"So this is how you return to me. Pathetic."

  Her words are rough and harsh, yet her accent carries the polished cadence of the aristocracy, a stark contrast to her appearance. Her attire, though modest, speaks of practicality over luxury, a thick, well-worn tunic layered beneath a heavy wolf-pelt cloak, more befitting a hunter than a noblewoman.

  "Release him." She orders the gaoler, who looks back at her, hesitating. "B-But the captain, he ordered that he be kept until the mayor-"

  Zaenith silences him with a glower. Her back straightens to its full height, her imposing presence bearing down on the man. "Let Edwin’s whelp present himself before me if he dares voice his grievance. That witless child should be scouring the woods for actual brigands, not wasting his time tormenting the peasantry."

  The gaoler swallows hard, nodding hastily as he fumbles with his keys, the metal jingling in his unsteady hands. The lock clicks, and with a creak, the cell door swings open. I step forward, crossing the threshold, a free man once more.

  Zaenith’s eyes flick over me again, but she says nothing. Instead, she gives a small nod, not to me, but to herself, before shifting her gaze toward the two other men sharing the cell with me.

  "These thieves still haven't been tried?" She says to the gaoler.

  He shrugs in response. "The mayor's a busy man."

  I hesitate before speaking, but do, not wishing to see either lose a hand. "Forgive their debt, Zaenith. They were desperate."

  Zaenith sneers, her crimson eyes narrowing with disdain. "Forgive their debt? And what would that teach them? That thievery has no consequence? That desperation excuses crime?" Her voice is cold and brooks no argument. "I think not." Neither William nor Hamza speak up, whether from contrition, fear or something else, I can't say.

  Zaenith turns on her heel, her cloak billowing behind her as she strides away without another word. And left with no choice, I follow. I came to this town for a reason, and whether I like it or not, that reason starts with her.

  "Hmph..." The silence between us is heavy as Zaenith and I sit cross-legged on the wooden floor. There are no chairs, or much of anything else really, the interior of Zaenith's house is as unremarkable as Rose’s was, barely furnished. It has a fireplace at the very least, though it flickers weakly.

  Zaenith sits across from me, her piercing red eyes appraising every inch of me with a critical stare. "You're skinny. Did they not feed you?" she asks, her tone blunt as her gaze lingers on my lean frame.

  “In the gaolhouse? No.” Zaenith waves her hand dismissively. “No, in Mistvale.” She says, closing her eyes.

  "As well as any other child," I reply with a shrug. "My arms are just long. The meat’s stretched out."

  "Hmph," she grunts, her expression a mix of disapproval and thoughtfulness. "You're bigger. They should’ve fed you more."

  She falls silent for a moment, her gaze dropping to the fire’s weak glow before pulling out the letter I sent her months ago. "So, Rose is dead."

  Her tone is flat, her expression unmoving despite the mention of her sister's passing. Then again, her face is almost always locked in that sour look, so it doesn’t reveal much.

  "And her husband?" she asks, though there is only passing interest in her voice.

  "He died four years ago," I reply evenly. I never liked the man.

  Speaking of Rose however... even months later, still brings a twinge of sorrow that I struggle to suppress.

  "And what could you possibly want of me? You abandoned your brothers and I. Surely you’re not so pathetic that you'd come crawling back for aid now." The hard woman glares. She's older than I remember, yet her strength and power remain unmistakable. Approaching her 50th year, she shows no sign of weakness.

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  "Not aid, work. When I was a boy, you said you would teach me your trade." I reply, meeting her gaze without flinching. "I’ve come to see you fulfill that promise."

  She stares at me, silent, her expression as hard as stone. "A promise made before you showed yourself too weak to endure a place among our family."

  "Strength had nothing to do with it." I reply, my voice steady despite the impulse to sneer. “And it was Rose’s final wish that I learn. I’m sure neither of us wishes to meet her disappointment... when the time comes to join her in the next life.”

  Her eyebrow twitches at my response, a flicker of irritation crossing her face before she sighs, her rigid posture softening just slightly.

  "Just like your father...." she mutters, almost as if the words slip out involuntarily.

  I blink, taken aback. My father? Zaenith has never once mentioned him in all the time I’ve known her. Even Rose told me next to nothing about him; I’m not sure she knew any more than I did.

  "Feel like talking more about that?" I prod, curiosity coloring my tone as I gauge her response.

  Zaenith glowers, her red eyes narrowing in irritation. "No," she snaps curtly. "You may sleep on my floor. It's a cold night, but I can spare one blanket. Try not to get too much of your foul stink on it."

  She pauses, the flickering firelight casting sharp shadows across her face. "Tomorrow, you’ll go to the bathhouse. Get yourself cleaned up. After that, I’ll put you to work."

  She stands, walking into her room with heavy steps, the floor creaking beneath her weight. After a moment, she returns, holding a thin, worn blanket. Without a word, she tosses it to me.

  I catch it and nod in gratitude, too tired to comment on how threadbare it is. I stand, taking it, along with my sack of belongings, reclaimed from the gaolhouse and walk over to the fireplace. Wrapping myself tightly, I curl up by the warmth of the fire. Slowly, I let the long, bitter night fade away as sleep takes hold.

  The sky burned a deep red, polluted by the crimson moon. From its scarlet glow fell tainted drops of moonlight, each one a seed of corruption, blighting the land, warping the trees, the animals, the earth. A divine creation of god, now turned against us.

  "You mustn't!" Her voice rang out, sharp with terror as she called for me. But she did not step forward. Paralyzed with fear, she begged me to return to her. "Please!"

  I turned back to her, regret etching my features. "I cannot." My voice cracked under the weight of the choice I had made. I’d reached too far, learned to much, since that battle, since this power awoke inside me. There’s no turning back.

  I stepped forward, into the moonlight's unholy embrace. Crimson rays cascaded over me, condensed light dripping from the heavenly body like blood, saturating me in its corruption.

  "AaaaAaaArrrgghhhH!!" I groaned in agony, as it changed my body, my soul. I opened my mouth to scream, only to find it filled with the blood-red light, the cosmic ichor invading my senses. It flooded my mind with whispers and visions of power.

  "NoooOOoooO!!!" Her wail brought clarity. I turned to see her trembling at the edge of the shadows, safe from the moon’s fell light, or so I thought. Yet even there, she was not spared. The corruption reached for her, distorting her form as our shared bond drew us both into this infernal transformation.

  "Li-" I tried to choke out the words, but they died in my throat. Pain surged through me as massive wings burst from my back, their dark span blotting out the twisted moonlight. My jaws elongated, fangs gleaming as claws extended from my hands. My muscles swelled grotesquely, my form shifting into an abominable creature of hell.

  "GrrrghhhhHHGGHH!!!"

  But I wouldn't allow it. My hatred for the profane creatures fueled my strength. I carved runes into my flesh, summoning all my knowledge of the dark arts. I wrested control from the forces tearing me apart. Slowly, I forced the transformation to halt, each rune locking my form, binding the corruption, and then... pushing it back. The dark arts were dangerous but potent, even the demons did not understand the depths of its power.

  The more runes I carved, the more sane I felt, the ancient knowledge coursing through my body. In time, I was restored, standing tall once more. A man, still, but even more, changed by the light of the moon. This was what I needed: the strength to turn the tide, to face her. All my research, a lifetime of hardship, culminated in this very moment.

  I turned, triumphant, but the sight before me cut my victory short. My wife had not been so fortunate. Her body, reshaped by the moon’s vile influence, stood as a vision of demonic excess. Curled horns spiraled from her head, framing her crimson hair, which cascaded in silken waves. Her once-familiar features had been perfected to an unnerving degree—her face flawlessly symmetrical, her lips full and enticing, her shadowed eyes gleaming with deep red light.

  Her body was an obscene testament to corruption, her already ample figure grotesquely exaggerated. Her breasts swelled to absurd proportions, her hips broadened unnaturally, her form a cruel parody of beauty.

  A succubus.

  A demon.

  Hatred swelled within me, but she met my gaze, malevolence and unholy desire blazing in those scarlet eyes. I couldn't stand to look at her, to look at this... monster. Whispering a prayer to the goddess, I drew my sword, its blade trembling in my grip.

  I stepped forward, approaching the woman I loved, my partner, my other half, the one who had been by my side since we were both swaddling babes.

  I raised my blade high, and....

  "Get up, boy. The sun rises." The gruff voice jolts me awake. "Huh?!" I lurch upright, my mind foggy with confusion and my body shivering against the biting cold.

  "Come. It's time for a bath."