The group moved through the wreckage of what was once the Duke's grand estate. Flames danced on the remnants of walls, their heat licking at the night air. Soldiers stood back, their heads bowed, eyes averted, too terrified to intervene. Noir and his companions passed through the ruins as shadows, leaving silence in their wake.
Zuka staggered, his steps unsteady. The toll of his drained mana was visible in his pale face and the trembling of his limbs. Elyndris, too, moved sluggishly, the aftermath of their ordeal etched into his usually proud stance. Kiaren, noticing Zuka's condition, slowed his pace and raised a hand.
"Summoning: Ascend, Great White Wolf, Kira!"
From the darkness emerged a towering white wolf, majestic and ethereal, its silver fur glowing faintly in the dim light. The beast exuded a presence both calming and sorrowful, as though it carried the burdens of ancient grief. It lowered itself obediently, allowing Zuka and Elyndris to climb onto its back. Zuka leaned heavily against the wolf's soft fur, his gaze turning skyward.
The stars stretched endlessly above them, distant and unchanging. He began counting them silently, finding a strange comfort in their steady light. Elyndris, though weakened, insisted on keeping watch, his eyes scanning the horizon with quiet vigilance.
Some of the former slaves, freed from their chains, chose to dismount from the five-tailed black wolf that had carried them and walk alongside the group. Their steps were tentative, as if the earth itself felt foreign beneath their feet. They cast uncertain glances at Noir, the one who had freed them, their expressions a mixture of awe and wariness.
Kiaren walked ahead of the group, his sharp eyes watching the path before them. Though his steps were steady, his thoughts lingered on the destruction they had left behind. Victory had come, but it was a fragile, solemn thing.
From somewhere within the group, music began to rise. Segun had materialized a metal flute and played a hauntingly beautiful melody that wove through the air like an ancient spell. The tune, deeply rooted in Naijirian tradition, carried a sense of longing and hope.
Then, unexpectedly, the girl Noir had rescued earlier began to sing. Her voice, clear and angelic, intertwined with the flute's melody in perfect harmony. It was as though her very soul was pouring out through the song, transforming the sorrow of their journey into something almost sacred.
Noir's gaze shifted to her, drawn to the sound. He couldn't look away. There was something otherworldly about her—a lightness that contrasted sharply with the weight of the darkness surrounding them. Her voice stirred something within him, a rare sensation he couldn't name.
She noticed his stare and faltered, her gaze meeting his. There was no mistaking the fear and uncertainty in her eyes, but beneath it lay a glimmer of something else—curiosity, perhaps even trust.
Noir slowed his pace, allowing her to draw even with him. "You don't have to walk behind me," he said, his voice softer than usual.
Her expression shifted, surprise flickering across her face. "Thank you… sir," she replied hesitantly.
"No sirs," he said with a faint chuckle. "You're free now. The weight of servitude has no place here. Think of me as a friend—or at least something close to one."
She smiled, a small but genuine gesture. "What should I call you, then?"
"Noir will do," he replied. "Though I've been called other names."
"Other names?" she asked, tilting her head. "Like what?"
"Yves. Trevor. Jace. Many others," he said with a smirk.
Her smile grew. "Yves," she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. "I like that one. Can I call you Yves?"
He nodded, amused by her enthusiasm. "If you wish."
"What's your name?" he asked after a moment.
Her expression faltered, and she looked down. "I don't have one," she admitted. "I was never given one. Slaves don't have names."
Her words struck him harder than he expected. For a moment, his usual mask slipped, and a flicker of anger crossed his face. "Then let me give you one," he said, his tone firm.
Her eyes widened, hope and disbelief mingling in her gaze. "You'd do that… for me?"
"It's just a name," he replied, though his voice carried an unusual warmth.
Segun, who had been walking nearby, spoke up. "If I may, my lord," he said with a bow.
Noir gestured for him to continue.
"In Naijirian culture, a name is a sacred gift," Segun explained. "It's why she has none. To her, a name is not just a word—it's identity, belonging. That's why she's so excited. Even though she's not naijirian she's been raised surrounded by the culture"
Noir nodded slowly, his gaze returning to her. "Then it's long overdue," he said. "I'll name you Kimberly. A name of elegance and beauty. It suits you."
Her face lit up, a smile spreading across her lips. "Kimberly," she repeated softly. "I love it."
From atop the wolf, Zuka chuckled. "We might have to plan a wedding soon," he teased.
Elyndris groaned, his voice heavy with irritation. "I just want to go home. I've seen enough of him for one day. I must be the unluckiest summon alive."
Noir turned and shot them both a playful glare. "I'll have you executed for your insolence," he said dryly, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Kimberly giggled, her newfound lightness lifting the mood of the group as they continued on their way.
The group pressed forward, the night deepened around them. The weight of destruction lingered in the air, but a sense of quiet victory softened its edges. The stars above gleamed, casting their faint light upon the weary travelers. Noir walked alongside Kimberly, his crimson gaze flickering toward her occasionally. There was something about her that tugged at the edge of his curiosity.
"You are… unique," he said at last, breaking the silence. His tone was cool, and measured, as though he were studying a rare artifact. "Scales like a Dragonoid, horns like a demon, silver skin like a Seraphian. And your aura... dark, almost like Sebastien's. Its... Legion."
Kimberly hesitated, her steps faltering slightly. She looked down, as though gathering her thoughts, before meeting his gaze. "I am… a mix of four races," she said slowly. "Seraphian, Dragonoid, Demon, and Legion."
Noir's brow arched slightly, though his expression remained composed. "A mix like that doesn't happen by chance. Tell me, Kimberly—do you remember anything about your parents?"
Her gaze dropped again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not much," she admitted. "I was very young when I was taken. I don't even know if they're alive or dead. All I remember is… warmth. My mother's voice, my father's strength. But their faces…" She shook her head, frustration flickering across her features. "They're just shadows now."
Noir's gaze softened, though his tone remained detached. "A fragmented past," he said quietly. "It's a heavy burden to carry."
She nodded, her expression distant. "It's all I have. The rest is just… stories. Fragments of what others told me. They said my lineage made me valuable, but no one ever explained why."
From nearby, Segun, who had been listening in silence, lowered his flute and approached. "If I may, my lord," he interjected, bowing slightly toward Noir. "The fact that she carries a covenant with Elegua may hold the answer."
Noir turned to him, his expression sharp with interest. "Elegua," he repeated. "The Path Maker. Segun, what do you know of him?"
Segun nodded, his tone reverent. "Elegua is one of Naij's most revered gods. He is the opener of paths, the guardian of crossroads. Every ritual begins with him, every journey calls upon his blessing. To be bound to him… it is no small thing. He must have seen something in Kimberly, something that aligns with his will."
Noir turned back to Kimberly, his crimson gaze piercing. "Quite a heritage," he said. "A Seraphian, a Dragonoid, and ties to Demon and Legion blood. That kind of lineage doesn't just happen. Do you know anything more?"
Kimberly hesitated, her expression troubled. "Only fragments," she said. "They told me my blood made me… special. But I don't know why. I've heard whispers that one of my parents might have been connected to a royal bloodline, but… it could all just be lies. Something to keep me under control."
Noir studied her carefully, his expression unreadable. "A royal bloodline, possibly," he mused. "Or something even more complicated. Bloodlines like yours… they don't form without purpose. Someone, somewhere, saw a reason for this."
From atop the great white wolf, Zuka listened in silence, his golden eyes narrowing thoughtfully. He leaned back against the wolf's fur, his mind turning over the implications. "A mix like hers would have been nearly impossible under normal circumstances," he said finally. "Dragonoid and Seraphian bloodlines are sacred, guarded fiercely. And Legion… that's not a race anyone mixes with lightly."
Noir's gaze flicked upward, meeting his brother's. "You're saying it wasn't natural?"
"I'm saying," Zuka replied, his tone cautious, "that there's more to her story than she knows. If vampires were involved, they may have been feeding her half-truths, building a narrative for their own purposes. Her lineage might not be what she's been told at all."
Kimberly's fists clenched at her sides, her voice trembling. "Then what am I supposed to believe?"
Noir's gaze softened slightly, though his voice remained calm. "Believe what you know," he said. "You're here. You're alive. And whatever your bloodline may be, it's only a part of who you are."
She looked up at him, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you," she said softly.
Segun, sensing the weight of the moment, stepped back and resumed playing his flute. The haunting melody filled the air once more, wrapping around the group like a protective veil.
Zuka let out a quiet sigh from his perch. "You always manage to say the right thing, brother," he said dryly. "It's almost irritating."
Noir glanced up at him, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I aim to please," he replied coolly.
The group continued on, the conversation fading into the night. Kimberly walked a little closer to Noir, her steps lighter than before. Though her past was a labyrinth of uncertainties, she felt a strange sense of security in his presence—a sense that, whatever lay ahead, she wouldn't face it alone.
As the group continued through the thick forest, the air grew heavier, the trees seeming to close in around them. Eventually, they reached the entrance of a cavern concealed by shadows and ancient vines. Kaizen emerged from the darkness, bowing silently to Noir, his ever-watchful presence offering a sense of order amid the chaos.
"Ready the supplies and the men," Noir said, his tone low and firm. "We leave at once."
Kaizen gave a quick nod and vanished back into the shadows.
Zuka, his exhaustion evident in his pallor and unsteady breathing. "I can manage one more teleportation," he said, his voice strained. "But I'll need everything gathered in one place."
The soldiers moved swiftly, their efficiency a testament to their discipline. Supplies were packed, and the group assembled. Zuka raised a trembling hand, muttering softly, "Light Magic: Light Teleportation."
A radiant glow enveloped them, and in a flash of light, the world around them shifted.
They reappeared in the Forest of Nate, the serene surroundings a stark contrast to the tension of their journey. The refugees Zuka had hidden there looked up in surprise, their faces lighting up with relief at the sight of their protectors.
But the moment was short-lived as Zuka collapsed to his knees, his body shaking violently. A harsh cough wracked him, and blood stained the ground beneath him. His breathing came in shallow, labored gasps.
"Zuka" Noir's voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness. He moved to his brother's side with a swiftness that belied his usual composed demeanor.
A faint, purple glow emanated from Noir's hands as he placed them firmly on Zuka's shoulders. The energy pulsed softly, spreading warmth and light through Zuka's body. His breathing steadied, and the color began to return to his face, though he still looked pale.
"You're pushing yourself too hard," Noir said, his tone cold but laced with a subtle care. "You're no use to me if you are dead."
Zuka gave a weak laugh, leaning back against the tree. "I'll make sure to tell my body that next time."
Noir stood, brushing his hands off as if shaking away the remnants of strain. He turned to Elyndris, who had been quietly observing the exchange. "You've done enough. Go back home."
The high elf nodded, his expression calm but weary. "I will answer if you call again, but I hope you don't." With a soft shimmer of light, he vanished, leaving behind only a faint trace of his energy.
Noir turned his attention to the gathered captives. Kaizen, efficient as always, had already begun organizing them into groups, ensuring they had shelter and supplies. The freed slaves, though shaken, seemed to find comfort in the forest's quiet sanctuary.
With the preparations complete, Noir gestured for Zuka, Kimberly, Segun, and Kiaren to gather. "Stay close," he said, his voice steady.
Dark shadows coiled around them, rising like living tendrils from the ground. The energy was cold, yet it felt protective, as if it were a part of Noir himself. Within moments, the group was lifted into the air, the landscape below blurring into an indistinct tapestry of greens and browns.
Zuka, leaning heavily on the shadows, shot Noir a tired glare. "You mean to tell me you just let me stress myself?" he muttered, his voice tinged with annoyance.
Noir smirked faintly. "Consider it a lesson in humility."
Zuka groaned, resting his head back against the swirling darkness. "Fuck you"
Noir's only response was a low chuckle, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement.
The grand capital city came into view, its golden spires gleaming faintly in the moonlight. The shadows carried the group gracefully toward Zuka's residence, weaving through the air with eerie precision.
They descended through the open window of Zuka's chambers, the shadows dissipating as their feet touched the polished marble floor.