Alyssara sat perched on the edge of a jagged cliff, her legs swinging lazily over the abyss as though gravity itself were beneath her notice. The golden light of the setting sun bathed her in warm hues, casting an almost ethereal glow around her pink hair, which she twirled idly between her fingers. Her new jade eyes gleamed like twin emeralds, catching the light and refracting it in curious, mesmerizing ways.
Behind her stood Selene Kagu, her grip tight on the glaive she carried like it was the only anchor in an otherwise untethered world. Her violet eyes, imbued with the Gift of God's Eyes, remained fixed on Alyssara, though they betrayed a conflict she could not quite conceal. The wind tugged at her silver hair, but her stance was rooted, her body tense, as if poised for a battle she knew she couldn't win.
"Regretful?" Alyssara's voice broke the stillness, soft yet cutting, her tone carrying a hint of mockery. She didn't bother to turn around, her gaze still fixed on the horizon where the sun sank lower, bleeding its colors into the sky. "It's alright to feel that way, you know. Not like it changes anything."
Selene's lips parted as though she might speak, but no sound came. Instead, she tightened her grip on the glaive, her knuckles white, her silence speaking volumes. Regret? Yes, that was one word for it. Regret, fear, and the ever-present sting of helplessness.
Alyssara chuckled, a sound that felt as if it danced dangerously close to the edge of madness. "Of course, you know that well, don't you? Knowing doesn't make it easier, though."
Selene's shoulders stiffened, her eyes narrowing as Alyssara's words struck too close to home. She didn't need a lecture, not from her.
Radiant-rank—the pinnacle of mortal power. A realm where only a select few had ever dared to tread, let alone flourish. Like every other rank, it had its levels: low, mid, high, and the theoretical peak. But here, at this stage, the gaps between levels were vast chasms, not mere steps. For most, even ascending to mid Radiant-rank was an impossible dream.
Over the centuries, there had been hundreds of Radiant-rank beings, their names etched into the annals of history. Yet fewer than ten had ever managed to reach mid Radiant-rank. And those who ascended higher? Only two—Liam Kagu, the legendary hero, and the enigmatic Heavenly Demon.
Until now.
Selene swallowed hard, her throat dry as her gaze swept over Alyssara's serene figure. The woman sitting so nonchalantly at the edge of the cliff was not merely another Radiant-rank being. She had shattered expectations, transcended limits. Alyssara Velcroix had risen to high Radiant-rank, an echelon so rare it bordered on myth. And in doing so, she had become something altogether terrifying.
Selene knew well the power of mid Radiant-rank. She had sparred against Magnus Draykar, the Martial King himself, who held that title with a level of mastery that made lesser Radiant-rankers seem insignificant. Magnus, who could overwhelm even her at the peak of low Radiant-rank with relative ease. His victories were never simple, but the gap between them was unmistakable.
But Alyssara?
Selene clenched her teeth, the weight of the realization pressing down on her like an unrelenting tide. Against Alyssara, she wouldn't stand a chance. Not alone. Not even close.
The thought burned in her chest, but she had to admit the truth. The only hope against Alyssara Velcroix would be to unite the strongest among them. She would need Mo Zenith, whose mastery over the plum blossom sword art had long been unrivaled. She would need Magnus Draykar, whose strength and skill defined the peak of humanity's current power.
Together, perhaps, they could contend with Alyssara. Perhaps.
Alyssara let out a contented sigh, breaking the silence again. She leaned back slightly, her face tilted toward the fading sunlight as if savoring the last moments of the day. "Beautiful, isn't it? The way the sun sets? Always makes me think of endings. Dramatic, really, but it fits."
Selene's fingers tightened around the glaive's shaft, the cool metal biting into her palm. "What are you planning, Alyssara?"
Finally, Alyssara turned her head, just enough for Selene to catch the faintest glimpse of her smile. It was a smile that didn't belong to someone human—something too knowing, too cruel, too... detached. "Wouldn't you like to know, dear Selene?"
The answer was maddening, but it was the smirk in Alyssara's violet eyes that truly unsettled Selene. As though she already knew the ending to a story that hadn't yet been written.
"I won't kill you," Alyssara said, her voice as soft and unyielding as silk pulled taut.
"Why?" Selene asked, her lips trembling despite her best efforts to steady them. The weight of Alyssara's presence pressed down on her, making it painfully clear just how fragile her life was in this moment.
"Your death serves no purpose to me," Alyssara replied with a faint smile, one that didn't reach her hauntingly violet eyes.
For a moment, Selene faltered, her knuckles white around the shaft of her glaive. Alyssara's casual dismissal of her life was almost worse than outright malice. Almost.
Alyssara Velcroix no longer harbored the same goals she once did. Once, she had been a puppet, the leader of the Red Chalice Cult, a marionette dancing to her father's desires, following the path he had meticulously carved for her. Her life had been a tapestry of blood, loyalty, and obedience, every thread woven to glorify the vampires.
But no longer.
Alyssara's lips quirked upward, not in amusement but in something closer to scorn—a quiet, cutting disdain for the vampires she had once been bound to. Their fervent devotion to the darkness, their whispered prayers to the Vampire Monarch, their endless schemes for domination… none of it mattered to her anymore. It was hollow. Beneath her.
She had outgrown them.
Her body had transcended the limitations of mortality and vampirism alike, becoming something greater, something unshackled by the constraints of her former self. She no longer required the contract that had once tethered her to Caladros von Noctis, the Vampire Monarch. She had consumed it, dissolved it, made it a part of herself in her relentless pursuit of evolution.
Now, her strength eclipsed even his.
So, what did Alyssara Velcroix want, if not to serve the vampires?
Her thoughts drifted, as they always did, to one name.
Arthur Nightingale.
Her violet eyes softened, the edges of her smirk fading into something that could almost be mistaken for fondness—though it was tinged with something far darker.
Arthur.
The name alone sent a ripple through her mind, stirring the fragments of memories that had returned to her with stunning clarity. Memories that weren't hers—or perhaps they were. It didn't matter. They told her everything she needed to know.
He was her Arthur.
Alyssara's gaze turned inward, distant as she pieced together the truth that had eluded her for so long. She understood now, even if the knowledge came with its own jagged edges.
She didn't deserve him—not yet.
But that was fine.
"I just need to make him stronger first," she murmured, the words barely audible, even to herself. Her fingers toyed with the crimson threads that flickered to life at her side, their delicate yet deadly forms dancing like restless spirits.
Arthur wasn't ready. Not yet. He was strong, yes—remarkably so for someone so young—but the Arthur she needed, the one she remembered, was a man who burned brighter than the sun, who wielded power that defied comprehension.
He needed to be filled with hatred. With rage. With purpose.
And she would give him those things.
When the time was right, when he had climbed to the peak of power, he would take his sword, his brilliant, resonating blade, and aim it at her heart. And they would clash. And in that final moment, one of them would break.
If he was strong enough, he would win. He would destroy her and go on to fulfill whatever grand purpose his life demanded of him.
But if he wasn't?
Her lips curled into a smile, darker this time, the violet glow of her eyes intensifying as she gazed toward the horizon. If Arthur failed, if he fell short, then he would belong to her. Entirely. Utterly. She would put him in her cage, and she would love him in her own twisted, unrelenting way.
But not yet.
Not yet.
For now, Alyssara would wait. She would watch him grow, nudge him toward the flames that would forge him, ensure he burned hot enough to scorch even her. She would let the world grind him down, let his pain and fury sharpen him into the weapon he was meant to be.
Because when the time came, when their paths finally collided, it would be glorious. And for Alyssara, that moment would be worth every breath she took between now and then.