Lilith
Thornhill,
Vankar Island
Northern Isles Region,
Kingdom of Ashtarium
November 11th 6414
I moved through the towering shelves lined with tomes—ancient volumes chronicling arcane theories and magical theorems, many of which predated even the Crimson Plague that heralded the Long War. Dust hung in the air like the breath of forgotten centuries, and though the theoretical scaffolding of magical science intrigued me, my true focus lay elsewhere—something far more volatile.
"Are you going to tell me your plan, or should I keep playing librarian?" Aeternum asked, its voice a dry whisper of artificial intellect as it hovered beside the shelves, levitating several books into my arms with a flicker of arcane precision. "You siphoned Infernal mana residue from the corpses. Clearly, you intend to do something with it."
I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I carried the stack to a nearby desk—an old scholar's station marked by burn marks, quill scars, and faded ink spills. I dropped the books with a heavy thump, the dust leaping in protest, then took my seat and opened the first tome.
With my heightened cognition and sharpened focus, reading was less an act of study and more one of consumption. Page after page dissolved into memory. My mental energy spiraled outward, drawing in the knowledge like a storm draws wind—methodically, ravenously, deliberately.
Aeternum hovered in silence for a moment, its pale, glimmering eye-lens rotating with a faint whirrr as it observed me. The construct floated closer, setting another tome down beside me—Essence Displacement in Infernal Symbiotes—before finally speaking again.
"You're unusually quiet," it said, voice pitched low like a murmur through steel. "Focused, yes. But there's an edge to your silence today. Cold. Purposeful."
It drifted in front of the desk, turning in the air like a thoughtful ghost. "Let me speculate," it continued, its tone carrying a flicker of intrigue. "You absorbed Infernal mana residue—volatile, tainted by demonic essence. Not something you'd normally touch unless you had a target. Or a vendetta."
Its lens paused, locking onto me. "Is this about the Cambions? The ones responsible for the Thornhill massacre?"
The name Thornhill carried weight even in Aeternum's mechanical timbre. The memory of burned-out homes, blood-slicked streets, and the echo of children's screams seemed to rise from the silence between us.
"You're not the type to chase ghosts," Aeternum added. "So if you're preparing to walk into the den of half-blood fiends, I assume you have more than vengeance in mind."
It waited.
The soft whir of Aeternum's hover-drive was the only sound that lingered between the rustle of parchment beneath my fingers—a quiet rhythm in the hush of the arcane sanctum. I paused, fingertips resting lightly on a brittle scroll inscribed with forgotten sigils, and slowly looked up.
Aeternum no longer wore my mother's face—thank the stars for that. The uncanny illusion had always struck too close to grief. Its new visage was unfamiliar—blank yet vaguely androgynous, a sculpted blend of compassion and machinery that unsettled me in an entirely different way.
"I'm going after the remaining Cambion," I said at last.
My voice barely stirred the air, but the weight of that vow carried through the silence like a drawn blade. Memory flickered—burning red and silver steel. I saw again the towering knight of iron and blood, the Cambion warspawn that had torn through our group in the depths of the Dungeon. That thing had taken my right hand.
Thankfully, Aeternum had rebuilt it—restoring more than just bone and sinew. But the scar, the humiliation, the helplessness? That never truly faded.
"I can't leave it out there," I added. "Not while it still breathes. It's a threat to the town… and to Ella."
Aeternum tilted slightly in the air. Its optic lens dilated, shimmering faintly with calculation.
"Ella," it echoed. "You truly believe you can defeat the Knight? Based on your recollections, not even Jennifer could stop it. What makes you think you can?"
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I flipped through another tome, the pages whispering ancient knowledge into the dim lamplight. "Because now, my soul has awakened," I said. "Now that my mna core is formed, I'm a lot stronger than before…"
I raised my hand and focused. No chant. No flourish. Just will.
A crimson orb of flame bloomed above my palm—a Tier One Flame Orb spell—its surface roiling with silent fire, the heat subdued but potent. It hovered there, stable, perfectly formed, drawn purely through mental direction and internal flow. Not a single drop of mana wasted. Controlled. Harmonized.
Aeternum moved closer, its hover-ring humming with a subtle pitch shift. I could sense the construct's artificial mood through the link we shared—a flicker of restrained curiosity beneath its mechanical poise.
"What?" I said, narrowing my eyes.
"Your spellcraft has improved significantly," Aeternum remarked. "Fluid mana transition. Clean structure. No redundancies. And yes, Your mana core is coming along nicely..."
"Too bad my aura techniques haven't caught up," I muttered, closing my fingers around the orb and snuffing it out with a hiss of ash and heat.
Aeternum folded its limbs behind its back, drifting into a slow, contemplative orbit around my reading desk. Its synthetic voice carried a tone of measured critique, calm yet edged with calculated honesty.
"For someone newly Awakened, your progress is commendable. However… by Master standards, your capabilities remain incomplete. Your mana core has yet to mature—it's still below the threshold expected of someone in the Master realm."
It paused, the subtle glow of its eye dimming in reflection.
"I suppose that's partially my error," it admitted. "I advanced your soul core prematurely. I had intended to elevate you to the Adept realm first, but the sealed energy within your core was too dense—even for me. I couldn't siphon enough of the residual force without destabilizing your essence."
I exhaled, slowly, resisting the urge to argue. "But my magic has improved—significantly. It hasn't even been that long since I Awakened, and I've already mastered Tier One and Tier Two spells."
Aeternum's rotation slowed. "True," it said. "But that's largely due to your Ability Factor. It enhances mana efficiency—allowing you to cast spells with minimal energy expenditure and swift execution."
The construct stopped, its optic lens locking with mine.
"But you must understand—efficiency is not the same as potency. Precision without power will not stop the Cambion Knight. Against an entity like that, your spells need more than control. They need impact."
I leaned back in my chair, tapping the spine of a nearby grimoire. "Maybe," I said. "But we won't know until I try."
A beat of silence passed before Aeternum spoke again. "So… are you going to tell me what you're planning to do with the mental energy residue?"
I sighed. "I was going to use my ability to trace it—backtrack the psychic imprint, follow the residual thread to its origin. A sort of spiritual reverse-engineering."
"And…?"
"It didn't work. Something's blocking me. Whatever's on the other end is actively warding against psychic tracing. It's not just a passive veil—it's deliberate."
Aeternum processed this with a low hum, its lens dimming slightly in contemplation. "So you're thinking a spell might succeed where your innate power failed."
"Pretty much." I leaned forward, brushing ash from the cover of a cracked volume titled Echoes of the Soul-Scorched. "If I can't reach the Cambion through raw will… I'll reach it through craft."
"Unfortunately, you haven't yet met the requirements to wield that kind of magic," Aeternum said, its voice cool and even. "The tracking spells you're trying to perform fall under the domain of Physical Magic—Tier Five and above. And, regrettably, you are not yet capable of casting Tier Five spells."
I groaned, the weight of my own limitations pressing down like lead. It wasn't the first time Aeternum had reminded me of that particular fact, but it never got easier to hear.
Magic, regardless of school or affinity, adhered to a tiered hierarchy—each level a reflection of both technical mastery and cultivated power. A Novice could handle Tier One spells with ease but struggled mightily with Tier Two. Acolytes could manage Tier Two comfortably, but Tier Three often left them drained. The progression continued upward, each realm demanding a stronger foundation, a deeper well of mana, a sharper focus.
As a Master, I should have been able to cast Tier Five spells. But my mana core—though rapidly developing—still lagged behind the standard of my realm. Just as Aeternum said, it lacked the structural density to safely channel that level of arcane force.
Aeternum gave me a sidelong glance, as if sensing my frustration. Then it raised its palm. A shimmer of light rippled across its fingers, and from the air above, an object materialized—a compass-like device etched with ancient runes and interlaced glyphs that shimmered faintly in the arcane light.
The item floated gently over to me. I caught it, feeling the subtle hum of enchantment pulsing beneath the surface.
"What's this?" I asked, studying the craftsmanship.
"A tracking compass," Aeternum replied. "One that can bypass whatever spiritual interference is blocking your spells. It should guide you to the Cambion's location… assuming it hasn't changed its masking parameters."
I arched an eyebrow. "And you just happened to have a magical relic on hand?"
Aeternum's tone shifted slightly, as though amused. "You do realize I'm more than just an artificial construct, yes? I am the Codex—repository of every recorded arcane discipline in existence. Knowledge is not all I carry. Since the day I was abandoned in that Dungeon, I've collected magical objects—rare, dangerous, and forgotten."
"I noticed the Forge Lab," I muttered. "Did you make this?"
"I could have," Aeternum answered, though the words were oddly weighted. "But no. That item was left behind by my creator."
Its creator.
There it was again—something more than a machine's response. Its voice had dipped, subtly, when speaking of its origin. I had only asked whether it had made the compass. A simple 'yes' or 'no' would've sufficed.
But Aeternum had chosen to say more. To remind me of its skill. To… boast.
It felt strangely human.
I glanced down at the compass again, its runes pulsing like a heartbeat in my palm. Whoever had built this Codex—this sentient repository of knowledge and creation—must have been a master of the arcane. A genius. Perhaps something even greater.
And yet… even in all its power, there was something fragile in the way Aeternum spoke of them.
I wondered, not for the first time, just how artificial its emotions truly were.
"So… how do I use it?" I asked, turning the compass over in my hand, watching the glyphs shimmer faintly with latent potential.
"Simply inject a trace of the energy you're trying to track," Aeternum instructed. "The compass will handle the rest."
I nodded and inhaled slowly, centering my focus. My Ability Factor stirred to life, responding to my intent. Deep within me, the sliver of Infernal energy I had absorbed from the corpse began to awaken—a noxious ember of corruption waiting to be unleashed.
I channeled it carefully, threading the essence into the compass through sheer will. As the mana-infused residue flowed into the artifact, it responded instantly. The glyphs pulsed brighter, then flared.
Lines of light sprang outward, weaving a three-dimensional holographic map above the device. A ghostly projection of the surrounding terrain hovered in the air—mountains, rivers, ridgelines—and then, unmistakably, the vast stretch of shadowed woodland: the Enoch Forest.
At its heart, a red blinking point pulsed in rhythm. My target.
Another light appeared—this one white, closer to the forest's southern edge. It marked my current position. The compass had locked on, aligning the threads of distance and intent.
"Impressive," I murmured, watching the map gently rotate.
"Before you head into battle, you should probably arm yourself," Aeternum said with a trace of pragmatism. I glanced toward it, considering. For most of my life, no one had ever needed to tell me how to prepare for a fight. I relied on instinct, grit, and the blade at my side.
But cultivation was different.
More than instinct. More than will. It demanded strategy. Power. Precision.
"I have this," I replied, unsheathing the only weapon I currently possessed—a single Enchanted blade, etched in sigils that flickered faintly with sacred resonance.
Aeternum floated closer, examining the weapon with analytical interest. "A Sacred-grade Enchanted blade," it said, appraisingly. "Not bad."
Then, with a snap of its fingers, the world twisted.
The reading chamber vanished, replaced by a vast armory lined with shelves of weapons sealed within translucent containers. Rows of artifacts shimmered with stored power—blades, spears, staves, gauntlets—each one radiating craftsmanship of staggering refinement. The sheer diversity of weapon types and enchantments made my head reel.
I took a step forward, eyes widening slightly despite myself.
Of course. My Codex did have a tendency to boast about its knowledge and assets.
And now, it was showing off.
"Unfortunately, most of the items in this chamber are sealed," Aeternum said, its voice tinged with mild regret. "Neither you nor I currently possess the power required to undo the enchantments placed upon them. To access the majority of these armaments, you would need to reach the Harmonization stage."
"The Harmonization stage," I echoed. "Isn't that only the second tier of cultivation?"
"Yes," Aeternum confirmed. "But don't be deceived by the number. The second stage is where the true monsters of Ascendancy begin to emerge. Awakening is little more than a tutorial—an introduction to power. Harmonization and beyond? That's where reality begins to bend, and the battlefield no longer favors the merely talented. It's why you were never able to defeat Jennifer, regardless of how formidable your Ability Factor made you."
I clenched my jaw, frustration bubbling beneath my skin. "So if I can't use any of this, then why bring me here?" I growled, gesturing sharply at the rows of immaculate weaponry. A part of me ached—salivated—at the sight. Each weapon radiated a quiet majesty, their power almost audible in the silence between heartbeats.
"These are not for now," Aeternum said calmly. "But for later. Unfortunately, I don't have many Enchanted items below Sacred grade. The only weapons I can currently offer are of Rare or Sacred classification."
"Rare is below Sacred, right?" I muttered, half to myself. "Let's see… Common, Uncommon, Epic, Rare, Sacred, Legendary, Mythical, Supreme, Divine."
"Correct," Aeternum replied, then gestured to a nearby stasis case. Inside shimmered a selection of Sacred-grade armaments—swords, spears, bows, cutlasses, gauntlets… and even a few relics that resembled archaic firearms, infused with runic engravings.
I scanned the display quickly. "No daggers," I said, disappointed. My current Enchanted blade was a short sword, practically dagger-sized. I preferred a dual style—something agile, close-range, with tight striking arcs. The short blade suited my rhythm.
"Unfortunately, not in the Sacred tier," Aeternum replied. With a small pulse of energy, it summoned another case, this one smaller. Inside hovered a single dagger—sleek, obsidian-hued, with a dimmer resonance than my shortsword. A Rare-grade Enchanted blade.
I took it in hand, weighing it with practiced ease. It lacked the raw amplification of Sacred-tier weapons, but in truth, my mana core was barely scraping the threshold of Master-class. A Sacred weapon would have outpaced my energy output. The Rare-grade suited me—matched me—better than I wanted to admit.
"I'll take this," I said at last, sliding it into my belt opposite the shortsword.
"What about armor?" Aeternum asked, ever the tactician.
I shook my head. "I fight better without it."
No weight. No restriction. Just motion, instinct, and control.
****
I emerged from the physical vessel of the Codex—a cube-shaped artifact of polished silver, its surface rotating in silent rhythm, etched with shimmering runes and shifting sigils. Reality bent slightly around its presence as it anchored me back into the material world.
I stood once again in my room within Enoch Manor.
Stretching out my senses, I probed the threads of presence around the estate. Ella was asleep in her room, her aura soft and calm. Hector, ever reliable, was tidying something in the lower halls. And Sanders...
Sanders was gone.
He hadn't been seen since we returned from the Dungeon. According to the Dungeon Association, he might've been among the dead discovered after the Remembrance Day attack—bodies were still being uncovered in alleyways and ruins across town.
But I wasn't buying it.
That bastard hadn't brought us to this town on a whim. He had a reason, even if he refused to share it. And now, while the rest of us sifted through the consequences, he was out there somewhere—tied to whatever hidden motive brought us to Thornhill in the first place.
I walked to the window and opened it, letting in the scent of dew-soaked trees and distant ash. Behind the manor, the dark expanse of the Enoch Forest stretched out like a slumbering beast.
Aeternum's cube floated silently beside me, its surface pulsing once before a translucent shimmer rose around it. Rather than conjure a familiar face, it manifested a luminous, abstract form—light coalescing into a vaguely humanoid shape, just as I'd requested.
"You could use my Ability Factor," Aeternum said, its voice calm, almost amused.
"You have an ability?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Yes. I am an Awakened entity, like you," it replied. "Naturally, I possess an Ability Factor."
"What is it?"
"You already know the answer," it said. "You simply need to reach for it through our bond."
I exhaled and focused, letting my consciousness trace the connection between us—an arcane thread woven from memory, energy, and shared purpose. As I aligned with it, knowledge poured into me: vivid, seamless, alive. The nature of Aeternum's Ability Factor unraveled before me like a forgotten language I somehow understood.
I couldn't help the grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Eyes still closed, I called upon the ability—felt it unfold inside me like a circuit clicking into place. And then, with a pulse of golden light, the world around me vanished.
In the next instant, I stood five feet beyond the manor's outer boundary, deep within the twilight shade of the Enoch Forest. Wind stirred the trees overhead, their branches whispering secrets I was now ready to uncover.
"Flash Step," I muttered under my breath, the residual energy still humming through my limbs. "So that's your Ability Factor, huh."
Without wasting time, I surged forward, leaping from treetop to treetop. The forest canopy blurred beneath my feet as I followed the pull of the tracking compass, its ethereal glow guiding my path like a distant star. Occasionally, I invoked Aeternum's teleportation—short bursts of motion that shimmered the air and folded distance with uncanny ease.
The ability offered two modes. Long-distance jumps required focus: visualization, intent, and a steady reserve of energy. I could only perform them five times before strain set in. But short-range teleportation? That was simpler. As long as I could see the destination, I could blink to it repeatedly—fast, fluid, relentless.
I was halfway to the target when something shifted. The air thickened. The wind faltered. A ripple of malice moved through the branches like a whisper of death.
Danger.
I spun just in time, my hand snapping to my belt. My Sacred-grade blade slid free in a blur of silver-blue, intercepting a clawed strike aimed at my back. Sparks flared on impact. The blow forced me back midair, but I adjusted, twisting to face my assailant.
It was a winged creature—large, avian, and wrong. A monstrous crow-like beast with obsidian feathers glistening in the moonlight. Its twisted limbs bore the shape of human arms, but elongated and taloned, grotesquely feathered.
It came at me again. This time I drew my second blade, the Rare-grade dagger flashing as it met flesh. The creature's arm was severed cleanly. A hiss of black blood splattered across the leaves below as I twisted in midair and drove a boot into its deformed, owl-like face, sending its body spiraling toward the forest floor.
I landed lightly atop a tree branch, knees bent, breath steady. Then I felt them. More presences—circling, closing in. Shadows with wings. Eyes glowing crimson between branches.
Demonic beasts.
They broke through the foliage, flying toward me in packs—nightmare shapes painted in blood and darkness. I tightened my grip on both blades. Energy surged through my limbs. And somewhere deep inside me, a grin began to form. The thrill of battle was singing again—burning through my veins like wildfire.
The trees trembled. Wings beat the air like war drums. Ten more of them broke through the canopy—Estricts, or Estries as they were called in old grimoires. Demonic beasts twisted into the likeness of birds and shadows, drawn to corrupted energy like vultures to carrion. Their bodies resembled nightmarish blends of crow and human—jagged talons, humanoid arms clad in ink-black feathers, and beaks split into jagged snarls. Their eyes glowed like dying stars—red and ravenous.
They didn't screech. They didn't roar. They came silently. Just how hunters do. I exhaled. My body settled into a stillness sharper than tension—a prelude to movement.
Dancing Twilight—a Battle art that has always been with me since I woke up in the Black forest. It wasn't a style meant for brute force. It was poetry in motion. A ballet of precision and death, rooted in rhythm, redirection, and the beauty of asymmetry.
The first Estrie dove. I sidestepped, barely shifting my weight, and let its talons slice past me harmlessly. My Rare-grade dagger slashed outward—not with strength, but with timing—cutting through the sinew beneath its wing. The beast crashed into a nearby branch, screeching as black blood splattered into the air.
Another Estrie came from behind. I spun, twisting my torso and ducking beneath its slash, then rose into a whirl, using the Sacred-grade shortsword to cleave straight through its midsection.
I didn't stop moving.
The essence of Dancing Twilight was never to meet force with force—but to always move one step earlier, one layer deeper, one cut swifter than your foe.
I weaved between the branches, blades flashing in crescent arcs. An Estrie tried to flank me, but I used Flash Step to blink just above it. Mid-air, I crossed my blades in a scissor formation and tore through its spine. The corpse fell in pieces before it ever touched the forest floor.
Another three attacked in unison. I landed on a thin branch that swayed under my weight and threw my body into a pivot, letting gravity spiral me downward. One blade slashed outward in a spinning flourish, striking their claws, while the other pierced the throat of the closest Estrie. I flipped mid-descent, kicked off a trunk, and teleported midair to another high perch.
Six left. Two tried to outflank me again—coordinated this time. Smart. I grinned. I leapt forward into the air, drawing the Estries into pursuit. Then, mid-glide, I stopped.
Flash Step.
I blinked behind them before their minds could register my disappearance. Both blades plunged into their backs as I descended, riding their bodies to the ground like a reaper aloft on wings of blood.
Four remaining.
They circled above me now, wary. Smarter. Their silence became a tactic—no cries, no shrieks—only cold calculation. I grounded myself on a thick, moss-laced branch and closed my eyes. I let my breathing fall into cadence. My body aligned with the memory of starlight dancing on dark water.
When I opened my eyes, I moved again—fast. I sprinted across the limbs, teleporting between trunk and shadow, baiting them. One dove too early. I used the Rare-grade dagger to gouge out its eye, then spun and sliced its throat open with the Sacred blade. Another lunged, and I met it midair, twisting into a backflip and stabbing through its jaw as it tried to bite.
The last two descended together. I crossed my blades, then slashed the air in an X-arc, weaving a form of Dancing Twilight—Falling Crescent.
I blinked between them midair, left blade severing a wing, right blade driving into the beast's chest. With a twist and a pull, I redirected the dying Estrie into the path of its companion, both crashing through the trees in a flurry of shattered wings and broken limbs.
Silence returned. No more wings. No more glowing eyes. Just the whisper of trees and the faint sound of my breath.
I landed once more, blades slick with dark blood, and stood amid the aftermath. Dancing Twilight—ten steps, ten kills. And I was only just warming up.
But the silence was short-lived.
A low hum quivered through the branches. Leaves rustled unnaturally. The air grew thick, no longer merely alive with tension—but crowded with presence. I narrowed my eyes.
They were coming.
From deep within the forest's blackened belly, more figures emerged. Wings beat with a sickening rhythm. Dozens—no, a swarm—of demonic beasts moved through the underbrush and above the treetops like a rising tide of shadow and talon. Estries, malformed, and aberrant carrion-birds twisted by Infernal energy.
I exhaled slowly. My arms ached slightly from exertion, but the heat in my chest only deepened.
Aeternum's voice echoed softly through the mental link. Calm. Analytical.
"You're expending too much stamina relying solely on martial technique," it said. "You should begin weaving spells into your rhythm. Spells are extensions of intent. You've mastered the first two tiers—use them. They will amplify the efficiency of your battle art."
My eyes flashed with sudden understanding. Of course.
Dancing Twilight was not rigid—it was meant to evolve. And now, it would.
The beasts surged toward me, black wings slicing through moonlight. I pivoted on my heel, raised my blade, and invoked the first pulse of elemental casting.
"Ignis: Ember Spiral."
A Tier One fire spell burst forth—a swirling flame that wreathed around my blade like a flaming serpent. As the first Estrie slashed at me, I spun, letting the flame spiral outward in tandem with my Sacred blade. The strike cleaved through feathers and bone, while the fire scorched its sinews, forcing the creature to disintegrate mid-scream. I jumped backward to a higher branch. Another came from the left.
"Aqua: Blade of Flow."
A blade of solidified water shimmered to life in my left hand, infusing the Rare-grade dagger momentarily. I slashed upward—fluid, graceful—water and blade cut through hide and tendon with precision. The spell dissipated on impact, flowing into steam.
"You're syncing with your spells," Aeternum noted. "Continue layering them. Think of them as rhythm accents to your steps."
I smiled faintly and leapt forward. Two more lunged from opposite directions. Mid-air, I invoked:
"Terra: Stone Lash!"
From the tip of my Sacred blade, a stone tendril erupted and whipped into one beast's chest, grounding it violently. The second I intercepted with a flash step and a feinting spin—then summoned:
"Umbra: Dark Chain."
A Tier Two darkness spell. Black runes spiraled from the tip of my blade and wrapped around the creature like chains of living shadow, locking its wings mid-flight. I sliced through its neck before it could scream. Four more came. This time, I didn't hesitate.
"Ventus: Gale Step."
A gust of wind surged beneath me, launching me higher. I used the force not just to rise—but to dance across the air. As I descended, I weaved:
"Lux: Flash Lance."
A beam of condensed light formed and fired forward like a thrown spear, piercing through two Estries in a single flash of radiance. Their bodies turned to ash before they hit the forest floor.
Still more came, and I moved like wind through fire. Fire spells interlaced with my slashes—Scorch Veil, Ignition Arc. Water flowed along the edge of my blade—Aqua Whip, Mist Pulse—slowing fast-moving targets. Earth hardened my boots upon landing—Gravel Skin—letting me absorb falls from great heights and counter with stability. Wind enhanced my mobility. Darkness tethered foes. Light disoriented and blinded.
Spell by spell, strike by strike, I layered rhythm and rage into Dancing Twilight until it became something new—something beautiful and deadly. Elemental steps. Blade-woven spells. Twilight became storm.
I stood atop a tree as the last beast fell in a rain of ash and wings. My cloak fluttered in the heated wind, the forest around me scorched and silent again. My chest rose and fell with measured breaths.