Lumi sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the opposite wall.He lay down.The mattress dipped beneath his weight, soft enough to be comforting. The sheets smelled clean. Fresh.He closed his eyes.Nothing happened.Minutes passed.He turned onto his side.Then onto his back.Then onto his other side.Sleep refused to come.His mind kept circling the same empty space—memories that should have been there, but weren’t. The patrol. The street. The demon Scott claimed he didn’t see.Lumi opened his eyes and sat up.“…This is stupid,” he muttered.He stood, slipped on his boots, and eased the door open.The corridor outside was dim, lit by spaced wall lamps that cast long shadows across patterned carpet. The air was cooler here. Still.He stepped out and closed the door quietly behind him.He hadn’t gone far when he saw someone ahead of him.A woman.She was walking unsteadily, her shoulder bumping into the wall at irregular intervals. Her steps dragged slightly, as though one leg refus

They did not run.Running made noise. Noise drew attention.Instead, they slipped.The three of them moved through the town in staggered bursts, ducking between shuttered shops and abandoned cafés, crossing streets only when the shadows were thick enough to swallow them whole. The veil pressed down harder the longer they stayed beneath it—a subtle weight behind the eyes, in the lungs, as though the air itself resisted being breathed.They hid first in a narrow service alley behind a closed bakery.The smell of stale bread lingered. A delivery crate lay overturned, its contents long gone. Scott crouched near the mouth of the alley, staff collapsed and held low, eyes closed as his senses reached outward.Cleodora leaned against the brick wall, fans folded, her earlier levity gone. Even she wasn’t smiling now.Lumi stayed at the back, watching the street beyond the alley’s mouth.Nothing moved.That was worse.Minutes passed.Then Scott stiffened.“Change position,” he whispered.They di

The underground sanctum they created in the sewers had not changed.It never did.The cavern stretched wide beneath the earth, its ceiling lost in shadow, carved stone arching like the ribs of some ancient beast long since buried. Veins of dull crimson crystal threaded through the walls, pulsing faintly, not enough to illuminate—only enough to remind anyone inside that the place was alive.Or listening.At the heart of it all sat the Monarch.He reclined upon his throne of fused obsidian and bone, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting lightly against his chin. The shadows bent subtly toward him, as though the dark itself acknowledged authority.Igor stood several steps below, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight, unmoving. His eyes glinted with quiet anticipation.“What’s the status?” the Monarch asked.His voice was calm. Too calm. It slid through the cavern like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.Igor inclined his head.“The Cupida’s trap is holding in place,

Lumi didn’t hesitate.He lunged.Fire erupted.It didn’t burst outward like an explosion. It coiled—tight, controlled, wrapped around his arm as he drove forward, heat screaming through the air. The demon barely had time to widen her eyes before flames crashed into her chest and sent her skidding backwards across the street.She recovered fast.Too fast.She twisted mid-slide, claws digging into the ground, heels carving molten lines into stone as she forced herself upright. Smoke curled from her dress, fabric blackened but regenerating slowly, painfully.“Ah,” she said, smiling despite it. “So that’s it.”Lumi didn’t answer.He was already moving again.He swung low, fire spilling from his blade this time, trailing behind it like a living thing. The demon ducked, felt the heat singe her hair, then countered with a sharp elbow aimed at his ribs.Lumi twisted aside.Barely.The blow clipped his shoulder instead, pain flaring—but he rolled with it, slammed his palm into the ground, and

The Patriarch’s chamber was quiet in a way that felt deliberate.Not peaceful—measured.The walls rose high and pale, carved from stone that seemed to drink in light rather than reflect it. Sigils were etched into every surface, layered over one another like the history of the Order itself, old magic half-buried beneath newer, sharper lines. The air carried the faint scent of incense and iron, a reminder that this was a place of both judgement and command.At the centre of the room sat the Patriarch.He did not rise when Scott, Cleodora, and Lumi entered. He did not need to. Authority clung to him like gravity, bending the space around his seat.Scott stepped forward first.His posture was formal. Controlled. But the tension in his shoulders hadn’t fully faded since the town.“Report,” the Patriarch said.Scott inclined his head.“The town was empty,” he began. “No civilians. No refugees. Just demons.”The Patriarch’s fingers stilled where they rested against the arm of his chair.“Th