had never existed. It was mesmerizing, unnatural, a testament to something ancient and cursed.

Caelus coughed suddenly, his amber eyes fluttering open, wincing as he shifted. "What are you looking at?" he muttered, voice hoarse but laced with that familiar sarcasm.

"Your wounds—" Firefly replied, still staring in disbelief, her fingers lingering a second too long on his chest, feeling the warmth of his healing skin under her palm.

Caelus interjected with a weak grin, his hand brushing hers as he pushed himself up on his elbows. "Yeah, they're healing themselves. That's the blood curse of immortality placed upon the Nightlords. Perk of the job—or curse, depending on the day." His eyes held hers.

"You reckless moron," Firefly finally snapped, her relief twisting into anger as she calmed down, but her voice softened at the edges, her hand not quite pulling away yet. "You could have killed yourself—and me too!

Caelus chuckled, wincing again as he sat up fully, his face inches from hers, the dim light casting shadows that accentuated the curve of his jaw and the spark in his amber eyes. "Worried about *me*, huh? How fortunate *I* am." He dusted off his hoodie, the fabric still singed but his body already mending the last traces of damage. His voice dropped lower, teasing but with an undercurrent that made her breath hitch. "And I asked if you could protect yourself—you said yes, but you didn't say you'd blow up the whole factory!" Firefly replied crossing her arms, More importantly, what happened to those two?"

"They got away," Caelus replied, his expression darkening as he glanced at the rubble blocking the way back, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her skin. "But they took some serious hits. That old bastard's arm was burned pretty bad, and Hyselins looked like she got the worst of it from the blast it seemed like they used teleportation probably talismans from black market didn’t seem like one of them used their own magic so it probably was a talisman. At least they won't be stirring up trouble for a while. And hey, they didn't get the artifact—so that's a win-win for us."

"Yeah, you're forgetting you blew up a whole factory that costs millions of credits," Firefly shot back, her tone half-scolding, half-teasing. "But considering you're an immortal vampire lord, I'm sure you'll be able to pay it back in a few hundred years."

"Hey, I wasn't the only one there, you know," Caelus retorted, deadpanned, "You were interfering too."

Firefly's expression softened slightly, her voice quieter, almost breathy. "But... thank you."

"Huh?" Caelus asked, blinking in surprise, his face so close now that she could see the flecks of gold in his amber eyes.

"I said thank you," Firefly raised her voice a little, her cheeks tinting pink as she averted her gaze. "If you hadn't done that, we would probably be dead by now—and maybe many more people too.

"You are welcome," Caelus replied with a smirk, but his tone was genuine, his hand brushing hers as he helped her up, the touch lingering a second too long. "Don't be smug about it—considering you blew up the whole area."

"Heyyy," Caelus deadpanned, rubbing the back of his neck. “More importantly," Firefly continued, glancing around the dim tunnel, her voice steadying. "we need to get out of here soon, considering the rubble."

"Let's follow the sewer tunnels," Caelus said, pointing down the shadowy path where faint water flowed. "We can surely get out on some road."

"Yes," Firefly replied. "Let's go then." Caelus nodded, starting forward, but Firefly winced sharply, her hand pressing to her thigh. "Ouch."

"What happened?" Caelus closed the distance, concern etching his face as he knelt to check, his hands gently hovering near her wound.

"The wounds from our scuffle—it still hurts," she admitted, her voice softer, her eyes meeting his with a vulnerability that made the air feel heavier. "Is it really deep?"

Caelus shook his head, his fingers lightly brushing her leg as he assessed, sending a shiver up her spine. "No, but unlike you, I can't just heal my wounds in an instant, so it still hurts, you know."

"Sigh, guess we have no choice," Caelus said, turning and kneeling with his back to her. "Let me carry you."

"Ahh, there's no need to do that," she said, embarrassed, her cheeks flushing deeper as she imagined the closeness.

"And you're exhausted too," he replied, glancing back at her with a look that was equal parts stubborn and tender. "Don't worry about me. You are more injured than me, and if you walk, we'll be slowed down. Come on."

"Okay," Firefly agreed at last, climbing onto his back. He hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her in a piggyback ride. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her chest pressing against his back, her breath warm on his neck. Caelus blushed, embarrassed, the softness of her body against him making his pulse race. "So soft," he muttered under his breath, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

"Did you say something?" Firefly asked, tightening her grip around his neck slightly, glaring at him but her face heating up as she felt the firmness of his shoulders under her arms, the intimate hold making her aware of every shift in his muscles.

"No, and don't choke me, please," he said, adjusting his hold as he began walking, his hands firm on her thighs, the touch sending a warm flush through both of them, the tunnel's dim light only heightening the charged silence between steps.

As Caelus trudged through the dim sewer tunnel, the faint slosh of water under his boots and the distant drip from the ceiling filled the air, but the real tension hummed between him and Firefly on his back. Her arms draped around his shoulders, her breath warm against his ear with every step, her thighs firm under his grip—it was impossible to ignore how close they were, the heat of her body seeping through his singed hoodie.

"You know, senpai," Firefly murmured after a stretch of silence, her voice low and teasing, her lips brushing his earlobe just enough to send a jolt down his spine. "For someone who just blew up a factory, you're surprisingly... steady. Is carrying damsels in distress part of your Nightlord charm, or are you just showing off?"
Caelus's face heated, his steps faltering slightly as he adjusted his hold, his fingers accidentally grazing the soft skin of her inner thigh. The touch was brief, but it made his face heat up again, and he hoped the dimness hid it. "Damsel? Please," he shot back, his tone rough but laced with a smirk she couldn't see. "You're the one who could spear two criminals without breaking a sweat. If anything, I'm the one at risk here—your grip's tight enough to choke a vampire. Worried I'll drop you, or just enjoying the ride?"

She tightened her arms a fraction, her chest pressing closer against his back, her heartbeat quickening against him. "Enjoying? In this stinking tunnel? Hardly," she retorted, but her voice dropped to a breathy whisper, her chin resting a bit heavier on his shoulder. "Though... you are warmer than I expected. For an immortal, I mean. Not cold like the stories say."

Caelus swallowed, his pulse racing as her words hung in the air, the dim light hiding his flush but not the way his hands flexed on her legs. "Stories, huh? Guess you'll have to stick around to find out what's fact and fiction.
Firefly's cheeks burned against his neck, her grip loosening just a bit as she averted her gaze to the shadows. "Don't flatter yourself, senpai. It's just... convenient."

After what felt like an eternity of navigating the twisting tunnels, guided by the faint sounds of the city above, they finally spotted a ladder leading to a manhole cover. Caelus climbed it carefully, pushing the cover aside with one hand while balancing Firefly on his back. They emerged into a quiet alleyway, the night air cool and fresh, the distant sirens still wailing from the factory ruins. Caelus set Firefly down gently, their eyes meeting in the moonlight.

But before they could catch their breath, a familiar voice cut through the darkness. "Well, well, if it isn't the dynamic duo of destruction."
They spun around to see Madam Herta standing at the alley's entrance, her petite frame silhouetted against the streetlights, fan in hand and a glare that could freeze lava. Her silver hair gleamed under the moon, and her violet eyes bore into them with unyielding intensity.
"Madam Herta?" Firefly stammered, her face paling.

Caelus swallowed hard, the surprise hitting him like a fan to the head. "Uh... fancy meeting you here?"
Herta's fan snapped open with a sharp crack. "Save the chit-chat. You're both coming with me—now."

And that's how they ended up in madam Hertas office Caelus sighed as he recalled last nights events

Chapter Text

The apartment door clicked shut behind Caelus with a finality that made his stomach drop. He'd barely crossed the threshold when Stelle materialized from the kitchen like an avenging spirit, arms crossed, her expression a storm of worry twisted into fury.

"Where. Were. You?" Each word was a hammer blow, her voice rising with every syllable. "All night, Caelus! *All night!* No call, no text, nothing! I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!"

Caelus raised his hands defensively, exhaustion weighing on every movement. The chains had only come off an hour ago, and his body still ached from the battle despite his healing factor. "Stelle, I can explain—"

"Explain?" She stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You left to go shopping with some girl and vanished! Dan Heng showed up at midnight with your groceries and homework looking completely unsurprised, saying you ran off toward that explosion! What were you *thinking?*"

The mention of Dan Heng made Caelus pause. *Unsurprised?* That was... odd. But then again, Dan Heng always had that calm, knowing demeanor about everything. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I got... caught up in something. But I'm fine, see?" He gestured to himself, keeping his torn hoodie hidden beneath his jacket. "Not a scratch."

Stelle's eyes narrowed, scanning him like a detective. "Caught up in *what*, exactly? And don't you dare lie to me, big brother."

Caelus's mind raced. He couldn't tell her about Malachai, Hyselins, the vault—none of it. The less Stelle knew about his Nightlord problems, the safer she'd be. "There was... an emergency. Someone needed help near the factory district. You know how it is—wrong place, wrong time."

"An emergency that lasted all night?" Her voice cracked slightly, the anger giving way to genuine hurt. "I was worried sick, you idiot. What if something had happened to you? What if—" She stopped, blinking rapidly, refusing to let tears fall.

Guilt twisted like a knife in his chest. Caelus stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, feeling her resistance melt after a moment. "I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I should've called. That was stupid of me. But I'm here now, and I'm okay. Promise."

Stelle sniffled against his shoulder, then shoved him back with renewed irritation. "You smell like sewage and burnt metal. Go shower, you disaster. And you're making dinner for a week as punishment."

"Deal," Caelus agreed quickly, grateful for the escape route. He headed toward his room, but Stelle's voice stopped him.

"And Caelus?" He turned. Her expression had softened, but worry still lingered in her eyes. "Whatever you're mixed up in... just be careful, okay? You're all I've got."

His throat tightened. "You too, raccoon."

---

Forty minutes later, Caelus emerged from the shower feeling almost human again. He'd scrubbed away the sewer grime and changed into clean clothes, the torn hoodie stuffed deep in his closet where Stelle wouldn't find it. His phone buzzed on the nightstand—three missed calls from Dan Heng, and a string of texts that were... surprisingly restrained.

*Dan Heng: Stelle's worried. Let her know when you get home.*

*Dan Heng: Hope everything went as expected.*

*Dan Heng: We should talk tomorrow. Nothing urgent.*

Caelus frowned at the messages. *As expected?* What did that mean? And why wasn't Dan Heng demanding answers like Stelle had been? It was almost as if...

No. He was overthinking it. Dan Heng was just being his usual composed self.

Still, something nagged at him as he pressed the call button.

Dan Heng picked up on the second ring. "You're home." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, just got out of the shower. Sorry for worrying everyone." Caelus kept his tone light, casual. "Stelle already chewed me out, so feel free to skip that part."

"I wasn't planning to lecture you." Dan Heng's voice was calm, almost too calm. "Though I imagine you've had enough of those today."

Caelus's frown deepened. How would Dan Heng know about Madam Herta's dressing-down? "What do you mean?"

"Just a guess. You tend to attract... complications." There was something in Dan Heng's tone—not quite knowing, but observant. Careful. "The factory incident must have been chaotic."

"You could say that." Caelus chose his words carefully, testing the waters. "Wrong place, wrong time. Got caught up in the evacuation, ended up in the old tunnels until morning."

"The sewer system." Dan Heng said it matter-of-factly. "That would explain the smell Stelle mentioned."

"Yeah." Caelus waited for more questions—demands for details, concerns about his safety. But Dan Heng just... accepted it. Like he already knew the story, or didn't need to ask.

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken things.

"Dan Heng," Caelus ventured, "you're being weird. Usually you'd at least pretend to be annoyed that I worried everyone."

"Would you prefer I yell at you?" A hint of dry amusement colored Dan Heng's voice. "I trust you had your reasons for doing what you did. You always do."

Something about that statement felt weighted, layered. *I trust you had your reasons.* Not 'I trust you're telling the truth' or 'I trust you're okay.' Your *reasons*.

"Besides," Dan Heng continued before Caelus could analyze further, "I'm more concerned about your new friend. Firefly, was it?"

Caelus tensed. "What about her?"

"Stelle mentioned she's your neighbor now. Transfer student. Convenient timing." Dan Heng's tone remained neutral, but there was something beneath it—not suspicion exactly, but awareness. "Have you considered why someone would transfer mid-semester specifically to your school, and happen to move in next door?"

"I—" Caelus hadn't actually thought about it that way. The Syndicate had arranged it, obviously, for observation purposes. But when Dan Heng phrased it like that... "She needed a place to stay, and the apartment was available. Just coincidence."

"Coincidence." Dan Heng repeated the word like he was tasting it, finding it wanting. "Kure Jima doesn't have many of those. You know that better than anyone."

"What are you suggesting?" Caelus asked, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.

"Nothing concrete. Just... be careful around her. New people in your life, especially ones who appear suddenly—they often have agendas you can't see yet." Dan Heng paused, and when he spoke again, his voice softened slightly. "I'm not saying she's dangerous. Just that you should keep your guard up. At least until you understand what she really wants from you."

*What she really wants from me.* The phrase echoed uncomfortably. Firefly had been clear—she was observing him for the Syndicate, watching for signs he'd become a threat. But the way Dan Heng said it made it sound like there was something else, something deeper.

"You sound like you know something I don't," Caelus said carefully.

"I know you tend to see the best in people," Dan Heng replied, sidestepping the implicit question. "It's one of your better qualities. But it also makes you vulnerable to manipulation. Just... don't let your guard down completely. Even with people who seem genuine."

Caelus wanted to press, to demand what Dan Heng actually meant, but something in his friend's tone told him he wouldn't get a straight answer. Dan Heng had always been perceptive, almost unnaturally so—reading situations before they fully developed, offering advice that seemed to come from nowhere but always proved relevant.

"I'll be careful," Caelus said finally, though the words felt hollow. He was already planning his next move against Malachai and Hyselins, already committed to diving deeper into the chaos.

"No, you won't." Dan Heng's response was immediate, almost resigned. "But at least pretend for Stelle's sake. She deserves that much."

"How do you—"

"Because I know you, Caelus. You're going to chase this down, whatever 'this' is. You always do." A soft sigh carried through the line. "Just try not to get yourself killed in the process. And if things get too complicated... you know where to find me."

The offer hung in the air, sincere but somehow distant. Like Dan Heng was offering help while simultaneously maintaining careful boundaries.

"Thanks," Caelus said, meaning it despite his confusion. "For everything. The groceries, covering for me with Stelle, not interrogating me."

"That's what friends do." Dan Heng's voice warmed slightly. "Get some rest. You sound exhausted. And Caelus?"

"Yeah?"

"That girl—Firefly. Whatever her reasons for being here, I don't think she means you harm. But intentions and outcomes aren't always aligned. Just remember that."

The call ended before Caelus could respond, leaving him staring at his phone with more questions than answers. Dan Heng's behavior was strange—too calm, too accepting, too... *knowing*. Like he'd been expecting exactly what happened, or at least wasn't surprised by it.

*Be careful around her. Don't let your guard down.*

Caelus thought about Firefly on his back in the sewers, her arms around his shoulders, her breath warm against his neck. The way she'd looked at him when his wounds healed, fascination and something else in her teal eyes. The Syndicate had sent her to watch him, possibly kill him if he became a threat.

But what if there was more to it? What if, as Dan Heng seemed to be implying, Firefly's mission ran deeper than simple observation?

He shook his head, dismissing the paranoid thoughts. He had enough to worry about with Malachai and the missing artifact. Whatever games the Syndicate was playing, whatever Dan Heng knew that he wasn't saying—those were problems for another day.

Caelus collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion finally catching up with him. Through his window, the evening sky darkened to deep purple, Kure Jima's lights beginning their nightly shimmer across the floating island.

Somewhere out there, Malachai was nursing his burns. Hyselins was sharpening her blades. The artifact remained missing, its purpose unknown.

And tomorrow, he'd start hunting for answers.

*Sorry, Madam Herta,* he thought as sleep pulled him under. *But I've never been good at keeping promises.*

---

**Meanwhile - Dan Heng's Apartment**

Dan Heng set his phone down carefully, staring at the darkened screen. His apartment was sparse, neat—almost clinically so. But in the corner sat a locked drawer that contained files most people would never see. Records. Observations. Reports.

*Caelus Duskveil - Fourth Nightlord. Subject remains unaware of primary surveillance. Secondary observer (Designation: Firefly) has made contact as anticipated. Factory incident resulted in artifact displacement and cultist engagement. Subject's control remains unstable but improving.*

He pulled out a secure communicator, typing a brief message to his handler.

*Subject intact. Proceeding as planned. No intervention required yet.*

The response came within seconds.

*Acknowledged. Continue observation. Do not break cover unless critical situation develops.*

Dan Heng deleted both messages, the screen wiping clean automatically. He moved to his window, looking out toward Caelus's apartment building several blocks away.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be, old friend," he murmured to the night. "But I suppose that's part of why they chose me to watch over you."

His reflection stared back at him—calm, composed, keeping secrets that would shatter their friendship if revealed. But that was the price of protection. Of making sure Caelus survived long enough to understand what he truly was.

The game had multiple players now. Firefly and her hidden agenda. Malachai and his revenge. The missing artifact and its implications.

And Dan Heng, watching from the shadows, keeping his oldest friend alive without him ever knowing how many threats had been quietly eliminated before they could reach him.

"Stay safe, Caelus," he whispered. "I can't protect you from everything."

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime chaos—trays clattering, conversations overlapping, the smell of mediocre school food permeating the air. Caelus sat at their usual table, poking listlessly at his rice while his mind churned through last night's events. Malachai's scarred face, Hyselins's empty eyes, the missing artifact—pieces of a puzzle he couldn't solve without more information.
Dan Heng sat across from him, eating methodically while scrolling through his phone, his expression neutral but his presence somehow... watchful. Sabine chatted animatedly about some new game release, but Caelus barely registered the words.
Then March arrived, sliding into the seat beside him with her usual burst of energy, her pink ponytail bouncing. "Okay, spill. You've had that brooding look all morning. What's eating you?"
Caelus glanced at Dan Heng, who didn't look up from his phone but seemed to be listening. He chose his words carefully. "Actually, March, I could use your help with something."
Her eyes lit up immediately, leaning forward with interest. "Ooh, mysterious! What kind of help? If you need someone's embarrassing photos scrubbed from the internet, I'm your girl."
"Nothing like that." Caelus lowered his voice slightly. "I need information. About a person and... a company."
March's expression shifted, her playful demeanor giving way to something sharper, more focused. Her fingers drummed against the table—a telltale sign her mind was already racing ahead. "Information, huh? This sounds less like homework and more like—"
"It's for a project," Caelus interrupted smoothly, the lie practiced after last night. "History project. About... post-war extremist groups and their modern connections. Madam Herta suggested I dig deeper than the textbooks."
March's eyes narrowed skeptically, studying his face with the intensity of someone who'd learned to read people through screens and data patterns. "A history project. That requires my specific skillset. Right." She tapped her chin. "And this has nothing to do with you vanishing all night near an exploding factory?"
Caelus felt Dan Heng's attention sharpen, though his friend still didn't look up.
"I told you, wrong place, wrong time—"
"Uh-huh." March crossed her arms, but her lips quirked upward. "Fine. I'll play along with your 'project.' But I want details—who are we researching, and why?"
Caelus pulled out his phone, typing quickly. "Father Malachai Vorne. Cathedral of the Ebon Shroud. Anything you can find about him—background, known associates, criminal record, current whereabouts if possible."
March's eyebrows shot up. "Ebon Shroud? Caelus, those are serious extremists. Like, war crimes and genocide serious. What kind of history project—"
"Please, March." Caelus met her eyes, letting a hint of genuine urgency bleed through. "I really need this. And I need it to stay between us."
She held his gaze for a long moment, something complicated flickering across her face—concern, curiosity, and something softer she quickly masked. Finally, she sighed dramatically. "You're lucky you're cute when you're mysterious. Fine. But this is going to take work, and my services don't come cheap."
"Name your price."
"Dinner. Somewhere nice, not that ramen place you always drag us to. And you're paying." March's cheeks colored slightly, but she maintained her businesslike tone. "Non-negotiable."
Caelus couldn't help but smile. "Deal. When can you get me the information?"
March pulled out her phone, a custom-built device with modifications that would make most tech enthusiasts weep with envy. Her fingers flew across the screen with practiced ease. "Give me... twenty minutes. Maybe less if AETHER's feeling cooperative today."
"AETHER?" Sabine asked, momentarily distracted from her game discussion.
"My AI assistant program," March said proudly, not looking up from her screen. "Adaptive Encrypted Tactical Heuristic and Electronic Research system. Built her myself sophomore year. She can crack encrypted databases faster than most government agencies."
"You built an AI?" Sabine's eyes widened. "That's insane!"
"That's March," Dan Heng said quietly, finally looking up. His gaze flicked between March's phone and Caelus's face, something unreadable in his expression.
March's fingers never stopped moving, her eyes reflecting the rapid scroll of data only she could see. "Okay, let's see what the deep web knows about our friend Malachai... AETHER, cross-reference Ebon Shroud leadership with Noctheris prison releases, past five years."
Her phone emitted a soft chime, too quick to be a normal search.
"Found him." March's voice dropped lower, her playful demeanor evaporating. "Caelus, this guy is seriously bad news. Father Malachai Vorne, age 67, former high priest of the Cathedral of the Ebon Shroud's militant wing. Convicted of... Jesus, multiple counts of murder, torture, orchestrating ethnic cleansing campaigns against Vaelori populations during the Second Night Kingdom War." She scrolled faster. "Sentenced to life imprisonment twenty-eight years ago in a UN maximum security facility. But here's the interesting part—he was released six months ago."
"Released?" Caelus leaned forward. "Why?"
"Bureaucratic clusterfuck, looks like. Some international treaty renegotiation, prisoner exchange program. The details are heavily redacted, but AETHER's picking up traces of... hmm." March frowned. "Someone pulled strings. High-level strings. His release wasn't standard procedure."
Dan Heng's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression unchanging, then returned to his lunch.
"What about known associates?" Caelus pressed, keeping his tone casual. "Any recent activity?"
March typed rapidly. "Searching... okay, this is weird. About three weeks after Malachai's release, there was an incident at DMAI Industries—that's a private military corporation based in Europe, specializes in magical combat technology and... oh." Her eyes widened. "They manufacture combat homunculi. Artificial warriors."
"Homunculi?" Caelus's stomach tightened.
"Yeah. DMAI creates military-grade homunculi for PMC contracts, anti-terrorism units, that kind of thing. High-end stuff—each unit costs millions and takes years to develop." March's fingers flew faster. "Three weeks ago, their primary research facility was attacked. Heavy casualties, massive property damage, and—get this—one of their prototype models was stolen. A Helektra-42A unit."
Caelus forced himself to keep his expression neutral, but his mind raced. Hyselins. She's not human—she's a weapon.
"What kind of capabilities would something like that have?" he asked, hoping his voice sounded academically curious rather than desperately personal.
"AETHER's pulling the classified specs now... okay, wow. The Helektra-42A series was designed as a warrior-type attack mage specializing in anti-magic combat. Enhanced physical capabilities, shadow manipulation, and—this is the scary part—the ability to drain and nullify opponents' magical attacks. Basically, you throw magic at her, she absorbs it and turns it against you." March looked up, her expression grave. "She's built to kill mages, Caelus. That's her entire purpose."
That explains why Firefly's spirit magic barely touched her, Caelus thought. And why my lightning...
"DMAI's been going crazy trying to recover her," March continued. "They've got bounties out, hired multiple tracking agencies. The theft was never made fully public because it's embarrassing—a state-of-the-art combat homunculus stolen right out of their most secure facility. But AETHER found incident reports, insurance claims, internal memos..." She paused. "There's no confirmed link to Malachai, but the timing is suspicious. He gets released, immediately disappears off the grid, then three weeks later a military-grade anti-mage weapon vanishes. That's not coincidence."
"Does the file say anything about the unit's... personality? Behavior?" Caelus asked, remembering Hyselins's expressionless face, her mechanical obedience.
March scrolled through dense technical documents. "Helektra series homunculi are designed with minimal emotional programming. They're weapons, not people. Capable of following complex orders, adapting to combat situations, but with severely limited autonomy or personal desires. The 42A model specifically was noted for being... 'unnervingly compliant' according to researchers. Like a living doll that only exists to fight."
A weapon shaped like a girl, Caelus thought, something uncomfortable twisting in his chest. No wonder she seemed so empty.
"You mentioned a company too," March said, her tone indicating she knew he was holding something back but wouldn't push—yet. "Which one?"
"The factory that exploded yesterday. The one that supposedly had a gas leak. I need to know what they really do, who runs it."
March's fingers resumed their dance across her screen. "That's actually easier. Public records, corporate filings... okay, the factory was owned by Stellaron Industries. Officially, they manufacture industrial equipment and magical storage containers. But—" Her eyes narrowed as she read. "AETHER's pulling up some juicy stuff. Stellaron's been under investigation for the past two years. Multiple allegations of illegal artifact trafficking, unauthorized magical experiments, and... oh, this is interesting."
"What?"
"They're currently facing a major lawsuit. The island government and several international organizations are trying to prove they've been smuggling high-grade magical artifacts without proper licensing. Stuff that should be under strict regulation—world-altering artifacts, ancient relics, potentially dangerous items. The case is ongoing, but it's not looking good for them." March scrolled through dense legal documents. "According to the court filings, Stellaron had a secure vault in that factory. Guess what was supposedly stored there?"
Caelus's stomach dropped. "An artifact."
"Bingo. An unspecified Class-A magical artifact, described only as 'object of significant historical and mystical importance.' The details are sealed by court order, but the lawsuit claims Stellaron obtained it through illegal channels and planned to sell it on the black market." March looked up, her expression grave. "If that factory explosion was really a gas leak, I'm a foxian."
"Someone was after the artifact," Caelus murmured, keeping his tone thoughtful rather than knowing.
"Someone who's willing to level a building to get it. And if I were a betting girl—which I am—I'd say it's connected to your Ebon Shroud research." March leaned closer, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Caelus, please tell me this is really just for a school project and you're not actually tracking down war criminals and stolen combat homunculi."
He forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. "You think I'd be that reckless?"
"Yes," Dan Heng and March said simultaneously.
Caelus blinked at them. Dan Heng's expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes—concern mixed with resignation, like he'd expected exactly this.
"I'm just doing research," Caelus insisted. "Nothing dangerous."
"Right." March didn't sound convinced, but she sighed and leaned back. "I'm sending all this data to your phone. Encrypted, obviously. Don't open it anywhere with unsecured networks. And Caelus?" Her voice softened. "Whatever you're really doing... be careful. Combat homunculi don't have mercy protocols. If that Helektra unit is active and you somehow end up near her, she won't hesitate to kill you."
Already met her, Caelus thought darkly. Already felt her sword through my chest.
"I'll be careful," he said, the lie tasting bitter. "Promise."
March's phone chimed softly as the transfer completed. "And remember—you owe me dinner. Somewhere nice. I'm thinking that new fusion place downtown, the one with the rooftop view." Her tough facade cracked slightly, revealing a hint of vulnerability. "And maybe... you could tell me what you're really getting mixed up in? I'm good at solving problems, Caelus. Digital or otherwise. I could help."
The offer was genuine, and it made his chest ache. March, with her brilliant mind and fierce loyalty, would throw herself into his problems without hesitation if he let her. Which was exactly why he couldn't.
"I appreciate it, March. Really. But this is something I need to handle myself." He met her eyes, trying to convey sincerity. "The dinner's still on, though. Tomorrow night?"
"Tomorrow," March agreed, though disappointment flickered across her face. "And Caelus? Be careful, whatever you're doing. Some of us would miss you if you got yourself killed."
"Some of us?" He couldn't help the teasing tone.
Her cheeks flushed pink. "Oh, shut up. You know what I mean." She stood abruptly, gathering her lunch tray. "Come on, Sabine. Let's leave the boys to their brooding."
As the girls walked away, Caelus opened the encrypted file on his phone, scrolling through March's findings. Malachai's mysterious release. The stolen Helektra-42A homunculus now called Hyselins. The missing artifact in Stellaron's vault. The pieces were falling into place, forming a picture far more complex than he'd imagined.
Malachai gets released, immediately acquires a military-grade anti-mage weapon, then comes to Kure Jima hunting an artifact, Caelus thought. But who arranged his release? Who pointed him at Stellaron's vault? And where the hell are they now?
"She's right, you know," Dan Heng said quietly. "March could help. She's more capable than you give her credit for."
"I know she is. That's why I can't involve her more than this." Caelus pocketed his phone. "The less she knows, the safer she is."
"And yet you're digging deeper yourself." Dan Heng's tone was neutral, observational. "Hunting information about dangerous cultists, investigating stolen combat homunculi. That doesn't sound like staying out of trouble to me."
Caelus met his friend's gaze, seeing something there he couldn't quite name—concern, yes, but also something else. Knowledge, maybe. Or recognition.
"I can't just do nothing, Dan Heng. Not when Kure Jima's at risk."
"No," Dan Heng agreed softly, his eyes holding Caelus's for a beat too long. "I suppose you can't." He stood, collecting his tray. "Just remember—you're not as alone as you think you are. Even when you're keeping secrets."
The words hung in the air, layered with meaning Caelus couldn't quite parse. Before he could respond, Dan Heng walked away, leaving him alone at the table with a phone full of dangerous information and a growing list of targets.
Madam Herta would kill me if she knew what I'm planning, Caelus thought, already formulating his next move. Which is exactly why I'm not telling her.
He had the pieces now. Malachai and his stolen weapon. Their target—Stellaron's artifact. Their likely next move—tracking down whoever took it from the vault before they could.
All Caelus had to do was find them first.
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. As students filed back to class, Caelus stayed seated for one more moment, his mind racing through possibilities.
A war criminal with a vendetta. A homunculus designed to kill mages. A missing artifact that could change the world. And me—a Nightlord who can barely control his own power.
He smiled grimly.
This is going to end badly. But at least it'll be interesting.

The Celestial Terrace was everything March had promised—upscale without being pretentious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Kure Jima's glittering skyline. Soft amber lighting cast a warm glow over tables dressed in crisp white linens, and the gentle murmur of conversation mixed with the subtle notes of a piano playing somewhere in the background.
March had arrived fifteen minutes early, a habit born from equal parts excitement and anxiety. She'd changed out of her school uniform into a soft lavender dress that fell just above her knees, her pink hair styled with more care than usual, though she'd kept it casual enough to maintain plausible deniability. It's not a date, she'd told herself firmly while getting ready. It's just payment for services rendered. That's all.
She sat at their reserved table by the window, fidgeting with her phone and occasionally glancing toward the entrance. Her heart did a little skip each time the door opened, then sank when it wasn't him.
When Caelus finally appeared in the doorway, March's face lit up—then immediately fell.
He wasn't alone.
Dan Heng walked beside him, looking characteristically composed in a simple dark sweater and jeans. And on Caelus's other side, her silver-gray hair catching the restaurant's lighting like starlight, was her. The transfer student. Firefly.
March's grip tightened on her phone as they approached the table, her smile freezing into something brittle.
"Hey, March!" Caelus greeted cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing in her eyes. "Hope you don't mind—I ran into Dan Heng and Firefly on the way here, and I figured the more the merrier, right?"
The more the merrier, March thought, her internal voice dripping with sarcasm. Yes, because I definitely wanted to share this dinner with your entire entourage.
"Of course I don't mind," she said aloud, her tone bright and brittle as glass. "Why would I mind? It's not like this was supposed to be—I mean, the more people to witness you paying your debt, right?"
Dan Heng's eyes flicked between March and Caelus, something knowing in his expression. He pulled out a chair. "We can leave if this was meant to be—"
"No, no, sit!" March interrupted, perhaps too quickly. "It's totally fine. Completely fine. Not a problem at all."
Firefly hesitated, her teal eyes uncertain as she glanced at Caelus, then at March's fixed smile. "I... if this is inconvenient, I can—"
"Sit," March repeated, gesturing to the empty chairs. "Really. I insist."
They settled around the table—Caelus taking the seat across from March, Dan Heng beside him, and Firefly on Caelus's other side. The seating arrangement put Firefly directly in March's line of sight, which was either fortunate or unfortunate depending on perspective.
A server arrived with menus, and they ordered drinks—March requesting wine with perhaps more emphasis than necessary, earning a raised eyebrow from Dan Heng when the server asked for ID and she produced a flawlessly convincing fake that he'd never seen before.
"So," March said once the server departed, her smile razor-sharp as she focused on Firefly. "Firefly, right? The transfer student everyone's been talking about. We haven't been properly introduced. I'm March 7th, Caelus's childhood friend." She emphasized the last two words with territorial precision.
Firefly shifted slightly in her seat. "Yes, I've heard about you. Caelus mentioned you're very talented with technology."
"Oh, he talks about me?" March's smile widened genuinely for a moment before she reined it back. "That's sweet. And what exactly is your relationship with Caelus? I mean, you just transferred here, and suddenly you're having dinner together..."
Caelus, finally sensing the danger, attempted to intervene. "March, it's not like—"
"I'm talking to Firefly," March cut him off pleasantly, her eyes never leaving the silver-haired girl. "So? What's the story?"
Firefly's composure wavered under the scrutiny. She'd faced down cultists and borisins without flinching, but something about March's sharp intelligence and barely concealed jealousy was more unsettling. "We're just... friends. And neighbors. I live next door to Caelus and his sister."
"Next door," March repeated slowly. "How convenient."
"It was coincidence—"
"Kure Jima doesn't have many coincidences," March said, echoing Dan Heng's words from the previous night. Her fingers drummed on the table. "Mid-semester transfer, apartment right next to his, suddenly joined at the hip..." She tilted her head. "You're not dating him, are you?"
"No!" Firefly's cheeks flushed. "Absolutely not. We barely know each other."
"But you know him well enough to crash what was supposed to be a private dinner?" March's tone remained light, conversational, but the barb landed cleanly.
Dan Heng cleared his throat. "To be fair, Caelus invited us. If anyone's crashing, we all are."
"Yes, thank you, Dan Heng," March said without looking at him. "Very helpful."
Caelus rubbed the back of his neck, looking profoundly uncomfortable. "March, I genuinely didn't realize this was supposed to be just us. You said dinner as payment, and I figured—"
"That inviting an audience was appropriate?" March's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in her eyes—hurt, quickly masked. "No, you're right. My fault for not being specific. This is totally fine. Great, even. A fun group dinner. Nothing weird about it at all."
The server returned with drinks, providing a momentary reprieve. March took a deliberately long sip of her wine, then set it down with careful precision.
"So, Firefly," she continued, her interrogation apparently not finished. "What brings you to Kure Jima? Family? Work? Running from something?"
"March," Caelus said warningly.
"What? I'm just making conversation." March's innocent expression was Oscar-worthy. "Getting to know our new neighbor. That's normal, right?"
Firefly's mind raced. She couldn't reveal her Syndicate affiliation, but March's questions were backed by obvious intelligence—this girl wouldn't accept vague answers. "My... organization transferred me here for work," she said carefully. "Educational work. Training program."
"What kind of organization?"
"March," Dan Heng interjected quietly, "maybe ease up on the interrogation?"
"I'm not interrogating. I'm curious. Is curiosity a crime?" March's eyes remained fixed on Firefly, who felt increasingly like a specimen under a microscope. "You carry a guitar case but apparently don't play. You move in next to Caelus specifically. You show up at dinner uninvited—"
"I was invited," Firefly protested weakly.
"By Caelus, who has the social awareness of a brick," March shot back, then immediately seemed to regret it. "Sorry, that was mean. I just... I'm trying to understand who you are and why you're suddenly everywhere in his life."
The table fell silent. Caelus looked between them, finally grasping the situation. Dan Heng studied his menu with intense focus, clearly wanting no part of this.
Firefly took a breath, meeting March's eyes directly. "You're worried I'm going to hurt him."
"Should I be?"
"No." Firefly's voice was quiet but firm. "I'm not interested in Caelus romantically, if that's what you're worried about. We're just... friends. And neighbors. That's all."
The lie tasted bitter—not because she was interested romantically (she wasn't, or at least she didn't think she was), but because her real purpose was so much more complicated than friendship. She was his observer, his potential executioner, a spy sent to monitor the fourth Nightlord. And somehow that felt like a deeper betrayal than any romantic entanglement could be.
March's expression shifted, something softening in her eyes. "I'm not worried about romance," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. "I'm worried about... I don't know. Caelus has been acting strange lately. Distant. Keeping secrets. And then you show up, and suddenly there's explosions at factories and he's disappearing all night and—" She stopped herself, taking another sip of wine. "Forget it. I'm being paranoid."
"You're not paranoid," Dan Heng said quietly, still studying his menu. "You're observant. It's one of your strengths."
"Thank you, Dan Heng. At least someone appreciates me." March shot a pointed look at Caelus, who raised his hands defensively.
"I appreciate you! This whole dinner is me appreciating you!"
"By bringing a crowd?"
"I didn't think—"
"Exactly." March sighed, then seemed to deflate slightly, her anger giving way to resignation. "You know what? Fine. It's fine. Let's just have dinner and pretend this isn't awkward." She picked up her menu. "I'm ordering the most expensive thing here, by the way. Since you're paying."
"I deserve that," Caelus admitted.
They ordered—March indeed choosing the priciest entrée, while Firefly selected something modest, still overwhelmed by the menu's options. As they waited for food, the conversation gradually found safer ground.
"So how does AETHER work?" Dan Heng asked, steering them away from dangerous topics. "The AI you built. I'm curious about the architecture."
March's eyes lit up immediately, technical passion overriding her earlier frustration. "Oh, it's a neural network hybrid with quantum processing nodes. See, traditional AI assistants rely on cloud computing, but I wanted something that could function entirely locally—no data leaks, no external dependencies. So I reverse-engineered some military-grade encryption protocols and—"
As March launched into an enthusiastic explanation filled with jargon that made Firefly's head spin, the silver-haired girl found herself relaxing slightly. This was strange—sitting in an upscale restaurant with people her age, arguing about technology and relationships and normal teenage drama. Not discussing missions or targets or combat protocols.
Is this what normal people do? she wondered, watching March gesture animatedly while Caelus listened with genuine interest, even if half the technical details clearly went over his head. Just... talk? About things that don't matter?
"—and that's how I cracked the municipal database without triggering any security flags," March concluded triumphantly.
"That's highly illegal," Dan Heng observed mildly.
"Only if they catch me. Which they won't, because I'm that good." March grinned, then turned to Firefly. "What about you? Any cool skills we should know about?"
Firefly hesitated. Combat magic. Spear fighting. Assassination techniques. "I... play guitar. A little."
"Really? I thought you said you didn't?"
"I said I wasn't good," Firefly corrected quickly. "But I know the basics."
"You should play for us sometime," Caelus suggested.
If you knew what was really in that case, you wouldn't ask, Firefly thought, but she nodded. "Maybe."
The food arrived, and conversation flowed more naturally as they ate. March's interrogation gave way to lighthearted banter—teasing Caelus about his terrible cooking, Dan Heng sharing a rare amusing anecdote from their middle school days, Firefly listening more than contributing but slowly feeling the tight coil of her training unwind slightly.
"Remember when Caelus tried to impress that girl in eighth grade by climbing the gymnasium roof?" March said, laughing into her wine glass. "And got stuck up there for two hours?"
"I didn't get stuck," Caelus protested. "I was... strategically waiting for the right moment to come down."
"You were crying and calling for help," Dan Heng corrected flatly.
"I was not crying—"
"You absolutely were," March and Dan Heng said in unison.
Firefly found herself smiling despite herself, imagining a younger Caelus—before he became the fourth Nightlord, before the Scorched Banquet, when he was just a normal boy doing stupid things to impress girls.
What would my life have been like, she wondered, if I'd been born instead of made? If I'd had friends and embarrassing stories and normal dinners?
The thought ached in a way she didn't quite understand.
"Firefly?" Caelus's voice pulled her back. "You okay?"
"Fine," she said quickly. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"How weird this is." The honesty surprised her. "I've never done this before. Just... hung out. For no reason."
March's expression softened. "What, your old school didn't have friends?"
"Something like that." Firefly traced the rim of her water glass. "It was more... structured. Task-oriented. This is..." She gestured vaguely at the table. "Different."
"Different good or different bad?" Caelus asked.
Firefly considered. Despite the awkward beginning, despite March's territorial interrogation, despite knowing she was lying to all of them—this felt... nice. Warm. Human. "Different good," she decided.
March studied her for a moment, then seemed to reach some internal conclusion. "Okay. I'm officially forgiving you for crashing my dinner."
"I didn't crash—"
"Shh. I'm being magnanimous. Accept it gracefully." March raised her wine glass. "To new friends. Even ones who mysteriously appear and possibly have secret agendas."
Dan Heng raised his water glass with a knowing smile. Caelus laughed and joined the toast. Firefly hesitated, then lifted her own glass.
"To new friends," she echoed, the words foreign on her tongue but not unpleasant.
They clinked glasses, and for a moment—just a brief, shining moment—Firefly felt like a normal girl having dinner with friends. Not a war dancer. Not an observer. Not a weapon in human form sent to monitor a Nightlord.
Just Firefly. Whoever that was.
The conversation drifted to lighter topics—upcoming school events, weekend plans, March's latest hacking project that she definitely shouldn't have been discussing in public. Caelus told a story about Stelle's latest chaos that had them all laughing. Dan Heng revealed he'd taken up cooking, which prompted March to demand proof via Instagram photos.
As the evening wound down and they split dessert (March insisting on ordering three different options because "Caelus is paying anyway"), Firefly found herself reluctant for it to end. The restaurant's warm glow, the easy banter, the sense of belonging—it was intoxicating in a way combat adrenaline never was.
This is dangerous, part of her whispered. Getting attached. Feeling normal. This isn't your life. You're here to observe him, possibly kill him. These people aren't your friends—they're mission parameters.
But another part, quieter and more insistent, whispered back: But what if they could be?
"Earth to Firefly," March said, waving a hand in front of her face. "You keep spacing out. Too much wine?"
"I didn't have any wine."
"Right, you're the responsible one. Unlike some people." March elbowed Caelus, who yelped.
"I'm responsible!"
"You blew up a factory," Dan Heng murmured so quietly only Firefly caught it. Her eyes snapped to him, but his expression remained placid, giving nothing away.
He knows, she realized with a chill. He knows something.
But before she could process that revelation, the server arrived with the check. Caelus took one look at the total and went pale.
"How is dessert forty credits?!"
"It's artisanal," March said primly. "You said I could order whatever I wanted."
"I assumed you'd have some mercy—"
"Never assume mercy from March," Dan Heng advised. "That's Friendship 101."
Caelus paid with visible pain, and they gathered their things. As they left the restaurant, stepping into the cool evening air of Kure Jima's downtown district, March fell into step beside Firefly.
"Hey," she said quietly, away from the boys. "Sorry about earlier. The interrogation thing. I was just..."
"Protecting him," Firefly finished. "I understand."
March nodded. "He's important to me. Has been since we were kids. And lately he's been different—distant, secretive. It scares me." She glanced at Firefly. "I meant what I said. If you hurt him, I'll know. I have very good hacking skills and very few ethical boundaries when it comes to people I care about."
"Noted," Firefly said, oddly touched by the threat.
"But," March continued, "if you're actually his friend—if you're going to stick around and not disappear like some mysterious anime character—then welcome to the chaos. Fair warning: Caelus attracts trouble like a magnet. You'll never be bored."
If only you knew, Firefly thought. Aloud, she said, "I'm starting to realize that."
March grinned. "Good. Then you're prepared." She jogged ahead to catch up with Caelus, immediately demanding he buy her boba as "secondary payment for emotional damages."
Dan Heng slowed to walk beside Firefly, his voice low. "You handled that well. March can be... intense."
"She cares about him."
"We all do." Dan Heng's eyes were unreadable in the streetlight. "In our own ways. With our own reasons." He let that statement hang, weighted with implication, before adding, "Make sure your reasons don't conflict with his wellbeing. That would be... unfortunate."
Before Firefly could respond, he walked ahead, leaving her alone with the uncomfortable certainty that Dan Heng knew far more than he should—and was warning her, gently but firmly, that she was being watched just as surely as she was watching Caelus.
This island, she thought, looking up at the moon hanging in the night sky. Everyone here has secrets.
Including her.
Especially her.
But for tonight, for this one evening, she'd gotten to pretend otherwise. To be a normal girl having dinner with friends, arguing about dessert prices and sharing stories.
It wouldn't last. It couldn't.
But she'd remember it anyway.

Chapter Text

The sun dipped low over Kure Jima's skyline, casting elongated shadows across the bustling streets as Caelus and Firefly parted ways with March and Dan Heng. March had waved enthusiastically, her pink hair bouncing as she dragged Dan Heng toward a nearby arcade, insisting on a rematch in some fighting game. Dan Heng had given Caelus a subtle nod—lingering a fraction too long, as if weighing whether to say something—before they disappeared into the crowd.
Now, with the noise of the city fading behind them, Caelus and Firefly walked in companionable silence toward their apartment building. The air carried a faint salty tang from the nearby ocean, mingling with the distant hum of traffic. Caelus shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, his gray hair peeking out from under the hood. He'd been mulling over the factory incident constantly—the explosion, Malachai Vorne and his eerie homunculus companion Hyselins, the missing artifact that could spell doom for the island.
Finally, he broke the silence, glancing sideways at Firefly. Her silver-gray hair swayed gently with each step, her teal eyes focused ahead, though he could sense the tension in her posture. "So, what are your thoughts on the factory incident? Anything from your Syndicate?"
Firefly hesitated, her grip tightening on the strap of her guitar case. "I reported everything right after we got back—the cultists, the artifact's displacement, the engagement. But..." She frowned. "I haven't gotten a reply from my handler yet. Not even an acknowledgment. That's unusual."
Caelus nodded, his mind racing. He'd thought about it long into the previous night, the weight of it pressing on him like a physical thing. He couldn't just sit back and wait for the next disaster. Those criminals were still out there, plotting to sink Kure Jima in revenge. And with his powers stirring more unpredictably after that lightning explosion, he needed to understand what he was becoming—and stop the threat before it escalated.
He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. "Firefly, I need your help. I've made up my mind—I'm going after them. Pursuing those cultists before they cause more chaos. You're the only one I can ask who understands what we're up against, who can handle the fight."
Firefly's eyes widened slightly, then hardened with resolve. She remembered her own mistakes that night—hesitating when she should have pressed the attack, letting Hyselins outmaneuver her. It gnawed at her, a failure she couldn't afford in Vermilion's eyes. "I... agree. To correct my mistakes and complete my mission properly, I'll help you." Her voice held quiet determination, though her cheeks flushed faintly as she met his gaze. "But we need a plan. Charging in blindly almost got us killed last time."
A small smile tugged at Caelus's lips. "Good. But the question is, how do we find where those two are hiding? They vanished after the explosion—could be anywhere on the island."
They resumed walking, pondering in silence, the streetlights flickering on as dusk deepened. The alleyways branched off like dark veins, and as they passed one particularly shadowed nook, a voice slithered out, smooth and laced with amusement. "Taking an evening stroll, I see, my dear student?"
Both whipped their heads toward the sound. Perched on a low crate in the alley's gloom was a sleek black cat, its eyes glowing with an unnatural crimson shimmer. Firefly tensed immediately, recognizing the presence. "Vermilion," she murmured, her hand instinctively hovering near her guitar case.
Caelus blinked, raising an eyebrow at the feline. A possessed cat. Of course. This island just keeps getting weirder. "So this is your boss? Interesting communication method."
The cat's tail flicked lazily, and Vermilion's voice emanated from it, velvety and commanding. "Introductions are unnecessary, young Duskveil. I know precisely who you are—and what you're planning. Reckless, as expected."
Firefly bowed slightly, a mix of respect and wariness in her stance. "Vermilion, I can explain—"
"No need." The cat's eyes narrowed, the glow intensifying. "I'm here to scold you properly for that factory incident. Engaging cultists without proper backup, nearly getting yourself dismembered in the process. The Syndicate doesn't train war dancers to throw themselves away like that, Firefly. You're valuable—act like it."
Firefly winced, her cheeks burning. "I apologize. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't." Vermilion's purr held a hint of approval before shifting seamlessly. "However... since you're determined to pursue this foolishness regardless of my warnings, I suppose providing intelligence is preferable to scraping you off the pavement later. I've heard whispers—two individuals matching your cultist descriptions were spotted near an abandoned factory in District 67. They entered briefly, then departed. Industrial sector, third building from the eastern checkpoint."
Caelus caught the subtlety immediately. District 67 was on the island's industrial outskirts, full of derelict buildings perfect for hideouts. Firefly's eyes lit up with understanding—this was Vermilion's way of guiding her, correcting the factory mishap without direct orders.
"However," Vermilion's voice sharpened like a blade, "understand this: that homunculus is specifically designed to counter magic users. Firefly, your spirit magic will be largely ineffective against her. And Caelus..." The cat's gaze fixed on him with unsettling intensity. "Your lightning is powerful but unstable. If you lose control again, you'll level the district and kill civilians. Exercise restraint, or don't go at all."
Before either could respond, the cat's glow faded, Vermilion's presence withdrawing. The animal meowed innocently and scampered off into the darkness.
Firefly turned to Caelus, her expression grave. "District 67. That has to be where they're preparing their next move."
Caelus nodded slowly, Vermilion's warning echoing in his mind. "We investigate tomorrow after school. But this time, we do reconnaissance first—no charging in. We need to understand what they're planning before we engage."
"Agreed." Firefly's hand rested on her guitar case. "And Caelus... about what Vermilion said. Your lightning—"
"I know." His voice was tight. "I can't afford to lose control like that again. But if it comes down to protecting people or holding back..." He met her eyes. "I'll do what I have to."
Firefly studied him for a long moment, seeing the determination beneath his casual exterior. "Then I'll make sure it doesn't come to that. We watch each other's backs this time."
"Deal."

The Next Evening - District 67
District 67's abandoned factories stretched below like a grid of rusted ribs under the sodium lamps. Caelus and Firefly crouched on a corroded fire escape ten floors above the ground, watching their targets through Firefly's enhanced optics.
"Movement," Firefly whispered, pointing. "Two figures. Ground level, loading crates."
They'd spent the last hour in reconnaissance, learning from their previous mistakes. This time, they had a plan. Firefly had studied Hyselins's combat patterns from their first encounter, identifying the homunculus's reliance on shadow manipulation and close-quarters efficiency. Caelus had practiced controlling his lightning in small, precise bursts rather than catastrophic releases.
They weren't the same fighters who'd stumbled into the factory vault.
"Binding crystals," Firefly confirmed through her scanner. "Dozens of them. Enough to destabilize the island's foundation at multiple points."
Caelus's jaw tightened. "Then we end this now. Remember the plan?"
"You draw Malachai away from the crystals. I keep Hyselins occupied and prevent her from draining your magic." Firefly's grip on her spear case was steady, confident. "We don't go for the kill—we disable them and get out before backup arrives."
"And if things go wrong?"
"They won't. We're better prepared this time." But even as she said it, something cold settled in her stomach.
They descended silently, using the shadows to mask their approach. The plan was simple: strike first, strike hard, and maintain control of the battlefield.
Caelus moved first.
He dropped from a shipping container directly behind Malachai, his new gloves already crackling with controlled yellow lightning. The priest spun with inhuman speed, but Caelus was ready—he ducked under the axe swing and drove an electrified uppercut into Malachai's exposed kidney.
The priest bellowed, the impact sending him staggering forward. Caelus didn't let up, pressing with a combination of precise strikes targeting joints and gaps in the armor. Each punch delivered measured electrical shocks—enough to disrupt but not enough to trigger the binding crystals.
"You've improved, whelp!" Malachai snarled, recovering faster than expected. "But it won't be enough!"
Meanwhile, Firefly engaged Hyselins with calculated aggression. This time, she didn't rely on spirit magic. Instead, she used pure martial technique—feints, repositioning, exploiting the homunculus's programmed responses.
Hyselins attacked with her twin swords, shadows coiling. Firefly parried the first strike, sidestepped the second, and used the spear's length to keep distance. She'd studied the patterns—Hyselins favored efficiency over creativity, following optimal combat algorithms.
That predictability was her weakness.
Firefly feinted high, and as Hyselins moved to block, she swept low with the spear's butt, connecting with the homunculus's knee. The synthetic joint buckled slightly—not damage, but disruption. Hyselins recovered instantly, but Firefly had already repositioned, forcing the homunculus to reset her stance.
"You fight differently," Hyselins observed, her flat voice carrying a hint of... curiosity? "Adaptation detected. Analyzing."
"Analyze this," Firefly growled, launching a rapid combination—thrust, sweep, overhead strike—each attack flowing into the next with practiced precision. She wasn't trying to overpower the homunculus; she was controlling the tempo, dictating the engagement.
Across the yard, Caelus was holding his own against Malachai. The priest's raw power was overwhelming, but Caelus had learned to use his smaller size and superior speed. He wove between strikes, landing quick electrical jabs that accumulated damage.
"The fourth Nightlord, reduced to hit-and-run tactics!" Malachai mocked, but there was frustration in his voice. "Stand and fight like your predecessors!"
"My predecessors are dead," Caelus shot back, ducking under another massive swing. "I'm going to survive."
He saw an opening—Malachai's guard dropped for a fraction of a second. Caelus surged forward, driving both fists into the priest's solar plexus with everything he had. Lightning exploded outward in a controlled burst, channeled directly into the armor.
Malachai's eyes widened. The electrical charge bypassed the outer plates, cooking the padding beneath, burning skin. He roared in agony and rage, stumbling backward.
For a moment, Caelus thought they might actually win.
Then Malachai smiled through the pain. "Hyselins—Protocol Omega!"
Everything changed.
The homunculus's eyes flared crimson. Her movements, already inhuman, became a blur of impossible speed. Firefly barely got her spear up before Hyselins was inside her guard, moving with abandon that ignored defensive protocols entirely.
A sword sliced across Firefly's thigh, drawing blood. She gasped but countered with a desperate thrust that caught Hyselins's shoulder—the blade scraped uselessly against reinforced plating. The homunculus didn't even flinch.
"Firefly!" Caelus tried to disengage from Malachai, but the priest anticipated it, his axe arcing down to block his path.
"Oh no, boy. You stay with me." Malachai's scarred face was slick with blood and sweat, but his grin was vicious. "Let's see how well that immortality of yours really works."
Hyselins pressed her assault mercilessly. Without her programmed restraint, she was a hurricane of blades and shadows. Firefly fought desperately, her superior technique barely keeping her alive against the homunculus's overwhelming offensive.
A blade found her shoulder, sinking deep. Firefly screamed, her spear clattering from nerveless fingers. She dropped to one knee, blood streaming down her arm.
Hyselins raised both swords for the killing blow.
"NO!" Caelus roared. Lightning exploded around him—not the controlled bursts he'd practiced, but raw, primal power responding to his terror. He charged, Malachai's axe be damned, throwing himself between Firefly and the descending blades.
The swords pierced his chest, one through each lung, driving him backward into Firefly. They crashed together in a tangle of limbs and blood.
"Caelus!" Firefly's voice was raw with horror.
He coughed, blood spraying from his lips, but forced a grin. "Told you... wouldn't let anything... happen to you..."
Malachai loomed over them, his axe rising high. "How touching. The Nightlord plays hero. Let's see if you can regenerate from THIS!"
The axe descended in a massive two-handed arc, too fast to dodge, too powerful to block.
Caelus shoved Firefly aside with his last strength, throwing her clear. "Run!"
The blade caught him perfectly at the neck.
There was a wet, terrible sound—flesh parting, bone shattering, arterial spray painting the concrete in crimson arcs. Caelus's head separated from his shoulders, his body convulsing once before collapsing, limbs splaying at unnatural angles.
His head rolled twice and came to rest facing Firefly, amber eyes still wide with shock, mouth frozen in a silent scream.
Time stopped.
Firefly stared, her mind unable to process what she'd just witnessed. The boy who'd carried her through sewers. Who'd made her laugh over burnt stir-fry. Who'd won her a keychain at the arcade. Who'd made her feel, for the first time in her manufactured life, like a person instead of a weapon.
Decapitated. Dead. Gone.
"Well," Malachai said, breathing heavily, blood dripping from his burns. "That's one pest exterminated. Now for you, girl—"
Something inside Firefly shattered.
Not her body. Not her training. Something deeper—the careful walls she'd built around the hollow space where emotions should be, the protocols that kept her mission-focused, the control that made her an effective observer.
All of it crumbled to ash.
She rose, her wounded shoulder screaming in protest, her leg barely supporting her weight. But none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except the spreading pool of blood beneath Caelus's severed head.
"You KILLED him," she whispered, the words razor-edged with grief and rage. "You KILLED him!"
She moved.
Not as a war dancer. Not as a Syndicate operative. As something primal and furious and utterly beyond reason.
She caught her fallen spear with her off-hand, ignoring the pain in her shattered shoulder, and charged Malachai with a wordless scream. The priest brought his axe up to block, but Firefly didn't care about defense anymore. She drove the spear forward with every ounce of strength she possessed.
The blade punched through the gap in his armor, sinking into his side. Malachai howled, but Firefly was already moving, yanking the spear free and striking again—his thigh, his arm, anywhere she could reach. Blood sprayed with each strike.
"Hyselins!" Malachai bellowed, genuine fear in his voice now. "Get her OFF me!"
The homunculus moved to intervene, but Firefly was beyond caring. She spun, her spear's arc catching Hyselins across the face, actually drawing a line of synthetic blood from the perfect porcelain features. The homunculus stumbled back, something flickering in her empty eyes—surprise? Pain?
Firefly pressed her advantage against Malachai, her technique abandoned in favor of raw, brutal aggression. She headbutted him, breaking his nose. She drove her knee into his groin with enough force to dent the armor. She clawed at his eyes, drawing blood.
The priest fell back, overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of her assault. His wounds from Caelus's lightning had weakened him, and now this girl—this small, broken girl—was tearing him apart through nothing but rage and grief.
"Master!" Hyselins's voice carried an emotion it had never held before—concern. She grabbed Malachai's arm, trying to pull him away from Firefly's relentless assault.
Firefly landed one final blow—a palm strike infused with every ounce of her remaining spirit magic, driven directly into the wound in Malachai's side. The priest's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious from blood loss and accumulated damage.
Hyselins caught him before he hit the ground, her synthetic muscles effortlessly supporting his bulk. For the first time since they'd met, expression crossed the homunculus's face—uncertainty, calculation, and something that looked almost like sorrow.
She looked at Firefly, who stood swaying, barely conscious herself, hands dripping blood. Then her gaze shifted to Caelus's body, to the spreading pool of crimson, to the severed head with its frozen expression of sacrifice.
Hyselins's garnet eyes lingered there for a long moment. Her lips moved, forming words too quiet to hear, but they looked like: "I'm sorry."
Then she turned, Malachai slung over her shoulder, and vanished into the smoke with inhuman speed.
Firefly didn't chase them. Couldn't. Her legs gave out, dropping her to her knees in the blood-soaked concrete. Distantly, she heard sirens approaching, saw lights cutting through the industrial haze.
But none of it registered. Her eyes were locked on Caelus's body, on the impossibility of his death.
She crawled toward him, her broken body protesting every movement. When she reached his severed head, she lifted it with trembling hands, cradling it against her chest like something precious and irreplaceable.
"You idiot," she whispered, tears streaming down her face, mixing with his blood. "You stupid, reckless idiot. Why did you—" Her voice broke. "I was supposed to watch you. Protect people FROM you, not... not..."
Not this. Never this.
The memories flooded back—all the small moments she'd dismissed as irrelevant to her mission. The way he'd smiled when he thought no one was looking. How warm his back had been when he'd carried her. The genuine kindness in his eyes when he'd won her that keychain. The terrible burnt stir-fry he'd made with such pride.
"I think..." Her voice was barely a whisper now, confession to a corpse. "I think I was starting to see you as more than a target. More than a mission. I think you were becoming... someone important. Someone I—"
She couldn't finish. Couldn't name the feeling that clawed at her chest, because she'd never experienced it before. The Syndicate had trained her to fight, to observe, to kill if necessary. They'd never taught her how to grieve.
"This is my fault," she sobbed, rocking slightly, still holding his head. "I should have been better. Faster. Stronger. I should have protected you. That was supposed to be MY job, and I failed. I failed you."
The sirens grew louder.
Firefly pressed her forehead to Caelus's, just as she had in the sewers when he'd been warm and alive and whole. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't even get to tell you... I didn't even..."
She didn't know what she would have told him. That he'd made her feel human? That his stupid jokes and reckless heroism had cracked something open inside her manufactured heart? That in the few days they'd known each other, he'd given her something the Syndicate never could—a glimpse of what it meant to truly live instead of merely existing?
Now she'd never get the chance.