In the countryside, about seven days' ride away, Izaline and Edward galloped on horseback at a steady pace. The trees seemed to merge with the horizon, their silhouettes softened by the foggy morning air. Dew clung to the grass, and fireflies danced in the mist as Izaline and Edward rode on horseback.

  "Is this... beauty?" Izaline asked, glancing at Edward.

  He nodded, a quiet smile crossing his face. "Yes, I suppose it is."

  "Where are we going?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

  Edward turned his gaze forward, his tone firm with purpose. "I have funds stashed across the country in case I ever needed them. I'm going to collect some from an old friend of mine. I told her that if I ever stopped being a magus, I'd marry her."

  Izaline raised an eyebrow. "And... you're not exactly equipped to raise a lass?"

  Edward chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I can only teach you to fight and about history. Anything beyond that, well, I'm not sure."

  She looked at him thoughtfully. "Was it the courtyard... fighting?"

  "Yes," Edward answered, his voice solemn. "Without your help, I would have died."

  Izaline paused, her expression softening. "I saved you?"

  Edward met her gaze, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Yes."

  Izaline smiled, a quiet, knowing expression. She leaned forward, hugging him tighter as she rested her head against his back, trying not to fall off the horse. Her eyelids grew heavy as she almost nodded off.

  "Hang in there, Izaline," Edward said gently. "We're about three paces away."

  The village bustled with life, its streets filled with people moving about. Some shot awkward glances at Izaline; others wore looks of concern.

  "She's so pretty," one whispered.

  "It's a demon," another muttered.

  "Don't look at it," someone else hissed.

  A loud, familiar voice rang out. "EDWARD!"

  A woman rushed up, hugging Edward from behind.

  "And what is this mysterious creature you've brought with you?" she asked, eyeing Izaline.

  "My successor," Edward replied. "And hopefully... my adopted daughter, if she wishes it."

  "Whew, adopted..." the woman exhaled with a smirk. "You almost had me going there."

  "But... what is she?"

  "I'll tell you after we've had a warm meal," Edward said. "We've been riding for days, and we need some raw meat—preferably lamb."

  "For what?"

  "For her."

  Emily grabbed Edward's arm, pulling him aside. She hissed under her breath, "You did not bring a vampire to my doorstep! I have a son. I can't put him in danger."

  "I've known her for four years, Emily," Edward replied, his voice calm but firm. "If you won't have us, can you at least give her a pair of clothes? We'll be on our way."

  "Where to?"

  "I don't know," Edward admitted.

  "You mean you're not a magus?"

  "That would seem to be the case."

  Emily's face softened, and her voice trembled. "You... kept your promise."

  "I did," Edward said quietly.

  Her cheeks flushed red, and she punched him lightly on the shoulder before wrapping him in another hug.

  "Please stay this time."

  She abruptly broke the embrace.

  "Well, come in, why don't you," she said, gesturing toward the door as she entered the cottage.

  "Davino!"

  A boy emerged from the corner of the door to a room.

  "Meet your father. Doesn't he look just like you?"

  "The spitting image," Edward replied.

  "I'll let you boys catch up while I get the girl washed up."

  Izaline cocked her head to the side in a curious manner. "My name is Izaline."

  In the bathroom, when she removed Izaline's clothes, Emily was greeted with a horrid and uncanny feeling that sank to the bottom of her stomach.

  She found that Izaline possessed four arms and hocks for feet, but that was not what worried her. She saw countless insertion points scattered throughout her body and a number tattooed on her neck. It read 726.

  "You poor thing," Emily said as she placed her hand on Izaline's cheek. "Come now, get in the water. I'll scrub you down."

  "Is this pity?" Izaline asked, staring deep into Emily's eyes.

  "It is unfair for me to pity you."

  When Emily was done putting Davino's clothes on her, she voiced an observation. "Hmm, I'm going to need to sew some sleeves on this, but for now, I'll cut some holes into it for your extra arms. There. Now try it on. Is this love?"

  "No, sweetie, it pains me to say this, but you shouldn't love this soon."

  Izaline turned her head to the side. "Okay," she whimpered.

  At dinner time, Izaline was ravenous. She tore into the raw meat, unabashed by her gluttony.

  Edward laughed at Emily's and Davino's shocked faces.

  "I've heard stories, but I never thought they were real." Davino looked at his mother.

  "I am sleeping in the same room as that?" Davino asked cautiously.

  "Well, I can't make her sleep outside, can I?"

  The sun faded over the horizon as the town grew lifeless. One by one, the candlelight in each house went out, and finally, the candlelight went out as Izaline was nestled next to Davino. And for the first time, she fell asleep warm with a full stomach. she thought to herself.

  The courtyard's ice crystals had long melted, but the cosmic echoes lingered in Izaline's mind. Five years would pass, but some memories never truly fade...

  The light from the melting snow danced across the meadow. The air was cold and bleak, yet their spirits were high despite the indifferent gaze of the cosmos hidden behind the blue sky—ever-present.

  Edward stood alone, observing Davino in the backyard. Davino remained calm and composed, his demeanor like a soft spring breeze.

  "Izaline," Edward began, "every magus has a secret technique that only they know."

  "Yes, Father," Izaline responded.

  Davino, with curiosity, added, "I see."

  Edward's expression softened. "Izaline, do you remember the ice crystals in the courtyard?"

  Izaline's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "That move! I can do that," she exclaimed, taking a contemplative look.

  "Well," Edward said, "only you can perform that technique, Izaline. Not even an arbiter—the highest magus in the order—can replicate it."

  Davino's brow furrowed as a perplexed look crossed his face. "What's the technique?" he asked.

  Before Izaline could answer with enthusiasm, Edward raised a hand to stop her. "Never reveal your trump card to anyone, no matter how much you trust them. What if he gets captured and tortured for the information?"

  Edward's tone grew serious as he looked at her. "Izaline, are you sure you want to become a magus of the Sanctum?"

  Izaline puffed out her cheeks and nodded frantically. "Yes!" she declared with unwavering determination.

  Edward straightened up. "I have something very important to give you, Davion. It's my seal. Using this, you'll be able to inherit the money I've saved in the capital."

  "Money?" Izaline asked.

  "How much?" Davino inquired.

  "500 gold coins is your allowance," Edward stated firmly.

  Their jaws dropped.

  "Are we nobles?"

  A soft smile stretched across Edward's face.

  "It would seem so. I gave it up for a life of study and serving the country. Tell them that you are the son and adopted daughter of Edward Winehurst."

  They hugged their father tightly, his calmness radiating through them like a wave. Izaline began to cry.

  "Don't worry, little one."

  "I'm not little!" she shouted, her voice muffled by his stomach.

  "If only your mother could see you both now..."

  The villagers began to gather around to send Izaline and Davino off.

  "I hope you enjoy your studies!" they shouted.

  And so it was that they mounted their horses and rode off toward the capital, armed with the knowledge, compassion, and wisdom bestowed upon them by their father.

  "Father! Have you heard? Our dear Edward, who had long passed, had children. I just received news from the bank—they're claiming their inheritance. We must send word to them. This would be quite the family reunion."

  The man replied, "I'll send the butler to fetch them."

  Across the aqueduct, where their family was rejoicing near the commercial district of the capital, Davino and Izaline found themselves being denied their inheritance.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  "We can't. Only a child born in wedlock can inherit, and we have no record of Edward being married. You're a bastard, and the girl in the veil and cloak is apparently adopted."

  "Great... we're stuck in the capital with no money, no family..."

  "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

  A woman stepped forward.

  "Eve is the name. I take it you're Davino and Izaline?"

  Davino glanced around.

  "How'd you know it was us?"

  "That pin has the family crest on it. We're a lineage of beast slayers."

  Izaline's heart sank.

  "Now, what I'm more curious about is why a vampire whose spirit reeks of sulfur from the deepest hells is gallivanting around with the family crest."

  Before she could lift her dagger, Izaline found it at her throat.

  Terror flashed in Eve's eyes as she realized what had just happened.

  "Okay, okay, I was just testing to see if you're Edward's children."

  "Why does that entail pulling a gun on me?"

  "Because your father is a national hero—there's even a statue in his likeness."

  The woman tried to peer under Izaline's veil. Izaline sneered, her discontent hidden behind it.

  "In time, I'll show you my face, if you insist, but not here."

  "It's not exactly illegal to be a vampire—or rather, the official term: a chimera. Nobody will harm you, not openly. If you've been paying attention, several non-humans have already walked past."

  The wind bellowed through the narrow street, snapping Izaline back to her surroundings. The muttering and bantering of the people buzzing about made her anxious.

  Eve noticed.

  "Well, I suppose I should walk you to the estate, Davino, Izaline."

  As they walked, Izaline and Davino were hit with myriad smells merging into a tapestry of scents.

  Eve smiled softly. "I take it you've never had food from other countries?"

  "No, I suppose we haven't," Davino responded.

  "We'll have time for that later," she said, turning to them, enthusiasm radiating from her.

  When they arrived at the estate, a man greeted them.

  "I am Duke Winehurts of the Western Coast, Guardian of the High Wall, whose lineage and all the duchy's inhabitants swear fealty to the crown."

  Izaline asked innocently, "Do I have to remember all of that?"

  He chuckled. "I just say all of that in jest. But... Izaline, was it?"

  "Yes," she smiled softly under the veil. "That's my name."

  "Do be careful not to make such inquiries to other nobles. They've never had to wipe their own asses and couldn't tell their titles apart from their egos if their lives depended on it," the duke whispered.

  "You're very different from what I expected," Davino said.

  "Why? Rough around the edges?"

  "Sure," Davino said cautiously.

  "We're a family of warriors first, and I expect Edward passed on the family legacy."

  "Tell me about it... But there's something that needs to be addressed. Why do you wear a veil and such attire? I thought cloaks went out of fashion 50 years ago."

  Eve chimed in, "She's a chimera—vampiric by nature."

  "I see. Well, you don't have to hide yourself here—not under my roof."

  Izaline removed her veil, revealing a sullen countenance, abyss-black eyes reflecting the cosmos, turquoise veins stretching across her skin like a nebula, and pale white skin shimmering with subtle colors.

  The stable boy's face flushed red.

  "Go on, smile," Eve encouraged.

  Izaline tried to suppress her smile, but her heart overtook her, and she smiled, fangs showing.

  "Mind my manners, but what brings you to the capital?"

  "We want to attend the Institute of Alchemy..."

  "And would you leave the comfort of your village for such a rigorous ordeal?"

  "Well, I want to understand what I am and where I come from," Izaline said as she looked up at the abyss that was the night sky coalescing with the descending sun.

  Then she felt it, something was watching her on some distant star on some distant planet. It reciprocated her curiosity.

  And then a vision hit her. There were buildings made of glass and metal that reached up to the clouds with flying metal boats, muskets that fired lightning, and large fiery suns that consumed the horizon. And after all of it, there lay bodies burnt to a crisp.

  Amongst it all, she heard something uttered from the depths of her mind. "You are our hope, oh daughter of the stars. Save them, for we could not save ourselves."

  When Izaline came to her senses, she was clutching her head, writhing in pain, her head pounding.

  Then she heard a fading whisper, "Find Christopheles," before losing consciousness.

  Izaline stood before the hallowed steel gates of the Institute of Magi, once a bulwark against the uncontrollable forces of nature, now filled with those who mocked and deconstructed the very source of aspiration for their ancestors.

  Izaline took a deep breath, easing the anticipation in her heart. She stepped through the gates. Davino had decided to study war under their grandfather.

  It was the first time she would go a day without his presence in a long time, and this weighed on her mind heavily. Today would be orientation, and she would be assigned a class, make new friends, and hopefully compete; the list went on.

  Today they would have competitions across multiple fields in their respective cohorts. Each cohort had around twenty students and was divided into teams of four.

  As Izaline read her name, she saw several names within the bracket: Amiliya Boralis, Julius Lionheart, and Eckart Constantine next to hers, Izaline Winehurst.

  In the classroom, Izaline sat at the back, passively observing everyone interact with each other when she came to her senses to find that another girl had approached her.

  "I take it you're Izaline?" she said as she extended a hand, her countenance radiating enthusiasm. She had white hair, pink skin, and a deep melancholy to her.

  Izaline reciprocated with a smile of her own and extended her hand. "Yes, and you?"

  "I am Amiliya."

  Izaline had pondered on how everyone kept guessing who she was before glancing at her family crest.

  "Hey, um, Amiliya, what do you know about my family?"

  "Huh?" Amiliya said, confused.

  "I grew up in a farming and textile village with my father and mother."

  Amiliya pondered for a second. "Well, I suppose that would make sense."

  "The Winehurst lineage, in the great war, was a lineage of monster hunters; they have been soldiers for almost two centuries."

  "Do you mind if I sit next to you?" she inquired.

  "No, not at all," Izaline said as she scooted over to make room.

  "I wonder where Julius and Eckart are?" Izaline stated.

  Amiliya said with caution, "I think you mean, Prince Julius..."

  "Prince?"

  "Well, okay then..."

  When the first few classes of the day were over, they were to meet at their respective training fields. Before them stood their professor.

  "Now, as magi, you are expected to be able to fight in honor of yourselves and your country. Here at the institute, we do not make the distinction between warrior and scholar. You have done well to study, but can your knowledge serve you? That is the question. So, who wants to go first?"

  Everyone stood around dumbfounded.

  However, Izaline found her hand shooting up instinctively.

  "Ah, a Winehurst. I do hope you do not disappoint." Izaline stepped forward with measured caution, eyeing the teacher.

  "The name's Cornelius."

  They began by circling each other. Izaline's mind began racing, running through the possible ways the situation would not work in her favor. She would have to use her summons. Izaline pulled out a seal and began to chant.

  Cornelius took note of this and, not giving her an opportunity to start her offense, charged.

  However, Izaline stopped her chant and opened her mouth, revealing a tattoo on her tongue. The tattoo began to glow, and...

  Izaline exhaled a frozen mist that permeated the space surrounding them. The mist by itself did nothing, but Cornelius, realizing it was a potential medium for all sorts of nasty magic, promptly backed up. This allowed Izaline to finish her chant, summoning an entity with one eye, legs like a frog, and arms like a gorilla. Yet no fur was present.

  Cornelius chuckled. "Interesting." Recognizing that the entity was the source of Izaline's offense, he charged it but was met with a beam of light shot from its eyes into the mist. The light fractalized into a myriad of other beams that seemed to dance in the mist. Izaline began to sing, which caused the ice crystals to change position, shifting the beams' trajectories.

  Cornelius opened his mouth, letting out a breath of fire. As the ice began to melt, the beams began to dissipate, and Izaline's lethality was greatly reduced.

  "What will you do now?" Cornelius said to himself as he charged toward Izaline.

  The entity she had summoned shot out another beam of light, and this time Izaline molded it into the shape of a glaive. Cornelius pulled out his training sword, and the fight began.

  Izaline was immediately on the back step. Cornelius advanced, countering each of her attacks and reversing the momentum of the engagement at every opportunity. Izaline took a passive role in the fight, her defense impenetrable. She gave the entity a command, and it began shooting a beam of light.

  Cornelius threw several seals on the ground while he fought Izaline. He summoned water droplets that bent and refracted the light beams.

  Izaline began to sing while on the defensive, rearranging the water droplets and, by extension, changing the trajectory of the light beams. In this regard, as a mage under the school of fire, Izaline had him beat.

  Then Cornelius's talismans summoned fire that burned the earth, creating a cloud of ash that completely obscured Izaline's vision. She began coughing violently and dropped her glaive. When the ash cleared, Cornelius stood above her, the blade at her neck.

  "You did well." He offered her his hand, but she didn't notice; her mind was already replaying every event of the fight, trying to figure out where she went wrong.

  "If you're wondering where you went wrong, it's experience, Izaline, something you develop with time."

  Izaline nodded and took his hand. He pulled her to her feet and gave her a pat on the shoulder.

  Izaline got back into the crowd, and after a brief moment, Cornelius shouted, "Next volunteer!"

  This time everyone raised their hands.

  During class, Izaline could not stop replaying the fight in her head. It haunted her. When she came to her senses, she found a crowd gathered around her.

  "Is it true you forced Professor Cornelius to use one of his secret techniques?"

  "I don't know, I only know I lost."

  One of the other students pitched in. "Is it true you are a Winehurst?"

  "I'm sorry, you're making me uncomfortable. Please... go."

  "What... go away? Well, if you insist... beast," he snickered.

  Izaline found her hand against the boy's cheek before she realized it, hatred emanating from her eyes.

  "I was joking."

  "Then don't joke like that, not with me. I won't stand for it."

  The boy feigned fear.

  Her heart laid naked and bare upon her face, shame for what she was. And the boy scoffed at this sight.

  Izaline clenched her teeth. "This is not how the year is going to go. In time, you will get yours," she said as she stared him in the eye. It would only take a second to rip his soul from his body and reduce him to a bumbling catatonic stupor, but what would she become?

  "Vampire," the boy uttered. "In case you guys were wondering, she's a vampire."

  "Yeah, and?"

  "You don't belong here, and you damn sure don't deserve that crest."

  "Prove it. If that's what you believe deep down, then prove it," Izaline stated callously, her expression impassive.

  "That's enough, Marcellus. It's unbecoming of your station."

  "Very well then," Marcellus responded.

  "Father won't be pleased to hear you're starting fights with our family's closest confidants. We both know you'd lose."

  Marcellus scoffed. "Don't try me, Julius."

  Izaline took a good look at Marcellus, but she was met with a look so clear to her she could never miss it... pity.

  She scoffed and stormed off.

  The human soul, in its desire to be liberated and freed, will stagnate and trap itself in vice.” Even as these words had echoed through the king's chamber, their truth already had already manifested across the river, where the seeds of chaos had begun to sprout... denizens moped about with the most wretched of complexions, abetted by the squalid stone streets. But within their malformed hearts, a spark of rebellion began to fester. A man by the name of Christopheles was beginning to garner the ears of the people. There he stood, next to a figure draped in cloth.

  “Is the heart of the people not representative of the ruler’s deficits? The Maguses of the Sanctum of the Twilight teach us that we should not love—to love is to suffer. But they fail to realize that this suffering is the very source of love, as one cannot exist without the other!”

  “YEAH!” the crowd shouted in unison.

  “What about us? Damn their god!”

  Christopheles unveiled the figure in the cloth, revealing a magus. He pulled out a blunderbuss and pointed it at her head.

  “Where is your god now? Go on, pray,” he sneered, ripping the gag off the woman.

  She turned to him, her gaze as calm as the eye of a storm. “The retribution for your actions has already begun. You suffer from them at this very moment.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “Go on, tell the crowd what you mean,” he demanded.

  She replied, her voice steady, “Your struggles are derivative of your deficits, Christopheles. A murderer suffers from never knowing compassion. A prostitute suffers from never knowing love. An architect will never know the gift of natural order, and a gardener will never realize his will to power.”

  Christopheles, realizing what the woman was implying, felt the gun begin to shake in his hands as his palms grew sweaty.

  “Damn you. Damn you!”

  The blunderbuss went off, and the magus went limp as her head thunked against the concrete in the town square.

  Those words reverberated throughout mind as looked at his father , but make no mistake…Christopheles harbored no trust in his father. Any man who would pardon one who was killed in cold blood was no one to seek reprieve from.

  For five years, Christopheles had played court with his father's officials. He had found every seed of discontent, nurturing each one until it grew into a tangle of weeds, choking out the once-fertile ground of talent that had been his father's pride.

  And now, there he stood. Christopheles, across the room from his him, the tension between them palpable. His men held his father at gunpoint, their muskets steady, their faces grim.

  "What is the meaning of this?" his father demanded, his voice cold and distant.

  Christopheles tilted his head. "Oh?”. Don't insult me with your charade of paternal affection."

  Shock flickered across his father's face—a crack in the stoic mask he had worn for decades.

  "Yes," Christopheles continued, his voice sharp. " You intended to use me as a

  martyr, didn't you?" Christopheles sucked his teeth mockingly. "I think ,not."

  His father's hand twitched toward the pistol at his side, but Christopheles saw the motion before it fully formed. His eyes hardened.

  "Fire," he commanded.

  The roar of muskets shattered the silence, and the bullets tore through sinew and bone.

  His father staggered, his body crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap.

  Christopheles stood still, his expression cold and impassive. There was no triumph in his eyes, only a hollow satisfaction.

  He turned to his men, his voice as icy as his gaze. "Clean this up."

  "Good, good, boy," the devil cackled.

  "Now, if you wish to overcome the banner that animates the body of this nation, there is a goddess to kill, but her name I cannot utter, lest I invoke her wrath. She dwells in three vessels: Clotho, Camila, and Izaline. You must kill them before their paths cross, lest it will all be for naught. And then the great Arbiter Saoirse. She surpasses you in every regard, but to beat her, you must look at what cant her hesitate to act on. Steal her daughter's heart and make it hers to part. Sing to her of art and poetry; make her see herself in you. Lure her out under the cover of night, but most important, do not forget your plight."

  "I see," Christopheles responded.

  Christopheles turned to his men. "Find me an assassin. I don't care where from. Instruct him that he is to kill a girl." He paused, his eyes cold and sharp. "A vampire. Tell him that he is to win her heart, to intoxicate her with promises of freedom, security, and protection. Let us start."

  that he is to win her heart, to intoxicate her with promises of freedom, security, and protection. Let us start."

  "What about the other ones?"

  "I'll tell you in due time."