After the god damn interview, a hand seized his arm.
"Co with ," Augustus said.
The Viscount’s voice carried no warmth. Just command. The kind that could make a lesser man kneel without realizing it.
Aiden followed without a word. The two of them walked in silence, boots echoing against the wet floor, the sound swallowed by the endless hum of the citadel at night.
They stopped only when they reached a deserted corner near the outer wall, where the torchlight burned low and the windows rattled with wind.
That was where Augustus turned, his expression half-hidden in shadow.
"Tell sothing, Aiden," he said quietly. Too quietly. "What you said earlier... about that pact—was it true?"
Aiden hesitated. His throat felt dry.
"...Yes."
"Why?" The word ca out like a blade. "Why in the gods’ nas would you do sothing like that? Do you even understand what you’ve unleashed?"
The torches flickered. Aiden could see his reflection in the man’s eyes—small, pale, tired. "My lord....I wanted to live," he said. "It was that or die. He gave a choice."
Augustus stepped closer. "A choice? You think the rest of us had one? My n—my knights—your comrades—they died screaming because of that choice!"
His voice rose, cracking the heavy silence. Outside, thunder rolled, as if echoing his rage.
Aiden opened his mouth, but the words stumbled. "I—I didn’t know he would—"
"Spare your ignorance," Augustus snapped. "You made a pact with a monster, Aiden. A thing that should never have been allowed to breathe in our world. And now it hunts us."
Aiden’s fingers curled into fists. "I was trying to save her. To save Amber. To save the na of nobility...You think I wanted this?"
"Don’t justify it!" Augustus’s hand slamd against the wall beside him, shaking loose dust from the old stone. "You don’t save lives by bargaining with abominations!"
The echo of the blow lingered, trembling through the narrow corridor. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
"Again,..I wanted to live, is it too much to ask?" Aiden whispered again, softer this ti.
Augustus’s eyes flickered—sothing between fury and disbelief. "Yes. And now you see what that costs. People like us—we don’t get to live for ourselves. You forgot that."
He stepped forward and gripped Aiden’s shoulder—hard. The pressure dug deep, sharp enough to make Aiden wince.
"Fix it," Augustus said, his voice dropping low. "Whatever you started, whatever hell you unleashed—fix it."
He let go. The pain in Aiden’s shoulder flared white-hot, and for a mont he thought the bone might have cracked. Augustus turned and walked away without another word, his cloak billowing like a shadow behind him.
When he was gone, Aiden sank back against the wall, breath shuddering out of him. The ache in his shoulder was nothing compared to the hollow weight in his chest.
That was the first ti Augustus had ever looked at him like that. Not as an ally. Not as a ward or friend.
As a failure.
The torch beside him guttered, the fla struggling against the draft. He watched it flicker—fragile, trembling, defiant—and sothing inside him mirrored it.
Yes. He had disappointed him.
Yes. It was his fault.
But there was one na that refused to leave his mind.
Samael.
That cold, thodical bastard had set all of this into motion long before Aiden ever had a choice.
Aiden exhaled slowly, forcing himself upright. "Fix it," Augustus had said.
Fine. He would. Even if it ant throwing himself to the wolves.
He straightened his collar, smoothed the blood-stained bandage at his throat, and began to walk.
The fortress of the Slayer Guild stood beyond the citadel’s outer walls—a great spire of blackened stone and iron veins, carved with runes that pulsed faintly in the rain. The night was a shroud, the air thick with ozone.
Samael waited at the gates, his cloak drawn close, the sigils etched into his armor gleaming faintly with violet light. He didn’t turn when Aiden approached.
"...Take ," Aiden said.
Samael’s head tilted slightly, the faintest trace of amusent curling his lips. "That’s not sothing most n say to ."
"I an it," Aiden said, stepping closer. "Use . As bait. You said the abomination is drawn to . Then draw him."
Samael finally faced him, the stormlight catching the lines of his face—hard angles, silver eyes that saw too much. He studied Aiden in silence, and for a mont, the older man’s gaze softened.
Up close, Aiden looked almost ethereal: white hair damp with rain, golden eyes too bright for the darkness. The resemblance struck Samael harder than he expected. The sa hair as him. The sa age as him...
He cut the thought short. Pity was a luxury he’d buried long ago.
"Very well," Samael said at last. "You’ll have your wish."
He moved so suddenly that Aiden barely saw it—Samael’s hand closing around his neck, not in cruelty, but in ritual. Runes flared to life beneath their feet, the world folding inward.
Wind tore through them—then silence.
They reappeared in the heart of the Guild.
The hall was massive, its vaulted ceilings lined with chains of mana crystals that burned with cold, azure fire. The scent of steel and incense filled the air. Around them, Slayers moved like shadows—n and won scarred by countless hunts, their eyes sharp, their movents disciplined.
Twenty-five of them. The slayers. The last defenders of the line between realms.
Amber burst through the archway before Samael could speak. "Wait!" Her voice trembled, breath catching in the air thick with mana. "You can’t take him!"
Aiden turned to her, and even now, even in this place of death and duty, he smiled. It was a small thing—a curve of lips that carried more courage than sense.
"It’s okay," he said softly. "Everything’s going to be fine."
Amber’s eyes glistened, disbelief warring with fear. "You don’t know that."
"I have to believe it," Aiden said. "If I don’t, then none of this ans anything."
Sothing in his tone—calm, unwavering—struck her silent. For the first ti since the battle, she stopped shaking. The light of her aura dimd, her breathing steadying.
Samael watched this exchange with quiet interest. Then, to Aiden, he said almost fondly, "You remind of soone....."
Arina appeared at the edge of the hall, her white hair bound in a braid, her armor still slick from rain. "Commander," she said, her voice low but firm, "is this really necessary? Using him as bait—there must be another way."
Samael’s answer was a laugh without mirth. "Still clinging to rcy, Arina? You haven’t been in this ga long enough. Monsters don’t fall to kindness."
Her jaw clenched, but she said nothing more.
He motioned for the guards to clear the central chamber. The Slayers moved instantly, their boots striking in rhythm, the sound echoing like a heartbeat through the great hall.
Aiden followed as Samael led him toward the lower cells—a corridor that spiraled downward, the light dimming with each step. The deeper they went, the stronger the pressure of mana beca, until it felt like walking through water.
At the bottom, a single door awaited them. Wrought iron, layered with seals upon seals, each inscribed in a different language of power.
Samael touched the sigil at its center. The locks groaned open.
Inside, the cell was bare stone, but alive with magic. The air shimred faintly; even breathing felt strange, like inhaling lightning.
Samael gestured. "Step inside."
Aiden did. The instant his foot crossed the threshold, the runes flared—lines of red and gold weaving into a lattice of containnt. The door sealed behind him with a hiss, locking him within a cage of shimring air.
From the outside, he must have looked like a figure frozen inside glass.
Samael faced the gathered Slayers. His voice filled the hall, steady and absolute.
"When the abomination cos—and it will co—you hold your ground. No one enters this cell without my command. Not for him. Not for anyone."
The others nodded in silence. So made warding gestures. A few whispered prayers to gods who hadn’t answered in centuries.
Then Samael turned to Aiden once more.
"Be ready, boy," he said. "When the beast cos for you, you’ll get your chance to prove your worth."
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