Lilith once again found herself walking toward yet another noble eting—because of Damon. Even in his absence, even without his ddling hands cooking up so new sche, he still found a way to cover the heavens with a single palm. A commoner, and yet sohow, nobles were being forced to move, to react, all because of him.
She stopped in front of the towering grand doors, their engraved surface humming faintly with old enchantnts. Slowly, she pulled one open and stepped through. By the ti she entered, the two official representatives of the academy were already seated.
The eting room was vast and silent, the air laced with a faint tension. Several massive crystals stood embedded into the walls—arcane constructs designed for long-distance visual communication, their surfaces still dormant, waiting for activation. The floor glead under the chandeliers' soft light, polished to a pristine finish. Classy decorations lined the room: ancient tapestries, gold-frad portraits, and sculptures so lifelike they almost seed to breathe.
No surprise there. So of the people they were about to speak with held enough influence that even stepping out of their private domains caused ripples across the political sphere.
She walked toward the two academy representatives. The first was the headmaster, who had only recently returned. Even now, seated calmly, there was sothing heavy about his presence—a subdued pressure that bent the air around him as if the world itself leaned toward his will.
Lilith recognized that sensation. The weight of soone who stood high on the class advancent hierarchy. His rank surpassed her own, of that there was no doubt.
She bowed slightly in greeting.
The headmaster returned her nod with a composed expression. He appeared middle-aged with a long, well-kept beard and lines of age on his face, though she knew he was centuries old—his vitality preserved by rank, magic, and whatever other secrets the upper class wielded.
Beside him sat Marabel Defontee, an old woman clad in ceremonial mage robes. She too had presence—her aura sharp and refined. She was Fourth Class, one full tier above Lilith.
The old woman offered a quiet nod of acknowledgnt.
"Well then," Marabel began, her voice calm and clear, "shall we begin? I apologize for putting you in this position, but… among all the students and faculty, you're the best suited for this eting."
Lilith returned the nod, though her expression was unreadable. "Is it because I'm the student council president… or because I know Damon Grey quite well?"
The headmaster let out a long, quiet sigh. "Both. He's the only one from a common background in that group. I suspect so of the lords we'll be speaking with today will be quite… curious about him."
"I see…" she said, eyes narrowing. "The others are all known to them—nobles, heirs, nas that carry weight. But Damon isn't. So you expect their anger, or their suspicion, to shift onto him. And you want to manage that fallout."
The headmaster t her gaze. For a mont, sothing passed between them—acknowledgnt, and perhaps even guilt.
"I don't like that," she muttered.
"There's no need for anger," the headmaster said gently. "No harm will co to him. I am still sworn to protect all our students. But… I have a feeling a certain sly soone may take an interest in him."
Lilith frowned. There was sothing about the way he said it, sothing she didn't like.
"Who are you talking about?"
The headmaster closed his eyes. "What a small world we live in…"
Lilith's fingers twitched. Rage slowly simred in her chest, subtle but rising. She glanced toward Marabel.
The old woman t her eyes and let out a sigh.
"Don't look at like that, dear. I don't know what he's scheming either. But we'll be dealing with a rather troubleso collection of individuals…"
She hesitated, her tone softening. "Damon is a good… he's a… he's a good student."
Lilith's eye twitched. That hesitation hadn't gone unnoticed.
'She was about to say good boy… but stopped herself.'
Even calling him a good student felt like a stretch. Damon Grey, chaos in human form, was anything but ordinary—and now, his shadow stretched into this room too.
Lilith sighed, steadying her breath as she stood in the center of the quiet chamber. She understood her task well enough—keep her guard up, represent the academy, and, if she was lucky, maybe even find a way to turn Damon's chaotic presence into an advantage. Or at the very least, she hoped these powerful nobles wouldn't care enough about so no-na commoner to press the issue.
She frowned. Why would any of them care about him?
The headmaster smiled faintly at her question, but said nothing more.
This old man is too sly for his own good, she thought, watching him with narrowed eyes.
She ntally reviewed the figures involved in today's eting—every one of them a titan in their own right.
First, there was the father of Leona—a chieftain from the Wild Continent. He was known across nations as the Incarnation of Destruction. His na was Leon, often called the Roaring Gale. A being of pure force and wrath.
Then ca Duke Ravenscroft, a high noble from Valtheron. A Duke was always trouble, but worse yet—he was close. Too close for comfort. Lilith had t him only a few tis, back when she still accompanied her father to diplomatic gatherings. She rembered him as a quiet but stalwart man, the type whose silence held more weight than most people's words.
Next was a high noble of Norrath, second only to the Crown of Winterhaven. He was Matlock's father, a cold, calculating man whose na was feared in the northern courts. His presence here ant serious eyes were being turned on the academy.
But the one exerting the most pressure—by far—was the Elf King of the Verdant Continent. Sylvia Moonveil's father.
Kadelas Moonveil, The White Ruler.
He was an ancient sovereign whose affection for his daughter bordered on obsession.
Sylvia was his only child, and Lilith knew without a doubt—he would watch the world burn to keep her safe. That he hadn't already declared war was, frankly, a miracle.
'Did his wife find a way to pacify him…?'
From what Lilith's intelligence networks reported, there was only one person he ever truly listened to—his wife. Sylvia's mother. She was his queen, his oracle, and the only one capable of calming the storm that was Kadelas.
The academy had been under imnse pressure ever since the incident with Sylvia's possession by a dark spirit, and now… with this? The noose had only tightened.
And then there was the final piece of the puzzle.
Duke Brightwater.
Lilith had t him once, and that single encounter was enough. Everything about the man scread danger. He was the type who walked through war, not just unscathed, but unchanged. Unbothered. Terrifying in that cold, effortless way.
He reminded her of Damon.
Cassian Brightwater—The Golden Death.
He wore the nickna like a crown, and she feared him for good reason.
She swallowed hard, a pit settling in her stomach.
'I really hope Damon took my warning about Evangeline seriously…'
Because if he got too close to her—even as friends—death would no longer be a distant threat. It would be a certainty.
She took a deep breath, letting the tension coil through her chest.
'Why do I feel like he's not going to care…?'
And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, the room dimd. The great crystals shimred to life, their dormant runes now glowing with brilliant azure light. Slowly, the projections ford—faces, regal and grim, flickering into clarity. One by one, the most influential beings in the world of Aetherus appeared before her.
And Lilith stood alone, ready or not, as their eyes turned to her.
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