"Wait!"
A voice rang out—urgent, desperate.
"Hm?"
The child's head turned slowly, unnervingly calm. Towards Mira.
Her arms still wrapped protectively around me, Mira stood, her legs trembling but her gaze unwavering as she faced the creature.
"Please, that's enough. Hear me out," she said, her voice raw, tinged with pleading.
The child tilted his head, curious. "This should be interesting."
Swallowing her fear, Mira found her voice. "I might be wrong... but you seem different from the other monsters we've faced. You're still terrifying, yes—but you bleed....like a human. You... have form. A body. Blood. Flesh. Human."
The child raised a brow, amused. "Go on."
Taking the cue, Mira pressed on, her voice now quivering. "That tells me you're not bound by the same rules. You're not systematic like them, meaning we can have a conversation."
She hesitated—then pointed to me, lying limp in her arms. "So I beg you... if there's any way to transfer the title of sacrifice... from him to me... then please—take me instead."
Tears streaked down her cheeks as she cried, "I'll do anything. Anything to take his place."
Lucien groaned, struggling to speak. "Mira... don't—"
"No! Please, just let me do this!" she snapped, the tears falling harder now. "Let me carry Caelum's fate!"
Lucien tried again, "You can't—!"
A flicker of irritation passed across the child's face. In an instant, Charlotte, who had been watching silently, was flung back by the child, her body hitting the ground with a sickening thud as her consciousness slipped away.
"Charlotte—!" Mira shouted.
But before Lucien could move, the child appeared before him with terrifying speed. He slammed his face into the ground with one hand.
Then he stacked their unconscious bodies atop each other. Then... he sat on them.
Casually. Like a child on a makeshift throne of broken dolls.
"Now then," he said, turning to Mira, his voice pleasant. "Continue."
Mira stood frozen, staring at the grotesque arrangement—her family, stacked like furniture beneath this impossible creature. Her hands trembled.
"They're not dead," the child added with a small, knowing smile. "Just sleeping. You can continue."
Mira didn't say anything.
"Hm? Not gonna say anything? Did I scare you?" he said, as he stood up.
The child stepped closer, each footfall slow, deliberate, almost playful—like a predator toying with its prey. Mira trembled, clutching me tighter, her breath hitching as the air thickened with an invisible weight.
"Can you take his place?" the child echoed, tone dripping with feigned innocence. "Maybe. Or maybe... I'll just take both of you."
He tilted his head with a twisted smile.
"You could become a doll—yes, a doll stitched together with your own sorrow. Or maybe a whisper sealed in a jar, sobbing forever, echoing across empty halls."
Mira took a shaky step back, horrified. The child's smile widened.
"No? Then perhaps you'd prefer your soul peeled back—layer by layer, like a fruit. I'm very good at that."
He was inches away now. The sound of silence itself felt crushed, as though reality were bracing for a scream.
And then—
CRACK.
The child's head jerked violently to the side, a burst of glimmering shockwaves spiraling from the point of impact. A distortion wave snapped through the air like breaking glass—raw, clean, and absolute.
He stumbled, just for a heartbeat.
A figure landed beside him without warning, trailing crackles of unstable magic. Not descending. Not walking. Just—arriving.
Tall. Commanding. Cloaked in flowing streaks of pulsating white and violet, her presence was like an unfinished sentence—tense, waiting, angry.
She didn't speak immediately. Instead, she raised one hand again, fingers open wide.
Another burst—the air detonated, not with fire, but with rupture—the magic acting like a slap across the fabric of space. The child staggered back, blinking, stunned.
"You little prick."
Her voice was a whip—sharp, feminine, furious.
"I told you to wait," she hissed, stepping between Mira and the child, her stance protective and livid. "And what do I find? You playing?"
The child blinked, pout forming. "I was waiting."
She snapped her fingers—another ripple warped the air in warning. "Shut. It."
Then she exhaled sharply, glaring at him. "What part of 'observe and report' made you think threaten the human girl with dismemberment?"
"I was being creative," the child muttered.
The woman turned halfway to Mira, her expression firm but calm now.
"If you mess with them again, I'll break more than just your jaw."
The child pouted again but didn't speak.
Mira, still clutching me, could barely process what she was seeing.
Same with me
Who was this woman?
And more importantly... whose side was she on?
With a flick of her wrist, the woman raised her hand, palm open—fingers splayed.
And the air shifted.
No spell, no chant, no drawn out theatrics.
The space around the child distorted, as though reality itself were folding inwards. Lines etched into the ground like glowing veins of violet light, twisting and rising into the air. Chains—woven from arcane sigils and iridescent threads—sprung forth like serpents. They hissed and cracked as they wrapped around the child's limbs, tightening with every movement he made.
The child grinned, even as he was forced to his knees, arms yanked back unnaturally. "Mmm. Kinky."
The chains twisted tighter. One wrapped around his mouth.
"Mmmph—!"
The woman didn't even glance at him again.
She turned.
Her eyes met Mira's.
And… damn.
Even through the haze of pain, I caught my breath. Not as beautiful as Mira—no, Mira was something else entirely—but this woman… she looked like she belonged somewhere between a battlefield and a dream.
She had long, flowing violet hair that seemed to pulse faintly with magic. Her inner garments clung to her frame—sleek, pristine white, tailored to enhance and reveal her lithe figure without ever seeming indecent. It wasn't provocative. It was sharp. Precise. Like everything about her was designed for function and beauty to coexist.
Over it, she wore a robe matching her hair—deep violet, lined with glowing runes, open down the sides as if ready to flare in motion. And when she moved… the robe followed like mist. Or smoke. Or something that refused to obey the laws of gravity.
She walked forward.
Mira instinctively backed away, clutching me tighter, her breath quickening. "Who—who are you?"
The woman's voice was warm now. Softer. "Please, calm down. I'm not your enemy. I understand your confusion right now, but I'm here to help."
Mira didn't budge. Didn't blink. Her expression held—wary, protective, hostile. If anything, she looked even more tensed.
The woman sighed lightly. "I apologize… on behalf of that asshole who scared you. But I assure you, he's a friend. He was just playing one of his stupid pranks."
Mira blinked. Then scoffed—a broken sound somewhere between disbelief and rage. "Friend? Prank?!"
Her voice rose. "He nearly killed my husband! Because of a prank?! And—" she paused, her voice cracking, "that's if he's even alive right now!"
The woman quickly raised a hand. "Please. I understand. I do. But I promise you—he's not dead. None of them are."
She shot a withering glare toward the restrained child. He responded by dramatically turning his head, humming through the chains like he didn't have a care in the world.
She turned back to Mira, her tone now measured, grounded.
"They're going to be healed. I promise. I understand how this looks—hell, I'd be furious too—but we're on your side."
Mira's arms tightened around me. Her gaze stayed sharp.
The woman took a breath. "I know you love your child. I know you've been through hell. But if I wanted to use him—if that was ever my goal—I wouldn't have bothered talking. I wouldn't have let you live this long."
A beat.
"I know there's no trust. Not yet. But I'm asking you to ease up. Just enough to listen."
Mira's eyes darted toward Charlotte and Lucien—still stacked like broken mannequins, unmoving.
Her voice cracked again. "Are they really going to be healed?"
"Yes," the woman said firmly. "That, I can assure you."
Mira looked down at me. Her eyes trembled. "Then what about… him?"
She gestured toward me.
"What's going to happen to his situation?" Her voice barely escaped her lips.
The woman's expression softened. She knelt, just enough to meet Mira's eye level.
"That," she said gently, "is something we'll discuss very soon. But right now—we need to get you all to a safe place."