The next day, their training resumed.
This time, Serenil had prepared something different. Floating before them was a mana prism, designed to reflect the wielder's emotional state.
"Succubus magic is rooted in desire," Serenil explained. "But desire without harmony becomes corruption. You must learn to wield your emotions, not drown in them."
Astarotte nodded, gaze steady.
She closed her eyes. Her thoughts flickered—of her sisters, her people, and Serenil. Her power was born not of lust, but of love—fierce, radiant, consuming.
Her aura ignited. A flame coiled around her hand, blooming like a crimson rose. She shaped it—slowly, surely—into a spear of searing light.
Serenil watched in awe. "That… that's not ordinary fire. That's flame guided by conviction."
"I named it Lover's Lance," she said, breathless. "Because I'll use it to defend the people I care for."
Serenil stepped forward and gently touched the side of her face.
"You're incredible," he whispered. "You've always had this strength inside you."
Astarotte's cheeks flushed. "You really mean that…?"
He nodded. "Yes. And I'll be by your side every step forward. Not just as your teacher… but as your future."
Their hands intertwined. The setting sun lit their figures in gold and amber. No more doubts. No more hiding.
She would rise—and he would rise with her.
Together.