Ada had been everything Auden ever wanted to be -- strong, brave, and unshakably confident in the face of chaos. As a big sister, she had been his guiding star, the one who knew how to handle every situation with grace, even when their world seemed to spin out of control.

He remembered how she always stood up for him when others sneered at his soft-spoken nature and his gentle demeanour. He wasn't like the other heirs-he didn't have their coldness or their hunger for power.

People would question his strength, mock him for not being "manly" enough. He cried when he was hurt, laughed heartily when he was happy, and didn't hide his emotions behind the stoic mask they all seemed to wear. For some, it was a sign of weakness. They couldn't understand how a boy like him-someone who refused to harm even a fly-could ever be the Heir to the Romersai. To them, his kindness was a flaw. But Ada had never seen it that way. She saw his heart for what it truly was: a strength most people couldn't comprehend.

He missed her terribly when she was expelled. It was as if a vital piece of his soul had been ripped away. He had gotten so angry at her for falling into the guilt trap that the Romersai elders had set for her. She was so much stronger than that, stronger than anyone he had ever known.

And yet, she had been cast out, forced to carry the blame for things that weren't hers to bear. Auden had cried so much back then. Pretty much every night, his mind tortured by the absence of the one person who had always made him feel safe.

He knew the truth of the Romersai clan better than anyone. They weren't the pure, soft clouds and rainbows that they projected to the outside world. Perhaps they had been once, long ago during Aku Romersai's reign, but that was centuries in the past.

Now, the descendants of that bloodline-and the three children Aku had adopted-had turned inward, fighting over power, influence, and the right to control the clan. It wasn't done with fists or weapons, though. It was done with words, sneers, rumours, and cruel punishments. Subtle, cutting. Deadly in their quiet way.

Auden had been spared some of that venom because of his pureborn status. Sea, however, hadn't been so lucky. She wasn't pureborn, and that made her a target. That was why no one ever knew about them-about him and Sea. Romersai wouldn't have accepted it. And in their eyes, Sea was a danger simply for existing.

If it had been a different time, a different world, things might have been different. Maybe he wouldn't have been trapped in this endless cycle of duty and deception. Maybe Ada wouldn't have been expelled. Maybe the Romersai wouldn't have collapsed under their own weight.

But there was one thing Auden didn't regret. He never wished Aku Romersai hadn't adopted those two sons and that daughter because, if he hadn't, Auden never would have met Sea. And that thought was enough to quiet the bitterness in his heart, even if just for a moment.

Sunk in thought he walked backed through the sanctum, his eyes scanning the dimly lit corridors as alert as ever. He expected the Pasuzu to be waiting for him near the pyre, exactly where he had left the ominous creature. The thing had been following him around like a shadow, sticking closer to him than his own had ever managed. Auden couldn't blame it. It didn't want to be near himself either. But Pazuzu was bound to him by duty, not by choice.

He turned down the final stretch of walkway that led to the pyre, the faint smell of ash and charred wood filling his nostrils. The rain had lightened to a drizzle, barely audible now over the quiet hum of the sanctum. As the familiar shape of the pyre came into view, he spotted Pazuzu lurking at its base, the creature's form barely visible in the mist. Its eyes glowed faintly, watching him with the same unnerving stillness it always held.

Auden approached slowly, his cloak brushing against the wet stone as he stepped closer. He didn't speak to Pazuzu; there was no need. The creature knew what was expected, just as much as Auden did.

Its gaze flicked briefly to the book tucked securely under his arm. But it didn't question him. Again there was no need. The only thing it was tasked to do was accompany the former Heir. Like a guard dog, though Auden felt it more like an annoying fly.

He sighed, looking down at Pazuzu. "Let's go," he muttered under his breath, half-expecting no response. The creature's eerie eyes blinked once, and that was enough.

Auden looked up at the pyre, its darkened wood standing solemn and cold under the gray sky. The weight of his past decisions pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he couldn't stop now. He had promises to keep. To Ada. To Sea. To himself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

By the time Auden reached Ocapa, the sky was washed with the hues of twilight. Unlike the bustling streets of Serenel, Ocapa was sparsely populated, its quiet streets untouched by the awareness of Crepesculem-a hidden world of magic orbiting just out of reach.

The townsfolk went about their lives, blissfully unaware of the mysteries and dangers lurking beyond their humble borders. Ocapa's citizens, mostly local, indigenous families, lived simple lives here, far removed from the chaos and urgency that filled Serenel.

It had taken Auden hours by bus to return, and now, as he looked around, the difference struck him. Where Serenel had towering skyscrapers, concrete bridges, and bustling traffic, Ocapa seemed frozen in time-a place slowly fading. The town was mostly woods, ancient trees clustered like silent sentries around open fields and winding trails, and everywhere he looked, there were statues.

These statues were hauntingly beautiful and strange, crafted with a reverence that seemed almost holy. Each one depicted the people of Ocapa in various stages of life: a woman bent over in prayer, a child with an arm raised as if to wave, an elder with hands outstretched as if calling someone home. They were carved from rough stone and polished with age, many cracked but still standing. The statues scattered throughout the town hinted at the town's sorrow-a tribute to those who had once lived, loved, and hoped for something better. A chilling reality lay beneath their beauty: no babies had been born here for years, and the few who still walked carried those who no longer could.

Ocapa was a place caught in the grip of decline, its remaining residents clinging to a rhythm and resilience that only deepened its melancholy charm. It seemed like an unlikely place for anyone to choose as a hideout, but perhaps that was why Gan Gagagore had come here. The town's silence was a perfect cloak, concealing secrets and shielding anyone who wanted to disappear into the shadows.

By now, he knew Ocapa like the back of his hand. It hadn't been too long but he was the brother of Great Mage Ada. He was quick, clever and somehow alive. He knew Ada was alright. He had heard from owls that she wasn't alone. That knowledge gave him some comfort, knowing his recklessness hadn't made her suffer too much for something she wasn't responsible for.

He'd pieced things up together during the time he spent chained to a rock wall like a piece of meat at the butcher. Gan Gagagore ruined Ada's life the same way he tried to ruin his. Once, he'd blamed Ada for everything: for what happened to her, to him, to their bond, to Crepesculum. But not anymore. The blame belonged solely to Gan -- that sickeningly cunning, narcissistic, egotistical snake. Auden felt painfully foolish for not giving Ada a chance to explain herself. If he had, maybe he could have prevented this disaster.

But now it was too late. He had become Gan's puppet, tossed and turned at his master's whim. And he knew what that meant: Gan would keep him close as long as he stayed useful, loyal, and silent. Auden would play along-for now. He didn't want to die, not yet. He swore on every sleepless night he spent caged, raging against that satanic beast, that if he was to go down, he'd drag Gan with him. For that, he'd have to stay close, stay loyal, stay useful-and stay silent.

"Is Gan coming home tonight?" Auden asked, glancing over his shoulder at Pazuzu, who trailed behind him like a shadow. The grotesque creature was the last companion he wanted, but he wasn't in a position to complain.

"No. Master will be out till dusk tomorrow."

"Mm... So, just the two of us tonight."

"Yes."

Auden sighed. "What do you want for dinner?"

Pazuzu's lips twisted into a grin. "I snacked on a human back in Crepesculum. I'm not hungry anymore."

Auden's eyes widened. "What? You fed on a mage?"

"Nah, not a mage," Pazuzu drawled. "Just some low-class servant."

"That's... not right," Auden said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Pazuzu sneered. "I don't care."

Silence fell between them. Auden looked away, unease tightening his chest. He wanted to voice his disgust but found himself unable. He hated this creature-despised every monstrous thing about it-but at least Pazuzu was still by his side.

Crepesculum, though... it had abandoned him completely. Not a single troop had come looking for their lost heir. It hurt him deeply to know that, to them, he'd been nothing more than a disposable asset.

Auden knew he'd need a better strategy. Sooner or later, he'd be nothing more than a disposable asset to the snake. Right now, Gan needed him to wield the Luna Pearl; it was a power too wild for the serpent to claim on his own. But eventually, Gan would find a way to bypass Auden entirely. That inevitability chilled him.

What amazed Auden, in a grim, bitter way, was how cunningly Gan had ensnared him. He hadn't barged into Auden's life with brute force-no, he'd crept in quietly, weaving his venom through the cracks of his mind. Slipping into his dreams, preying on his fears and deepest distress; Gan was in style of what malice he caused. Gan didn't need force to manipulate him. His whispered promises of strength, freedom, and protection; he played the long game, offering guidance to earn just enough trust to plant the seeds of betrayal.

He made Auden to set him free. When Auden did, he believed he'd found an ally, a guide to help him control the Luna Pearl and protect his sister. Looking back, Auden couldn't fathom how he'd been so blind. But that was the thing about loneliness-it hollowed you out, leaving room for darkness to creep in. And darkness, like the stinger of a scorpion, was deadly the moment you let it close.

Auden sighed as he quickened his pace, the Pasuzu trailing silently behind, effortlessly matching his stride. The path led them to an old, abandoned telephone booth, its red paint faded and peeling, encased in chains and padlocks that clung tightly around its frame. Beside it, a stone owl perched on a weathered concrete pillar, its gaze fixed forward as if guarding a secret.

Auden spared the statue a glance, then reached for the padlock. His fingers traced the keyhole with a practiced familiarity, and with a soft click, the lock surrendered. The chains fell away, pooling noisily at their feet. Turning back to the Pasuzu, he raised an eyebrow.

"You know the drill," the creature rasped, its grotesque mouth twisting into a jagged approximation of a grin. "After you."

Auden sighed again, resigned, and pushed open the booth door. He stepped inside and waited patiently, one hand resting on the frame as he cast an expectant look at the Pasuzu.

Just as the creature made to follow, a bolt of lightning split the air, striking the ground barely three feet away. The impact sent a deafening crack echoing through the twilight, the surrounding atmosphere electrified. Auden flinched, shielding his eyes from the sudden flare, as the twilight sky above them darkened unnaturally, a dense shadow bleeding across the heavens.

Both Auden and the Pasuzu tilted their heads in perfect sync, their gazes locking onto the ominous formation taking shape above. There was dark storm cloud forming --- alive and spiralling in a vortex that churned with unnatural force. Lightning crackled within, illuminating its chaotic depths.

Pasuzu's grotesque mouth stretched open in a guttural snarl as it stepped protectively in front of Auden, its long, sinewy arms spread wide as if to shield the former heir.

Peering over the creature's hunched shoulder, Auden's breath hitched. The swirling mass descending from the heavens wasn't a cloud at all.

Ravens.

It was Ravens.

Hundreds-no, thousands-of them. A writhing mass of black wings and beady eyes, descending in a cyclone of croaks and screeches. They moved as one, an unstoppable force of nature with malice painted in every frantic flap of their wings. The ground trembled beneath their sheer numbers, and the sky seemed to collapse under the weight of their descent.

Auden felt the chill of dread crawl down his spine. The crackling lightning reflected in their glossy feathers only made the storm seem more alive, more sinister. "What in the world..."

Pasuzu crouched, its guttural growl vibrating low in its throat, bracing for impact. "Stay behind me," it snarled, its elongated limbs casting shadows that twisted in the flickering light.

Auden didn't argue. His mind raced, but his body felt rooted, eyes fixed on the nightmare descending from above. Whatever this was, it wasn't natural.

It was coming for them.