Act I Part 1 Chapter 1 – Betrayal Comes at a High Price

November of the Sainted Year (First Civil Month)

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Sylia turned in her cot, muttered a half-spell under her breath, and called out as the binding on the room’s veil unraveled.

“Kullen, Pullina, Georgie. Time to wake up. He’s gone. We’re leaving.”

Pullina rubbed her eyes, still groggy. “Really? Good.”

Sylia glanced toward the wall, where the wards still shimmered faintly. “Looks like he didn’t even notice Georgie was here.”

The beautiful blond teenager, Georgie, smiled, smug and far too pleased with herself. “I knew he wouldn’t.”

Sylia frowned at her. “Don’t look so proud of that.”

Kullen sat up, his face pinched with irritation. “Are you going to explain why I had to sleep not far from Betty? Why the rooms are suddenly merged and smaller? And where you got those cots—or that pitiful furniture? Not many people have those in the Slums these days.”

Sylia looked away, her tone distant. “I had to get some of it from the Capital. Other places too. I tried to shop for the best—something your parents would’ve liked. Grenar, especially. I even bargained a God for the needle bed. I hope he enjoys it.” She smiled faintly. “Do you know the best part? He won’t even remember.”

Kullen’s expression soured, but he said nothing. She turned her gaze toward Betty.

“I’m putting Betty in a crystal again before she ruins everything. Then I’ll put the others to sleep. They won’t wake before tomorrow—just in time for the great finale.”

Kullen made a noise of disgust, then narrowed his eyes. “Why does she look smaller? Younger? Don’t tell me you caught her with Taylor and Kyle again.”

Sylia flushed, but didn’t deny it. “Not just them, but yes. We still need her. She can’t be allowed to burn out so quickly. Imagine if she dropped another brat like last summer—filthy souls, leaking corruption through everything. We have to keep the kids’ souls boxed until they’re old enough to disintegrate on their own. The cleaning spells handle the rest.”

Kullen gasped, eyes wide with disbelief.

Sylia rose, brushing her palms against her thighs. “Let’s go find something to eat. I’m starving. Barely had any dinner.” She glanced at Georgie and added, “You’re excused. You did well.”

Georgie beamed. “Thanks. Come see Dad when you can. I think he misses you.”

“Why would he?” Sylia asked, already stepping toward the door. “He has enough on his plate.”

“Well,” Georgie offered lightly, “he does have that Division. But she’s only a Sub-Servant. He likes the mean you better. I figured early on most men are a little masochist. I’ll try to be meaner too and bully them a bit. Maybe then they’ll like me more.”

Kullen looked appalled. Pullina, however, nodded thoughtfully. “I noticed that too. Must be a male trait… well, maybe not. Master Mathias is different. Maybe he’s not entirely male.”

Kullen’s jaw dropped. Sylia, unfazed, shrugged.

“You’ve stumbled on a great cosmic mystery. Higher beings like him aren’t born with gender. That’s a limitation meant for lower beings. Some prefer certain forms, sure—but it’s just taste. I’m a Division myself. One of mine is a massive seven-foot knight with an impressive build… and an even more impressive lower half. He likes pretty boys best.”

Kullen yelped and hugged himself. “You said that just to scare me, right?”

Sylia gave him an unimpressed look. “Why would I ever?” She sighed. “Fine. I might’ve lied. Not this Division. Another one—the one who never stops fighting.”

Kullen exhaled sharply, visibly relieved. He preferred not to think too much about that particular version of her.

Kullen looked at the girl his adoptive parents had taken in fifteen years ago with concern. At least, that was the official story. Sylia had been around for much longer, and she was no young girl but an adult woman who had regressed to a child multiple times because of the soul she was holding within her body—Masha’s soul.

Kullen had been fooled for years by Masha’s behavior. He had even believed her to be young, in contrast to Sylia, but he’d come to realize that wasn’t the case. Masha had had multiple chances to mature, but those had been left to waste.

Kullen knew Sylia was hiding something. She had been strange lately. More distant with him. Maybe it was his fault. He hadn’t been supportive enough. It was his family, after all, she was starting to go against. He couldn’t really rejoice at the prospect. He’d heard she was now a fallen Saint because of actions he knew nothing about. Those rumors had started weeks ago, even before her other Divisions, Syl Celia and Cesylia left the Slums where they lived.

To be honest, he had never understood why she even bothered living in the Slums. She had said it was for Masha’s sake, but he knew that was a lie. Sylia obviously hated Masha more than anything. He couldn’t even blame her, not after hearing some of the disturbing things. Apparently, Sylia’s Goddesses had forced her to take Masha in and teach her so she could fulfill her destiny as a Saint and savior of Nagasmar. No matter what Masha did, and how much she failed at being a Saint, those Goddesses still seemed to think the girl was worthy. He had even wondered if the Goddesses really wanted to save Nagasmar as they claimed or ruin it.

Kullen then turned his attention to his adoptive sister Pullina. The girl had been sent away by her parents, Dunkareh Krevoski and Dahia Bimal, since they couldn’t afford to have another mouth to feed—and the girl wasn’t useful, as her Magic was lacking. He wondered what had changed. He saw it in her eyes. Something must have happened. She had been quite neutral in the arguments between Masha and Sylia since the beginning. For her to start playing tricks with Sylia meant something extremely bad had happened.

He needed to ask but he was afraid to. Something told him he wouldn’t like the answer. Just like he wouldn’t like what they would tell him about Yullina, who had also been acting strangely. His cute and sweet sister now avoided him completely. They had been close until recently, but now all she would do was hang out with Masha and listen to everything the girl said.

Maybe that had been his fault too.

Kullen sighed in frustration. He didn’t know what to think anymore. He had been busy with his current girlfriend, and he now lived in the North-East Lower Gentry and Commoners District, closer to her. He even had a part-time job there.

His sweetheart, Leyna Nemuri, came from Nemraska. Her family had some Noble ties, but they had been declassed over three centuries ago. They still carried a curse and had to fulfill some obligations to repay their family’s debts, all because some ancestors had behaved badly.

He had just spent half a day with her and her family. They’d had fun. He would likely marry her this spring if things kept progressing so well. He wished he could tell Sylia. She would likely be happy for him. Happy that he’d moved on.

She had been so distant lately that there was no question where her affection lay. He couldn’t afford to wait for her any longer. He would see his life pass by.

He had only recently realized what it meant to be intimately involved with her. While Sylia expected her lovers’ loyalty, they couldn’t expect the same. She indiscriminately went out with all the men she liked well enough and even some she didn’t like at all. For her, sex was just that. Nothing more. She used it as a weapon sometimes, to manipulate people.

He hadn’t minded until recently. Now, he craved something more. Something real. He had learned that with his girlfriend. Leyna was everything Sylia was not. Genuine, innocent, and sweet.

And yet, he was still attracted to the damn woman. Even knowing her many failings, he craved her touch.

He felt so stupid.

Kullen had just come back from dinner with his girlfriend and her family—his likely future in-laws. The food had been excellent. A rare bird the father’s brother had gotten through one of the restricted markets where he did some business from time to time. The dish was sweet, tender, and perfectly prepared. Kullen could get used to meals like that.

Then Sylia’s message reached him. He returned home in a rush.

Yullina had warned him and said Sylia had been acting strangely again but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Maybe this would be his chance to come clean, finally tell her he wasn’t going to keep seeing her. She’d seemed suddenly more interested in him earlier that day, and that made everything worse. It was hard to say no to the woman who kept the Slums from collapsing, who made it possible for him to have a job, a life, even permission to live closer to the Gentry Districts. He owed her too much.

Whatever Yullina thought, he couldn’t turn on Sylia. He still planned to take Yullina in once he married. He’d already brought it up with Grenar, who hadn’t opposed the idea. However, now Kullen was uneasy. He’d tried to support Yullina through everything, but she’d become the target of Sylia’s sharpest cruelty—punishments, mocking, deliberate shame. And still the girl kept smiling, still stayed kind. Her only real fault was loving Masha. And to Sylia, that was unforgivable.

He hated admitting it, but Sylia had grown shallow. Maybe she always was. He still needed her help to leave the Slums and bring Yullina with him. He could only hope whatever she asked of him today would be something he could live with.

When Sylia smiled at him, his heart betrayed him and skipped a beat. She had reverted again—her body in that half-grown state she favored. Mature, youthful, a practiced blend. Still, something was off. Something was different. And for once, he was glad to feel no attraction for her at all.

“Relax,” she said, as if reading his mind. “I wasn’t going to offer you any intimate company. I already have a date tonight. I’m actually happy you have found someone. Someone you can imagine spending your life with. And yes, I support your plan to take Yullina with you when you marry.”

Pullina looked startled. Her wide eyes slid toward Kullen, now filled with caution. Kullen, by contrast, visibly relaxed. He even smiled a little.

“So, what do you need from me?”

Sylia returned his smile, cool and polite. “That’s a good question. I’d like to talk about the documents Grenar requested. The ones tied to Yullina. But first, let’s eat.”

Pullina blinked, clearly unsettled. She wasn’t used to this tone. She knew Sylia’s fake smiles. The ones that meant you were doomed and didn’t know it yet—like that time she ate the last mochi Sylia had set aside. She still remembered the way the sky seemed to split open that day.

Pullina’s thoughts vanished the moment the food arrived.

Kullen glanced at the bowls, then grinned. “Gyūdon? That’s my favorite. Red meat’s been hard to find lately, especially with the restrictions. “They are stocking for the Bloody Sainted Month of December,” Kullen said. “The followers of the Blood Church and their related churches consume much more red meat then, mostly as part of their rituals.”

Sylia smiled. “I know. I brought it from another place—a new Enclave of Izranaga, near the center of Nagasmar. The Celestials produced too much red meat. This kind is made by Divine powers, not by slaughtering animals. It contains slightly less red blood than natural red meat, but carries white blood which is known to Izranaga’s Flock.”

Both Pullina and Kullen froze. Their expressions mirrored each other, nervous and impressed. Pullina and Kullen’s eyes widened. Both gulped down. They knew what that blood did and why it was summoned in very old rites.

Sylia added, motioning toward the dishes she had laid out for them. “Well, we also have Katsudon, Oyakodon, and some Shrimp and Pork Loin Ramen. I got the Ramen for Pullina, with a few side dishes that are just for us. Kullen, you already ate well with your girlfriend, didn’t you? The Katsudon and Oyakodon are also made with God-blessed ingredients. I hope you will enjoy them.”

Kullen’s face fell, and a faint tremble ran through him. He shut his eyes for a moment, struggling to compose himself. He had walked straight into a trap. Now he had no choice but to sit through the meal. To think he’d rushed back here just so she wouldn’t suspect him—just to prove his good intentions and maybe earn her forgiveness.

Sylia raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Kullen nodded. He had never meant to hide anything. It wasn’t even worth lying about. He had done it for Yullina. To protect her. She had become the latest target of Sylia’s wrath and wickedness, and he couldn’t just watch.

“May I ask first what’s going on?” he said, voice cautious.

Sylia tapped her spoon once against the rim of her bowl. “I’m not sure you should know right away. It’s better that you see it for yourself tomorrow. The Moondyl’s Crow mentioned a few things I’d like you to confirm.”

Kullen set down his chopsticks. Appetite fading, he straightened his shoulders. If there was any hope of forgiveness, he needed to be honest. His eyes sharpened.

“There’s not much to it, really,” he said. “Grenar was afraid. He thought he didn’t have long to live—said you might kill him if it came down to another fight over Masha. He was terrified you’d take control of Yullina the way you did with Pullina. That you’d drag her into your world. That you’d make her live like you—chasing pleasure, sleeping with whoever. Becoming… trash.”

Pullina let out a soft gasp, eyes narrowing. Kullen always had a foul mouth, especially when Sylia was involved. He had even insulted Master Mathias once and nearly died for it. Maybe he had died and have been revived. It was hard to know with Mathias. Forgiveness didn’t come unless you bled for it.

Sylia only smiled faintly and gestured for him to go on. Emboldened, Kullen did.

“It really wasn’t much.” he said. “I just wrote down a few testimonies and asked some men around the Slums to do the same. For the Churches. It’s just to make sure you don’t raise Yullina to be… impure. Like you. Maybe that’s why you fell from sainthood in the first place.”

Yullina’s eyes flew wide open, horrified. He really didn’t understand anything. He always thought he knew better but he knew nothing. Just assumptions—wrong ones. Like Kirsten.

Sylia lowered her silver spoon and sighed.

“I see. So it’s nothing. Grenar was just trying to cut me off from potential allies and mislead us before the end. And for the record, I never claimed to be a Saint.”

Kullen blinked. “But you were called Saint Sylia for years.”

Sylia nodded. “Yes. But I never took the title. I’m one of the Dragon Knights of the All Saints. Like one of Mathias’ many titles. I specialize in Dark and Black Dragons but not only that. My duty is to protect the Saints and the Saint Candidates. Until recently, that included Masha. She was the fallen one. Not me.”

Kullen gasped. Concern flooded his features.

Sylia’s tone turned dry. “I know most of the ones you’ve heard of are men. But you know their reputation. Even among Saints.”

Kullen frowned. “But your powers…”

Sylia smiled faintly.

“Oh? That’s because I serve as the Avatar of a hundred Gods and Goddesses… and somehow, you managed to insult all of them at once. Impressive. You really do carry the legacy of the Nemedsar family. The men of that bloodline fell from grace one after another—always because of the same arrogance, the same need to wrap themselves in righteousness while joining rebels under the pretense of purity and protecting the weak.”

Pullina stared in shock, speechless. Kullen looked away, his expression darkening.

Sylia went on, voice softer, almost amused.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“No matter how it starts, it always ends the same. You drag your women down with you. It began with the original males. Something went wrong with them—deeply wrong. It’s a man’s curse, but now the women of your bloodline are caught in it too. They follow because they don’t have a choice. And they know it. That’s why, more and more, they give away their male children as soon as the bloodline’s confirmed. Sometimes even before. Abandoning them in front of churches. Especially those born in November… like you. Some are left out in the cold, in the dead of winter, left to nature.”

“Please stop!” Kullen shouted. His voice cracked, his whole body trembling.

He looked at Sylia with something dangerously close to hatred in his eyes.

“Why do you have to be so cruel? Does it make you happy?”

Sylia only smiled, a quiet, almost sorrowful curve of her lips.

“A part of you remembers, doesn’t it? You were there.”

Kullen frowned, shaking his head.

“How do you even know that?”

Sylia laughed a low, bitter laugh.

“Are you really asking me that? I almost feel sorry for Sylvie, having to pretend you were hers. Just to honor Dona, her sister, who died fighting your father.”

Pullina let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

Kullen staggered back a step.

“What? Who are you really?”

Sylia’s gaze sharpened.

“I heard you’re courting a Nemuri. How fitting. So much like the Sainted Knight who destroyed his own family and Province. There’s barely anything left of the Grand Duchy of Nemaskar now. Just broken towns and swallowed-up lands. It used to be the homeland of an old King of Nagasmar—before the country took its current name. What was it called again? I might remember… or maybe I won’t. It’s not a well-loved name these days. Not since it got tied to Izranavyl, the God of Despairs. Lords trying to play at being Gods, mimicking Izranaga out of desperation. It’s almost pitiful.”

Sylia sighed, looking tired now.

“Do you even know what you did? You forgot to mention the other documents you signed—the ones that accused me of impurity while pretending to fight for a world without it. The ones you co-wrote with that God you made a pact with. The God from Moondar. The one from that falling Church. Does that ring a bell?”

Kullen had already started shaking.

Sylia’s voice sharpened as her sigh deepened.

“Grenar tricked you. He knew your body carried thousands of souls from your Church’s bloodlines, mostly former males of your family. By making such a testament, some Gods can invoke old rites where you would be called to serve as one of the Judges of Humanity. They just don’t realize those rites don’t apply to me. I’m not the one to be judged. I’m the one who judges. And judge, I did.”

Kullen’s eyes widened, and now the fear was real. Deep, and raw.

“I’ll let the three souls that settled inside your remade body stay,” Sylia continued. “But I’m not letting that Falling God feed on the thousands of other souls. I know what he’s planning. Grow stronger by consuming souls. Regain his powers. Rise again as a Celestial when the time is right.”

She raised her arm toward him. Kullen struggled, trying to push himself out of the seat. However, invisible threads locked him down, wrapping around his limbs and throat. His voice came out muffled, barely audible.

Sylia smiled faintly.

“I lied a little, earlier,” she said. “Knight of Rise—that was the name you liked best, wasn’t it? Thank you for your service. Catching a Half-Celestial who used to be a powerful God… well, that’s quite the offering. We have the rest of his fragments now too…and the siblings who had helped him. So thank you.”

She leaned slightly forward, her smile deepening into something warmer—and yet colder.

“I’ll leave just enough of you to enjoy your girlfriend for a few more months. That’s fair. You’ve done me many favors over the years, knowingly or not. Those merged pieces of your Gods will settle nicely into this body once I extinguish the extra thousands of souls that made you so… arrogant.”

She tilted her head.

“For your information, I carry far more powerful souls than you—millions of them. But I never let them make me as cocky as you are. We knew that the moment the restrictions were lifted, you’d take control and start thinking yourself close to a Celestial. You showed those pretensions during the Sainted Wars you helped ignite.”

Her voice dropped, almost sweet.

“Truly. Thank you. Now I can begin wiping out the rest of those Gods and corner the others who had yet to fall—yes, even those who backed Grenar in trying to get rid of me.”

She paused.

“I promise it won’t hurt too much.”

Then, as if correcting herself, she gave a wink.

“Oups. Maybe I lied again. It will hurt like hell but I will give you a sweet dream afterwards. You’ll wake up tomorrow with new memories, a gentler mind, and maybe—if you’re lucky—you’ll be forgiven. You can even enjoy the Gyudon I brought to welcome the pieces of those Gods in the Slums. We’ll speak again, once you’ve become the new you. Don’t ask where you’ll be sent for reeducation. It won’t be a place you’ll want to remember.”

Pullina let out a choking noise as she saw her brother swallowed by a vortex. He was ripped from the seat in an instant, his form vanishing into spiraling folds of divine force.

***

Outside the City walls, a small group of men and women waited patiently. They were Grenar Krevoski’s people—longtime associates, conspirators, and pawns ready to move the moment he gave the signal. Orders had been clear for weeks, and now they stood poised for action. They had already raised a modest army, thanks to Juvel Greesham, who had defected from his family to stand beside Masha, his beloved, with whom he had shared a few passionate nights during the rare times she was permitted to take her adult form. Their children now waited impatiently for her return, likely unaware that she remained trapped in that ungrateful body of hers, forced to submit to the will of a most vile person.

Among the ones waiting, Sylan Syresmundi was the most anxious. His nerves frayed, his confidence shattered, he felt the crushing certainty that they were doomed. He had tried to save himself, even going so far as to report Juvel’s betrayal. But Sylia, the one who mattered, had responded only with silence.

Within the City, tension simmered in every corner. Grenar’s adoptive sons, Kuschiel and Julend, sat near an Okonomiyaki stall on the border between the lower Gentry district and the Slums. Kuschiel fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked, eyeing Julend’s elegant suit.

Julend gave a half-hearted shrug, glancing down at his attire. “Thought I might get lucky. This suit worked for me once. Not today, though. Anyway, you’re not exactly dressed for these streets either.”

Kuschiel turned away, sulking. “I thought maybe… she’d spare time for a date. She’s leaving tomorrow but I guess she’s too busy.”

Julend sighed. Both of them were fools, really.

Elsewhere in the City, the newly constructed Square of Moon, Nights, and Stars hummed with the buzz of restless anticipation. It was located in the heart of the growing Gentry-Commoner district, a zone expanding faster than the officials could control. The city had changed. Distorted spaces had begun appearing—zones where entry was impossible for some, as though the city itself were selecting who belonged. The Province Lords and even the Region Lord had long lost control of parts of the City.

Tamren Syrmundi, Grenar Krevoski’s younger brother, sipped his rice wine at a round table on the modest terrace of a Commoners shop.

The place had no airs about it, but the food was excellent—priced higher than what locals were used to paying though. Clearly, the menu catered to upper Gentry and the occasional Noble looking to mingle discreetly with the lower ranks. The district had changed too quickly, warped by strange enchantments. New homes had cropped up like mushrooms after rain—too refined for mere Gentry, better suited for Mednobles. Especially those tucked into that strange Half-Enclaved zone he had passed earlier.

Tamren had noticed several Nobles already. They were poorly disguised, their power practically leaking through their gestures and glances. He didn’t need anyone to tell him they were all tied to Sylia, one way or another. Most had come hoping to catch a glimpse of her, or of a Division of hers. However, they were bound for disappointment. She wasn’t coming tonight.

All evening, new squares like this one had appeared across the City. Tamren had seen at least four. Each one supposedly meant for lower Commoners, designed with humble stools and terraces no Gentry or god forbid, Nobles would deign to use. Yet here they were, especially the men, pretending to blend in. Tamren had a good guess why they were here, but he preferred not to think about it. They’d all go home with nothing. She wasn’t coming. Not tonight.

His brothers, Runalk Syrmund-Bimelo and Tarsen Syrmundi, sat beside him, restless.

Tamren’s brothers, Runalk Syrmund-Bimelo and Tarsen Syrmundi, looked at him expectantly. Runalk was the first to speak.

“So… what do we do now? She’s not coming. That much is obvious. I think the others have already given up as well on her ever showing up.”

Tamren exhaled slowly, wearied by waiting. He downed the last of his drink and stood.

“We go to her.” he said firmly. “She’s at the building she shares with Grenar tonight. We’ll find her there.”

Tarsen looked doubtful. “She might reject us harder than before.”

“And you’ll give up on Sasha?” Tamren shot back. “Are you truly ready to give up on her? Not the Sasha we used to know but this one, this version of her that finally fits all of us. Perfectly. Like she was made for us.”

Tarsen, blushing now, shook his head. He couldn’t disagree.

Tamren nodded. “Then let’s go see her and show her just what she’d be giving up if she walks away from us. Maybe she’ll leave behind a tiny piece of herself. That’s still more than we’ve had so far. I don’t know about you, but I’ll be damned if I let my woman slip away. I just… don’t know how to live without her.”

They left the square, determination burning in their steps, like moths chasing a flame they knew would burn them but might still warm them for a moment.

*** [Sexual Content ahead]

Sylia was finally enjoying a moment of peace. Pullina was asleep, safely tucked away in another apartment, and the new Kullen was resting under a sweet-dream spell she had personally cast. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.

She had begun dispatching some of her Divisions to visit a few of her overeager boyfriends. They deserved a bit of attention, and since she was in such a generous mood, she had added a few extra services—special dishes, carefully chosen entertainment. Even those she was not visiting tonight were not forgotten. After all, life wasn’t just about sex.

Tonight, though, she indulged herself. Glirek Syrendor lay beside her—a recent indulgence, grandson of Tamren Syrmundi and son of her former lover Banten Syrmundi. The latter had drifted away years ago, lost to his own tangled mess of wives. He was happy, and that was all that mattered. She hadn’t even liked him that much to care.

However Glirek? Glirek was different. She was with him for a reason. The boy had begun circling the edge of ruin, entangled with several young women whose influence she found concerning. One in particular posed the greatest threat to him. His main girlfriend, the one he seemed to be most drawn to, and the one most likely to lead him to self-destruction. Still, the others were no better, all distractions pulling him further from what little future he might still salvage.

She couldn’t save him. Not entirely. Some souls simply inched toward their own endings, no matter who intervened. Still, she could delay it. A little longer.

The boy—barely an emancipated adult at fifteen, just five months past—hadn’t been hard to seduce. He might have been way over eighteen years in Civil Calendar but he was still a bit immature. Sylia preferred men in their fifties or forties.

Glirek had spent most of his life in the city, rarely visiting his extended family in the Capital. Maybe that was why he’d fallen in the Slums so quickly. Or maybe it had been the fallout from his half-brother turning rotten, and his mother taking her own life. Either way, he was lucky to have been stationed near the Slums’ edge, where the air still carried a trace of Gentry civility. Still, he hadn’t adapted. That much was obvious from the suit—far too expensive, far too formal even for Gentry. Likely one of those awful gifts from his aunt, meant to impress that new girlfriend from the Controlled Gentry Districts. It had almost cost him his life. Just an hour ago, he’d nearly died because of it. If not for one of her Summons, he’d be bleeding out in a gutter. Given that, a little “thanks” as he called it seemed natural. She hadn’t needed to coax him into anything. He was ready and willing. She hadn’t expected anything less. However, after all that time with other women, his technique was still lacking. She almost wondered if he didn’t deserve that quick, stupid end after all.

Sylia was in the middle of directing Glirek through yet another clumsy kiss when that smooth voice reached her ears—a voice that still managed to send a chill down her spine. That voice had always done more to her than any of the boy’s fumbling efforts ever could. Not that she intended to show it.

The voice echoed through the small room they were using, sharp enough to make Glirek’s head jerk up in fright.

Tamren stood in the doorway, gaze cast down on the scene he had all but predicted.

“I see you were busy… with someone else.”

Sylia shot back without missing a beat, voice sharp and defensive.

“I was going to send you a Division! I just didn’t want you boys to miss out on tonight’s entertainment. There are fireworks.”

Tamren didn’t flinch.

“I’d rather have this version. Fireworks be damned.”

Sylia glowered. She was well aware of how incriminating the scene must have looked. She had just been kissing Tamren’s grandson.

He crossed the distance to the bed with purposeful strides, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled beside her.

“Can you stop harassing the kid? Glirek, get out.” Tamren’s voice was low, almost amused.

The young man nodded and slipped away ashamed.

Sylia didn’t miss a beat. “I was doing him a favor. He might actually learn something useful.”

Tamren gave a short huff. “Maybe, like Banten, he’s just better off with his girlfriend. You lured him in with Glisro and then left that poor thing stranded in the other room.”

“Hardly.” she replied coolly. “He’s writing letters of apology. Very touching ones, too.”

“I saw that.” Tamren muttered. “He looked ready to cry, surrounded by those Summons you unleashed on him.”

Sylia’s smile curled at the edges. “You don’t understand the situation. Not really. If he’d stayed with me, he might’ve truly enjoyed what I had in mind—with Kadrin.”

Tamren’s tone shifted, sharpened. “Kadrin?”

“Yes.” Sylia said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “He’s in the other room. With one of my Sub-Servial servants learning how to perform properly.”

Tamren’s hands slid down with no warning, gripping her backside firmly. Sylia gasped, caught off guard but not displeased. She heard his low chuckle just before and again after he pressed a few slow, deliberate kisses over her skin.

The Mana compatibility had already done its work. Her body was pulsing with overflow—too much energy, too much sensation. She could feel her wombs leak, subtly at first, then undeniably. Her new form wasn’t used yet to hold that much sensation and Mana feedback. Warm trails had already begun to soak the sheets beneath them. And Tamren had, of course, noticed.

“My, my.” he drawled. “You’ve been working on a new body like you promised. But why this size? Looks more like Sasha’s. Maybe even smaller. I’d expected you to go for something closer to Sanae’s willowy build. Maybe even older like Sasha’s body.”

Tamren sighed and gave her a firm squeeze, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. Her body trembled, already reacting to the touch, to the inevitable. She could feel it—pressure building, her magic misfiring with each pulse of sensation. Her form, newly reshaped and honed for this purpose, was straining to contain it all. He knew exactly how to undo her.

Without a word, he lowered his head and began to explore her with practiced intent. Her breath hitched. That alone tipped her over the edge—a release she’d been holding back for some time, frustration mixing with need.

However, Tamren didn’t give her space to recover. He was already pushing further, fingers finding their way with maddening precision, coaxing her open in more ways than one. She cursed the layered intricacy of her form—having multiple wombs and thus multiple centers of pleasure and pain, all vulnerable under his touch. He toyed with her, savoring the way she clenched under him.

All she heard between her own cries was his voice, sharp and dismissive, sending the boy away again without ceremony.

His grip tightened, the rhythm building. One moment, he teased; the next, he overwhelmed. She barely registered the moment he replaced fingers with something far more commanding. Her mind blurred as he claimed her, methodically, one leaking opening at a time. Her rear was filled last making her gasp as he proceeded it to give it to her just the way she liked.

It took her a long while to stop feeling and start thinking again. Tamren’s rhythm, his touch—everything had carried a desperation she hadn’t expected. He had been on edge, driven by something more than just lust. She had teased him too far this time. And yet, it pleased her. After all these decades, he still sought her with that same raw intensity, never fully questioning her motives, never turning away. So predictably cute. So stubbornly hers.

Sylia lay sprawled on her back, legs parted as Tamren adjusted his position between them. He was already hard again, though not quite as engorged as before. The raw surge of Mana had receded, and with it, that almost overwhelming physical dominance. He was holding back this time, she knew. Teasing her with restraint, coaxing her to beg. He always liked it when she asked.

By now, she understood his need for control and she didn’t mind it one bit. She admired a man with a spine. A weaker one wouldn’t have lasted a year in the Capital, let alone thrived. Not with his bloodline.

She tilted her head, breath still shaky. Then murmured. “Please. Wait.”

Tamren paused, his brow lifting with deliberate calm. “What is it? You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

Sylia responded slowly and deliberately. “I wasn’t looking for pleasure with Glirek.”

His brow rose. A sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You could have fooled me.”

Without another word, he flipped her over with practiced ease, pressing her down. He pushed forward, claiming her again in one fluid motion, and she could do nothing but brace herself. Her body responded immediately, the sudden pressure and rhythm overwhelming her senses once again. Her muscles clenched, trembling. She gasped. He knew her body too well. Knew how little teasing it took to unravel her completely. Just a brush at the right place—his hands, his fingers, his lips, the heat of his breath—was enough to send her spiraling.

Her moans climbed rapidly, each wave cresting into the next, until her thoughts blurred again. She came more than once, her body surrendering to the rhythm and familiarity, the unbearable sensitivity that now accompanied his touch.

However, even as the sensations crested, she realized something was wrong. Her body wasn’t balancing. Not this time.

Tamren’s voice came low, almost a murmur against the rising tension in the air. “Sylia… do you need to divide again, baby? You’re losing control. The others are here—or nearly here. Send some Divisions to handle them.”

Sylia, trembling, gave a sharp nod. With a flick of her fingers and a pulse of will, multiple versions of herself shimmered into being. They vanished quickly, dispatched to greet Glentak Syrmundi and the handful of Tamren’s relatives who had already arrived at the apartment.

She exhaled, breath ragged. “Will you listen to me now?”

“I will.” Tamren answered, pulling her closer. “But we need a bigger room. The way you are now…” His gaze swept over her flushed form. “We might need help just managing you. Why compress so much power?”

“To hold her off.” she said quietly. “Maybe I overdid it. Or maybe you did.”

Tamren lifted her with careful strength, coaxing her legs around his waist. She flinched slightly as her stomach brushed against him, raw mana flickering like sparks between their skin.

“I’m leaking too much Darkling and Lighling Mana.” she murmured, pushing lightly against his chest. “Your body, starting with that part, is responding to it too strongly.”

He smirked faintly, adjusted his hold, but instead of heading toward the door, turned toward the nearest wall and pressed her gently back against it. Her eyes widened, a breath caught in her throat as the motion reignited the Mana tension between them. With careful gentleness, he entered her again. She gasped as her body stretched with the contact, her legs elongating as her magic surged through her, reshaping her body.

The transformation wasn’t just physical. It was layered in power, layered in memory of him. Fully adapting to him.

Her body trembled, stretching between one self and the next, a Divinity barely held in flesh. Against the cool surface of the wall, Sylia wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her breath shallow. The pressure of everything—her leaking power, his anchoring grip, the flood of compressed magic—coiled between them like a storm.

Cradled in Tamren’s arms, Sylia let herself forget if only for a moment the weight of her mission, the dangers pressing in from every side. For that fleeting instant, she allowed herself to feel, to hope, and to imagine a gentler future for them all.