The grass whispered beneath my boots as Ramon and I walked toward the towering oak doors of the manor. The scent of polished wood and old stone drifted on the warm air. Salem didn't move.
I glanced over my shoulder.
She was still—like a statue carved from shadow and wire.
"Salem," I said softly, unsure if I was calling a prisoner or a servant. "Why aren't you coming?"
Her outline flickered, mana tense but silent.
"I can't," she said, voice low but steady. "Not without your command."
The words hit harder than I expected.
For someone like her—once a force that nearly tore me apart—to be tethered this way, this tight…
It was humbling.
And strange.
I swallowed the rush of power I felt. This wasn't about domination. Not yet.
It was a beginning.
I looked down at the gem in my hand, humming faint and alive.
"I'm still learning," I said quietly. "You're not the enemy anymore."
Salem's mana pulse softened just a little.
Still silent.
I took a deep breath.
"Come on," I said, stepping toward the doors. "We have a lot to figure out."
Salem followed.
Not because she wanted to.
Because I told her to.
The heavy oak doors creaked open before us.
The room beyond breathed warmth—soft light shifting like liquid through the air, shapes and shadows pooling in corners.
Familiar figures waited inside.
The strong, steady outlines of my mother and father hovered near the hearth—soft edges, their mana gentle but firm, grounding me in the space.
My mother's voice came first, smooth and curious.
"We thought you'd be gone longer."
Ramon's steady form stood just beside me, silent.
I replied, voice steady but tired,
"We returned sooner than expected."
My father's outline shifted—a quiet nod I felt more than saw.
Behind them, softer glows lingered—Maria and Evelyn blending into the background like familiar echoes.
Then Marcus stepped forward, his mana sharp with curiosity.
"And this is…?"
Behind me, a tall, tense silhouette held back.
Ramon's voice cut through quietly, dry and even:
"Just a rank 1 demon. Would rank at the top of any society. Now under Annabel's control."
The room stilled—mana thickened with surprise.
My mother's laugh was soft, warm like firelight.
"Well, I suppose you've both been busy."
Salem's outline flickered—a sharp pulse against the others—watching me.
I felt the weight of the gem in my pocket, steady now.
"More than you can imagine."
I stepped further inside. The air had the same comforting heaviness I remembered—old stone, thick curtains, the scent of smoke and warm wood polish—but the shape of the room felt different with Salem behind me.
Not larger.
Just sharper.
I moved toward the hearth. My mother and father didn't speak again, but their mana shifted subtly—curious, wary, but not hostile. Maria stayed seated, Evelyn barely moved. Marcus stood straighter, like the tension in Salem's outline dragged his full attention to her.
"She's… yours?" he asked, his tone low.
I gave a small nod. "It's complicated."
He let out a breath. "That's one word for it."
Ramon moved beside me, posture loose but alert. "It wasn't always like this," he said, as if reading their thoughts. "You should've seen the training grounds."
My mother's voice softened. "What happened?"
I turned slightly. "We fought."
"You sparred?" Maria asked, a little too hopeful.
"Not exactly." I shifted my weight. "It wasn't clean like sparring. Blades. Just her against me. I landed two cuts. She got one deep across my ribs. Then Lincoln stepped in."
Evelyn murmured, "You fought her with swords?"
Marcus again. "And you survived?"
I smiled faintly. "She didn't hold back. Neither did I. We met like two blades striking. Equal. Until Lincoln… reshaped things."
"He broke me," Salem said plainly. "Reforged me into the gem you carry."
Silence stretched again.
I didn't move at first.
Just stood there, the heat of the hearth licking at my face, the soft blur of mana outlines flickering around the room—my mother's calm presence, my father's quiet stillness, Marcus's sharp curiosity. Ramon beside me, steady as always.
But it was Salem behind me that shifted the room's shape.
Her mana was a serrated thing—contained, but only barely. Waiting.
I turned toward the couch and dropped into it, breath slow, body sore in places I hadn't noticed until now. Ramon took the chair nearest the window, arms crossed, legs long. Watching.
I tilted my head slightly. "Salem."
Her silhouette stepped forward, composed, leashed but not limp. I tapped the cushion beside me. She paused, then obeyed.
She sat.
I leaned back.
Then without looking, I rested my head in her lap.
Her mana rippled, quick, involuntary. But she didn't move away.
Didn't stiffen either.
Just… accepted it.
"Speak freely," I said. "Your words, not your actions."
She hesitated.
Then her voice came, quiet and even. "The Demon King sent me to the caves. Said to break whoever I found there. That's where I first saw you."
Her mana shifted, more memory than emotion.
"You sliced my hand off," she said plainly. "Didn't hesitate. That's when it became personal."
"You wanted revenge," I murmured.
"I wanted to see you bleed." No shame in her tone. Just fact. "So I waited. Tracked you. Watched you grow. And when you stepped into that training ground, I made my move."
My mother's mana flinched—barely—but enough for me to feel it.
I swallowed. "You nearly got me."
"You almost got me, too." Her voice dipped. "Your blade cut deep."
"I went for your throat. You got my ribs."
"We were even," she said.
"Until Lincoln came," I added.
That name brought stillness again. The kind that stretched in the air like cold steel.
"He took me," Salem said. "Stripped away what I was. Broke what the King made. Then tied the pieces to a gem."
I shifted, laying my arm across my stomach. "And gave you to me."
Her mana flared briefly, then softened again. "And now I serve."
"But you still have a voice," I reminded her. "That's mine to give, and I'm giving it."
I felt her nod more than saw it.
Then, because I could, I let my head stay where it was—cradled in the lap of someone who once wanted to bury her hands in my throat.
Her mana hummed.
"Thighs make for decent pillows, I'll give you that."
Ramon coughed once—either laughter or surprise.
Evelyn's giggle came next, light and unsure.
But Marcus didn't laugh. He leaned forward instead, his mana sharp. "You're keeping her?"
"She's not a pet," I said. "She's a weapon. A shield. An asset."
"And you'll take her to the Academy?"
"When the time comes. She'll be at my side. I may be strong, but Salem…" I exhaled. "With Salem, I won't lose."
No one argued.
Not even her.
I wasn't alone anymore.
And the world would learn that.
Fast.
The halls quieted with night.
Thick stone softened each step as I moved through the manor, the outlines of sconces casting faint mana warmth into the walls. My room waited—familiar, heavy with the scent of old books and lavender.
Behind me, Salem's outline followed at a precise distance. Not close. Not far. Just… waiting.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The dark was comforting, easier than light. The room welcomed me in the language I understood best—soft shapes, slow pulses, no need to decipher colors or sharp detail. Just shadow and breath.
I moved toward the bed, pulled off my boots, set the gem Lincoln had bound her to on the bedside table. Its mana hummed low and steady.
When I slid beneath the blankets, I forgot she was still standing there.
Her outline didn't shift. Just hovered near the far corner, sharp-edged and completely still.
"Salem," I said.
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "You didn't give me a command."
I blinked.
Right. She couldn't move unless I let her.
"You have your voice," I reminded her.
A pause.
Then, softer: "Where am I allowed to sleep?"
Something in her voice cracked—not pain, not fear. Something older. Like she didn't know how to ask for something so simple anymore.
I turned slightly, enough to face the dark blur of her in the corner.
"Wherever you want."
"I don't want to overstep."
"You won't."
A beat.
Then I added, "We're bound now. Come here."
She hesitated again.
Then crossed the room without sound.
Her outline approached the edge of the bed, stopped like she didn't believe the offer was real. But when I lifted the blanket slightly, she eased in—careful, tense at first, like a coiled wire too afraid to unwind.
I reached out and found her outline beside me. Warm. Solid.
And—strangely—small.
I hadn't realized it in the fights, the chaos, the blood. But here, quiet and close, she felt… tiny. Not in strength. Never that. Just in shape. She curled in like someone who didn't know softness was allowed.
Her mana buzzed beneath her skin—quiet, controlled. Once it had felt like tar and steel—thick, clinging, volatile. Now it was still powerful, but… cleaner. Smoother. Like the same dark current had been redirected through something gentler.
Same magic. Different master.
I shifted closer, resting my head near her shoulder.
Then, almost without thinking, I wrapped my arm gently around her waist.
Her outline froze.
"You can breathe," I said, voice soft.
"I don't need to," she replied, a little dazed.
"I didn't ask that."
A long pause followed.
Then, in a quiet voice that barely made it through the dark:
"May lay a little closer?"
I turned my head slightly toward her.
"You don't have to ask me that."
"I thought…" She faltered, then steadied. "You said only my voice is mine."
"I'm saying yes," I whispered.
Her arms moved, slowly, carefully. One looped around my shoulders. And she placed her head on my chest, like a child clinging on to a parent.
The bed shifted slightly as we adjusted.
She was warm.
Her mana shimmered—one slow ripple like a breath breaking water. A single thread traced down her cheek, fine as silk and just as quiet.
A tear.
I stayed quiet.
"You'll have a better life here," I murmured into the hush. "Than you did with him."
Her mana flinched—like the echo of a lash.
Her shadow magic—once suffocating—felt calm now. Deep, but not dangerous. Strong, but not cruel.
"I'll make sure of it," I said again.
Still no words.
But she pulled me just a little closer.
I lifted a hand, found the shape of her hair through shadows and outlines, and began to stroke it slowly. Soft, careful motions.
Her breath steadied.
Her body, once taut and unsure, relaxed under mine.
Within minutes, her mana softened again—this time not in reaction, but surrender.
Salem fell asleep like that.
Curled around me.
Peaceful for the first time in who knows how long.
I didn't feel the grudge i once felt either, she was not my enemy anymore, and i truly hope she knows that aswel.
Morning crept in slow.
I stirred first—barely. The soft pull of warmth and breath and something solid against me made the world feel far away. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was.
Then I shifted slightly.
And realized I couldn't.
My legs were tangled with someone else's—tight and oddly comfortable. A thigh looped around mine. An arm curved against my waist. Her hand rested gently at my back, steady and unmoving.
Salem.
Her outline shimmered in the faint mana light of morning—a familiar weight in the dark blur beside me. I couldn't see her features. Just the way her mana bent the space around her, the solid shape she made in the silence. Still. Asleep.
Her head was on my chest—my hand still in her hair. I could feel the warmth of her once evil breath.
I froze.
Not out of fear.
Just… confusion.
This wasn't how enemies woke.
And yet—my body hadn't flinched. I hadn't pulled away.
She was warm. Real. Quiet. The same woman who had once come for me with blades and shadow. Hatred . And now…
Now she was breathing soft into the same air I was. Her mana calm. No threat. No edges.
Still vast. Still coiled with dark, shadow-rich magic. But changed.
It didn't cling like smoke anymore. It wrapped around her like a cloak. Power still, but no longer poison.
Same strength. New gravity.
She awoke slowly.
I didn't move.
She did—just slightly, and then stilled again when she felt me.
The tension settled in her shoulders. I felt it before she spoke.
"I didn't mean to hold so tight," she whispered, almost like an apology.
Her voice trembled—not with fear. With uncertainty. Submission curled beneath every syllable, like a reflex. Like she was still ready to be punished for comfort.
"You didn't do anything wrong," I said softly.
She hesitated. "I… forgot what was allowed."
My hand was still on her waist. I didn't pull away.
"You're allowed comfort," I said. "If that's what you want. And if you're willing to fight for something like that, then ask for it. As much as you want."
Her breath caught.
"This night," I continued, "it was strange. But good. Physical touch that isn't violence… It's nice."
Silence again. Thick and warm.
Then she asked, voice small, "May I… hold you again next time?"
"Yes. If there's a next time, you can."
Salem didn't speak, but her mana fluttered. Like wings unfolding after too long kept still.
"Let's sit up now okay?" She pulled back slowly, rising to sit at the edge of the bed, her movements silent, careful. But something in her had shifted.
Not her loyalty. That was already sealed.
This was something else.
Trust.
Unsteady. Unspoken.
But real.