The soft light of the lantern reflected off the stone walls of Vem Arson's room. The space was modest but worn, with wooden beams on the ceiling and shelves cluttered with old scrolls and forgotten artifacts.
His bed, a simple frame draped with a thick fur blanket, stood against the far wall. On a low table nearby lay tools, vials of oils, and ointments. Above the fireplace, where embers from an old fire still smoldered, hung a tapestry depicting planets and stars swirling in a cosmic dance. The entire room held a palpable air of isolation, as though the weight of Vem's responsibilities had seeped into the stones themselves.
In the center of the room, hunched over his sword, sat Vem, his brow furrowed with concentration. The celestial blade lay in his lap, its once-lustrous surface now marred with deep gouges from the battle with the monster in the volcano.
He dipped a cloth into a bottle of thick oil and slowly ran it along the length of the sword, his movements deliberate. The oil gleamed in the lantern's light, absorbing into the damaged metal, restoring some of its lost brilliance.
Yet, despite the blade's gradual recovery, the memories of battle lingered in his mind, the flash of teeth, the creature's roar, and the desperate cries of the fallen angel he had saved. But tonight, it wasn't just the battle that weighed heavily on him.
As Vem wiped the blade, his gaze drifted toward the bed. Beneath the pillow, barely visible, lay a folded letter written in unmistakably feminine handwriting. The parchment was worn, its edges uneven as if hastily torn from a journal. A faint scent of lavender clung to it, and the elegant script on the front was familiar.
Hesitating briefly, Vem set the sword aside. Carefully, he pulled the letter from under the pillow and unfolded it. There were tiny claw marks punctured into the paper and he instantly knew it was Pilor who put the letter under his pillow.
The handwriting belonged to Yulia, one of the fallen angels imprisoned in the dungeons below. She had always been different, quieter, more introspective. Vem had rescued her, finding her trapped beneath a massive boulder, her leg shattered, her face bloodied. Though he saved her that day, it came at a cost. Her leg had to be amputated, and while the healers worked tirelessly to aid her recovery, the process was long and excruciating.
He had given her paper and pens to occupy her mind, hoping they might distract her from the physical pain. He hadn't expected her to begin writing to him.
Vem unfolded the letter entirely, his heartbeat quickening as he began to read.
Vem,
Tonight, I gazed at the moon. It's full, glowing, as if calling out to me. I can't remember the last time I saw it so clearly, and I wish I were out there beneath the open sky rather than trapped behind these cold stone walls. Have you ever felt it? The pull of the moon? It's as though it's trying to remind us of something we've lost.
I miss it, Vem. I miss how the world used to be before I fell, before everything went wrong. Before you had to save me. And I know I should be grateful, every day I remind myself that I wouldn't be here if you hadn't pulled me from beneath that rock. But… I still feel it, the stump where my leg used to be. It hurts every night, as though the pain is dragging me back to that moment when everything was darkness. It's hard to walk now. They've given me a crutch, and the healers say I'm healing well. But that doesn't change what I've lost.
I'm sorry to burden you with this. I know it isn't fair to ask for your attention when you have so many others to save. But I feel lost. And I fear that within these dungeons—neither truly free nor entirely imprisoned, I will never find myself again.
Yulia
Vem set the letter down, his hand trembling slightly. Yulia's words carried a quiet sorrow, a longing for the life she had lost, and a pain she still bore. He had known the fallen angels suffered in their confinement, but Yulia's suffering was more personal, more deeply etched.
The dungeons, though intended to contain their bodies, seemed to imprison their minds as well. The cells were cold, damp, the iron bars thick and unyielding, while the narrow windows allowed only the faintest traces of light to seep through. The air smelled of mold, and the clinking of chains dragging across stone echoed through the halls.
Yulia's letter had touched him in ways he hadn't expected. He had given her the pens and paper as a means of distraction, but now they seemed like a lifeline, an unseen connection between them. He often thought of her, how she hobbled through the narrow corridors, each slow, deliberate step punctuated by the sound of her crutch. He couldn't forget the way she had looked at him when he saved her, eyes filled with both gratitude and sorrow
Then, a shiver ran down his spine.
He had always suspected that something darker lurked behind the walls of Cevastein. The mysterious disappearance of Loiva, Lord Uwell's sister, years ago remained an open wound in the kingdom's history.
His hand trembled as he turned the letter over, a deep instinct compelling him to look further. Scrawled hastily across the back in uneven strokes were words that froze his blood.
"It's the Succubus. I saw her. She's returned! Lord, oh Lord, we are all her prey!"
Vem's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. The Succubus. A name whispered in the darkest corners of Cevastein, a creature believed to be nothing more than a myth, a tale used to scare disobedient children. But the terror that now gripped him was far too real.