[The Chamber of Scarlet Flames]
The room was quiet—too quiet. Laisa and Sarah sat in silence, their eyes locked on the flickering crimson flames dancing in the brazier. Suddenly, a black butterfly with glowing red veins fluttered through the air, its wings whispering with every flap.
Laisa stood, her expression tightening. "A Hell Butterfly... That means someone's passing a message."
Sarah extended her hand gracefully, and the butterfly landed on her palm. She closed her eyes. A cold, commanding voice echoed from the butterfly:
"Lady Sarah and Aria have been declared missing from the Royal Palace. Additionally, an unusual event has taken place. Lord Azreal has ordered all Pillars to remain at their respective gates and for all other operations to continue. He will handle the situation personally. That is all."
The message ended, and the butterfly vanished into embers.
Sarah opened her eyes.
Laisa crossed her arms. "What does it mean you and Aria are missing? And what's this unseen event Azreal is dealing with personally? Are you hiding something from me, Sarah?"
Sarah flipped her hair, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So many questions, Laisa. If I start answering them now, there won't be time to put our plan into motion. You do love Lord Azreal, don't you? We're doing this for him."
Laisa clenched her fan. "Of course I love him! I'd do anything for him, but—"
"But?" Sarah cut in sharply, her voice cold. "Where's that 'but' coming from? We're doing this for him. That's all."
Laisa hesitated. "I just don't think... Lord Azreal would approve of what we're planning."
Sarah's smile disappeared. Her gaze sharpened.
"Your love for him," she whispered in her mind, "that's the problem."
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Laisa asked, suddenly uneasy.
Before she could react, the flames flickered violently. A shadow danced across the walls—threads lunged out of the darkness, stabbing into her form. Laisa gasped, her mouth open in horror, but no words came. She collapsed.
A twisted laughter echoed through the chamber.
[The Confinement Layer – Below Hell]
Azreal stood tall, his long coat billowing as he faced the chained guards. His smirk held no kindness.
"You're doing all this for me?" He laughed bitterly. "No... don't mix your personal pleasure with your so-called loyalty."
His voice echoed like thunder in a cave.
"A revolution? Hell's revolution? No... this is your revolution."
He gently tapped one of the guards' faces.
Aria lay slumped, still bound. Her skin was pale, breathing weak.
Azreal approached slowly, his crimson eyes glowing.
With one motion, the chains burned away.
She fell forward, but he caught her.
He wrapped her in his robe and held her close.
"Sorry, Aria... I was late."
He turned, carrying her in his arms. As his footsteps echoed, he looked back at the guards.
"Oh... before I forget," he said softly, "you're all doing this for me, right?"
Black flames exploded from beneath them like a serpent's jaw, swallowing them whole.
Screams filled the chamber.
Azreal muttered one word:
The room was tense. All the Pillars were seated as Hell Butterflies vanished in smoke.
Malphas spoke first. "We've all heard the message. Time to return to our gates."
Selmora stretched. "Ugh... letting Lord Azreal handle something this interesting... such a shame. My body's itching for a good fight."
Veymar nodded. "I don't like sitting back either... but orders are orders."
Xaltheon's voice was calm. "If Lord Azreal wanted to do this alone, he has his reasons."
Dragos raised a brow. "Sarah and Aria missing, huh? But isn't Sarah a system? How can she go missing? And what was Aria even doing in the palace? She's suspected of having the Gods Mark. Isn't that dangerous?"
Malphas agreed. "True. That's why I didn't support sending her there in the first place. She could be a threat."
Selmora chuckled. "Isn't it strange that Lord Azreal himself allowed her in the palace? Not even Laisa has entered those doors."
Veymar interrupted. "That just proves he doesn't trust her. He wants to keep her close—where he can control the danger."
Xaltheon nodded. "I agree."
Dragos narrowed his eyes. "Xaltheon... you're leaving something out. Why don't you tell them about the guard who had Y'tharion's mark?"
"That wasn't supposed to be public yet," Xaltheon said, voice tight. "I sealed Allen and called Orvath to examine him. I didn't say anything because we don't have answers yet."
Malphas stepped in. "He's right. No point in spreading half-truths." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵✶𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮✶𝓷𝓮𝓽
Veymar grinned. "Everyone agrees with Xaltheon. What about you, old man?"
Dragos growled. "Watch your mouth."
"Hai, hai, gramps," Veymar teased.
"Who're you calling gramps?!"
"Enough!" Malphas snapped.
Selmora stood. "This meeting is over. I'm heading out. I wish I could help Lord Azreal... it'd be more fun than sitting here."
Xaltheon smirked. "We all know what your help really looks like."
Selmora vanished into flames, leaving a mischievous smile behind.
Malphas stood. "Let's reconvene once things settle. Stay alert. Enemies could strike anytime."
Everyone disappeared—except Dragos. He remained seated.
Then, he laughed. It wasn't pleasant. It echoed through the hall.
The flames roared with his laughter.
The maids paused as a red gate formed mid-air. Flames danced around it.
Fredrick stepped forward as the portal opened.
Azreal emerged, Aria in his arms, wrapped in his robe.
Azreal's grandma -Nena rushed over. "What happened?!" she asked, looking from Azreal to Aria.
She turned to the others. "Prepare a room—quickly!"
He walked past them, his steps heavy, and slammed the door to his room.
The maids stared, shocked.
Nena snapped. "Stop gawking! Get back to work! He'll be hungry!"
She turned to Fredrick. "You too. Go do something useful!"
Inside his room, Azreal gently laid Aria on the bed. He covered her with a blanket.
Then, something caught his eye.
A faint red glow shimmered under her palm.
He lifted her hand—there it was. A small glowing red cross.
"So it's true," he whispered. "The God's Mark..."
Then a sharp pain hit his chest.
He opened his coat, revealing his own mark—burning bright, resonating.
"Our marks..." he murmured, his voice trembling, "...are calling to each other."