[lilac's pov]
The flame of the candle on her desk wavered, though there was no wind.
Lilac sat perfectly still.
Her quill hovered over parchment, half a prayer unfinished, ink already drying on the nib. Papers lay neatly stacked around her—blessings for the coronation, schedules for the royal rites, plans for Gabriel's anointment.
But she hadn't moved for nearly fifteen minutes.
She couldn't.
The temple was quiet—too quiet. Even the birds seemed to avoid the garden this morning. The light that usually poured through the stained-glass window behind her desk fell flat, cold. Like the sun had forgotten how to shine.
Ever since that night, nothing had felt normal.
Not the weight of her robes.
Not the echoes in the hall.
Not the sound of her own breath when she lay awake in bed.
"He shouldn't be this calm," she whispered to herself.
Daemon.
Twelve years old and already... wrong.
She'd fought him, cornered him, broken him—and yet when she looked in his eyes, she didn't see a child.
She saw a void.
And it was smiling.
A soft knock on the door snapped her back.
"Come in," she said without turning.
One of her junior priestesses stepped inside, bowing with hesitant grace. Her hands trembled slightly as she held out a scroll wrapped in pale gray parchment.
"This... came to the gates, High Saintess."
Lilac turned slowly.
"There's no seal," the priestess added. "No name. The guards say it was left on the altar outside. No one saw who placed it."
Lilac took the scroll. It was cold.
The priestess hesitated. "Is it... dangerous?"
"No," Lilac said softly, though she didn't believe it. "You may go."
Once the door closed, she unrolled the scroll with deliberate care.
It was short.
Just one sentence, written in clean, perfect ink:
"Return what you've stolen, or the most precious light in your life will be swallowed."
Lilac stared at the words.
Her heart didn't race. Her hands didn't shake.
But something inside her dropped.
Slowly.
Like a stone falling down a well.
She read it again.
And again.
"Return what you've stolen..."
The book.
Of course.
Daemon hadn't forgotten.
He knew.
But... how?
That book had been sealed beneath the chapel archives for generations—guarded, forbidden, protected by rites that even most bishops didn't know how to unbind.
No one but the Saintess was allowed to see it.
And Daemon had asked for it directly.
But what truly chilled her blood wasn't the threat.
It was the last part.
"The most precious light in your life..."
Lilac swallowed.
Her thoughts raced—Gabriel? The Temple? The children?
A sudden image flashed in her mind—the girl with the teddy bear, the one who smiled so brightly when Daemon visited the garden. The one who held his coat and asked who he was.
Lilac closed her eyes.
He wouldn't.
No.
No, not yet. Not unless...
"He's watching," she whispered.
Somewhere beyond the temple walls. Maybe beyond the gates. Maybe closer.
Watching. Waiting. Smiling.
Like a demon that doesn't need to raise a sword—because its words do all the bleeding.
She didn't scream.
Didn't summon guards.
Didn't pray.
She just sat there, gripping the scroll until the parchment crumpled in her palm like dead leaves.
Daemon hadn't broken any rules.
He hadn't hurt anyone.
Not yet.
But this letter?
This letter wasn't a warning.
It was a promise.
***
Two days later, the temple bells tolled midnight.
High Saintess Lilac stirred in her sleep, restless beneath silk sheets that felt too tight.
Then came the fire.
Not warmth.
Not light.
But devouring.
In her dream, she stood barefoot in a sea of ash. The temple behind her was gone—nothing but scorched stone and blackened crosses melting into the ground. The sky wept fire, red and gold and wild. The sun was burning, and the moon bled like a wound.
The children were screaming.
She turned toward the sound.
The orphanage stood at the edge of a cracked hill—its frame flickering in and out like a mirage. Flames danced from every window. The children pounded on the walls, their hands too small, their voices too raw.
She tried to run.
Her legs wouldn't move.
A shadow stood in front of the orphanage—tall, cloaked in smoke, its face hidden.
But she knew.
Daemon.
He turned slowly toward her, his smile carved from nightmare.
In his arms, he cradled a teddy bear, its fur scorched, its eye hanging loose by a thread.
He lifted a single hand.
Snapped his fingers.
And the entire hill turned to fire.
Lilac screamed as she shot up in bed, drenched in cold sweat.
Her heart pounded like war drums. Her vision spun. Her throat was dry, and her limbs trembled with a fear she hadn't known since she was a child herself.
She blinked at the moonlight pouring through her chamber window.
"It was just a dream," she whispered.
But her eyes drifted to the calendar on her desk.
And her blood ran cold.
Today was the day.
Daemon's warning had been vague—but she remembered it clearly:
"Return what you've stolen, or the most precious light in your life will be swallowed."
Lilac clutched the sheets in her fists.
She'd faced monsters. Demonic beasts. Traitors and apostates.
She had never been afraid.
Until now.
And now—she was afraid of a boy who hadn't even reached adulthood.
Because Daemon hadn't threatened her with swords or curses.
He had whispered.
And it was working.
Still barefoot, she rose from bed and threw on a cloak. Her hands moved on instinct, lighting a lantern, unlocking her door. She walked the silent halls like a ghost, passing marble saints that didn't seem to offer comfort anymore.
She descended into the deepest vaults of the temple—where the air turned still and old.
Finally, she reached the archives.
She stepped to the final shelf, lit by flickering torchlight.
Her eyes landed on it:
The Book of the First Sin.
Bound in black. Etched with silver thorns. A seal of the moon and star on the spine.
The Demon King's legacy.
She reached for it with trembling hands.
And in that moment, she understood—
She wasn't protecting the world from Daemon.
She was trying to protect herself from what he might already be becoming.