Daelan's POV
My heart is racing—a relentless, pounding rhythm in my chest that refuses to calm.
I've fought for my life in dungeons, faced monsters, and survived the hell that was Sector Z, but nothing—nothing—compares to the anxiety gripping me now.
The moment we crossed into Sector A, I felt it.
The shift in energy.
The thickness of mana in the air, almost suffocating in its intensity. It's double what it was in Sector B, concentrated, powerful—a hum of raw, untamed energy that only exists where the strongest of humanity reside.
This is the heart of the fortress.
Sector A.
A place reserved for humanity's elite—their strongest hunters, their wealthiest leaders, their untouchable rulers.
And I'm here.
I don't belong here.
I clench and unclench my fists, my palms cold and damp with sweat. A sick, twisted part of me almost wishes we could turn back.
What if she's angry that I made her wait this long?
What if she's lost interest?
What if she just sends me back—back to the filth and struggle of Sector Z, back to fighting for every meal, every breath, every ounce of survival?
Or worse—
What if she kills me?
I take a slow breath, but it's useless. The fear sinks into my bones, heavy and impossible to shake.
"Relax," Viper mutters beside me with a lazy yawn, as if we're not on the doorstep of my potential execution.
Easy for him to say.
He's comfortable here—in this world of power and privilege. He belongs in this sector.
I don't.
The car pulls into a massive courtyard, the sheer size of it making my stomach tighten. The estate—if you could even call it that—is swarming with guards. They move in tight, calculated formations, eyes sharp, weapons within reach.
B-class hunters. All of them.
In Sector Z, just one B-class hunter could command a small gang, hold power over entire blocks of desperate people.
Here?
They're just guards.
The building itself is imposing, a masterpiece of modern design, its edges sleek, its lights glowing softly in the night. The mana-infused energy hums through the air, vibrating against my skin.
And I can't believe this is a house.
The car glides forward, smooth and effortless, until the massive iron gates open to allow us entry. We roll inside, and at the exact center of the courtyard, the car comes to a slow, controlled stop.
Viper steps out first.
I hesitate.
Then I follow.
The second my boots hit the immaculate stone pavement, the car drives off, disappearing into the darkness of the night.
I feel small, standing here.
Everything about this place is too much—too big, too clean, too silent, too perfect.
Viper checks his phone, his lips twitching into something between amusement and resignation.
"3 AM," he mutters. "Dammit. She's so grumpy when sleep-deprived."
I barely register his words.
I'm still caught in the weight of this moment.
"Well, let's go," he says, stretching like this is just another day. He strides forward, up the elegant stone steps, completely unfazed by the watchful eyes of the guards stationed on either side of the entrance.
I force myself to follow.
Everywhere I look, I see security—hunters with mana-infused weapons, their eyes sharp, their presence heavy.
Isn't Sector A supposed to be the safest place in the fortress?
Why does this place feel more fortified than a war zone?
A few guards nod at Viper as we pass, acknowledging him.
And then—
The massive double doors open.
Viper stops at the threshold but makes no move to enter.
I turn to him, confused.
He smirks. "You're the sacrificial lamb here, buddy. Just walk straight ahead."
And just like that—he's abandoning me.
Typical.
I steel myself, forcing down every last shred of hesitation, and step forward.
The doors close behind me, sealing with a soft, almost final sound.
Symbolic, really.
I exhale, adjusting the collar of my jacket. My boots feel too loud against the pristine flooring, each step echoing faintly in the open space.
The interior is breathtaking—modern, sleek, yet undeniably luxurious. The open space flows seamlessly, bathed in soft lighting, the ceiling stretching high above me.
And then—
I see it.
Or rather—I see her.
Not directly.
A massive chandelier blocks most of my line of sight, but I catch glimpses—something red, silk, a delicate hand resting against the balcony railing.
And then—her voice.
"The nerve of you, Benjamin, to keep me waiting so long."
The air chills instantly.
But that voice.
That voice is everything.
It washes over me like honey, smooth and sultry, with a hint of something sharp hidden beneath—commanding, powerful, unmistakably feminine.
And it's beautiful.
A voice that lingers, that settles into the deepest parts of my mind, that makes something in my chest tighten in a way I don't understand.
My stomach tightens.
I want to hear it again.
"Well?" she says, amusement lacing every syllable. "Why are you hiding over there?"
The words slither over me, and suddenly—my feet move before I can stop them.
As if hypnotized.
As if I have no will of my own.
I step forward, drawn in like a man walking toward his fate.
And then—I see her.
I freeze.
Goddess.
That's the only word that makes sense.
She stands above me, leaning against the balcony railing, the soft glow of the chandelier casting flickering golden light across her form.
Her raven-black hair spills down her shoulders in loose waves, the silk robe draped over her frame clinging like a second skin, flowing around her like liquid fire.
And then—her eyes.
They meet mine, and the world tilts.
I've never seen the ocean, never felt its endless depth, its power, its pull.
But I know—
Her eyes are what the ocean must look like.
A deep, mesmerizing blue, sharp and knowing, holding the weight of something ancient, something dangerous, something inescapable.
I forget to breathe.
She tilts her head slightly, watching me with silent amusement, her lips curving just barely, as if she knows exactly what kind of effect she has.
And just like that, I know.
I am so incredibly fucked.