{Unknown Time, Unknown Location}
—Ingvild Leviathan—
Magic was a beautiful thing. It was a terrifying thing.
Creation, destruction, beauty, horror, life, death—magic could do it all.
People—humans, devils, angels, fallens, dragons, any species—loved magic when they could create, play, gain, or grow with it. But they hated it too—when it destroyed, broke, deceived, or left them powerless to grow.
They began to despise it.
Yet, even in despair, when magic only brought pain, some refused to hate it. They understood that despair was part of magic, and that to love only one part while hating the other meant you did not truly love magic. Only those who loved both aspects—joy and despair—could truly say they loved magic.
And of those very few, she was one.
Lying in a bed of flowers, gazing at the ever-changing sky of infinite colors, she wondered if the outside world looked like this.
She had long forgotten how the true sky appeared—blue, red, purple, or white. It had been decades, maybe a century. Time moved differently in this world, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.
Sometimes she felt as if she slept on a bed of flowers, other times on ice that burned her back. She never complained, appreciating both experiences equally.
But she hadn't always been like this. She had hated being trapped when she first arrived—unable to leave, unable to meet those who mattered, unable to have company.
It had broken her. She cried. She grieved. Over time, she grew numb, feeling empty and lost.
She couldn't understand why she was trapped in this ever-changing place of magic. No—she remembered fragments. Voices. Voices of people she once knew, echoing into this world.
Their gossip, their worry, their hatred, their disgust—for having to care for a girl who could not wake up.
She had heard everything—every voice, every yell, every cry, every whisper. Everything leaked into this world.
She hated herself for making others worry, for making them cry, for making them angry.
Yet, as time passed, the voices faded, and silence became more common than shouts or whispers. Slowly, she began to appreciate even the hurtful words. At least they kept her company. Over time, her hatred turned to appreciation—for everything, even the magic that trapped her.
At least, it was beautiful. And even in its ugliness, it seemed pretty.
"It feels different today."
She couldn't explain it, but staring at the sky, she felt a change. It was as if the magic around her had shifted.
Then, after decades, she heard a voice.
Something that hadn't happened in ages.
"High Class even without awakening her Gear."
A male voice—neither overly deep nor harsh, but kind.
"You're going to have a difficult time adjusting."
She couldn't fully understand the words, but she felt emotional hearing them.
It had been forever since anyone spoke near her. And maybe—just maybe—she hoped the words were meant for her, even if the boy didn't know she could hear.
"So did I," he continued. "But you will adjust, just as I did."
She didn't understand what he meant, but she wanted him to keep speaking. Even if it was about nothing, she wanted the boy to continue.
"Sorry about it."
Her heart sank at his apology.
'No.'
She wanted to cry out.
'Do go.'
She wanted him to hear her.
'Don't stop talking.'
She knew he couldn't, and yet she desperately wished her voice could reach him.
'Please.'
Then, she heard words she hadn't heard in ages.
Over the years, voices had turned bitter, words had grown hateful. But his voice was kind.
"You are beautiful."
When he said this, she went silent and stared out.
How long has it been since someone called her beautiful? Was she even beautiful anymore? Had she grown old, her hair turned grey? Was her face lined with wrinkles, or covered in dust and grime?
She knew her consciousness had been trapped, while her body lay out there. Whenever people talked, they spoke around her body.
So, was she still the same? Was she truly as beautiful as he said?
She felt hurt. She wanted to know if he truly meant it.
And yet, she knew there was no way to be certain.
She would have to stay here, trapped, and he would go away, never to visit again.
Feeling pain in her heart for the first time in a long while, she closed her eyes, not willing to let go of the voice that had come to visit her.
She desperately wanted him to continue, but he went silent, leaving her alone once more, in the silence with only the ever-changing scenery.
She lay back on the ground, eyes closed. The world was quiet again.
But the silence carried something new.
"Uh?"
She touched her cheeks—they felt warm. Something had fallen there, something flowing on her skin.
Then it fell on her nose. She couldn't see it, couldn't understand what it was. She rubbed her nose and cheeks, but nothing remained.
Yet she could smell something.
This was new.
She had heard voices, even felt temperatures before, but she had never smelled anything. Now, surprisingly, she could.
It smelled like metal, iron. She couldn't place it, but it was familiar.
And then, suddenly, something stronger, more violent, yet somehow calling to her, reached her senses.
Her eyes widened. In the shifting magical scenery, a few feet away, she saw something.
A fountain. Flowing water. Somehow, it called to her.
She stared for a moment, unsure if she should approach, but despite her doubts, she moved forward.
Having been trapped for so long, she no longer cared if it was dangerous. It was new. It was different. She had to go.
As she neared it, she heard musical notes—harp first, then violin, then piano. The song remained soothing, constant, despite the violent rush of water.
The fountain, though fierce, felt calming. She was drawn to it. Before realizing, she stood right beside it—just inches away.
"What… are you?" she asked, though unsure why. She felt compelled to ask. Along with the question, she reached out her hand, wanting to touch the water, to feel the cold, violent flow.
The moment her hand touched it, the music grew louder. It overwhelmed her, surrounding her. She couldn't hold her legs steady—the world shook. She began to tremble, losing control.
And in an instant, she fell.
Into the fountain. Into the water. She drowned.
The shallow fountain became an endless ocean, violent waves dragging her inside.
She could feel it—she was drowning. Her eyes closed, her ears deafened, everything went dark.
Soon, even the darkness fell silent. She could not open her eyes.
It felt as if she had finally died.
"Are you… are you alright?"
To her shock, she heard the voice again—the same voice from before.
"Don't worry," he reassured her. "You are safe."
With that, she began to feel her surroundings. She lay on soft petals, with something hard beneath. The smell of metal and dust surrounded her. She could feel her limbs, her body, her entire being.
She couldn't believe it. The sensation felt almost foreign to her.
"Can you open your eyes?" he asked. And she asked herself the same question.
'Can I?'
She didn't know—no, she did. She could open her eyes now. And yet, she was scared. She didn't know what the world would look like, what she would see, or even if she wanted to see it.
The world she had longed to see was frightening now. She felt as if she didn't even belong here.
"It's okay," she heard the boy reassure her again. "Everything is fine. You are fine. You are safe."
It was foolish to trust someone she didn't know. She was well aware of that. And yet, somehow, for some reason, she found herself trusting him.
"Promise?" she asked, surprised at hearing her own voice.
"I promise," he said again.
With a throbbing heart and a mix of fear, uncertainty, and excitement, she slowly opened her eyes.
It wasn't bright. No harsh light hurt her eyes. Instead, it was a comfortable, dim setting with stone ceilings and faintly lit lamps.
She didn't recognize the place, nor did she recognize the face in front of her.
He is nice to look at.'
That was the first thought that came to her as she saw his black hair and striking eyes. He didn't look much older than her—maybe the same age, maybe a year older.
"Good morning," he greeted her with a smile. "You slept for quite a while."
Hearing his voice, seeing a face after so long, she couldn't stop the tears flowing from her eyes.
Her hands moved to her face, weak and clumsy, but it felt wonderful—to cry, to hear a voice, to be awake.
The boy didn't stop her from crying. He didn't say anything. He just sat quietly on a nearby stone block.
She cried for a minute, maybe longer—maybe ten—until her eyes turned red.
"T-Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you for waking me up."
The boy's eyes widened for a moment, as if entranced. But he quickly shook it off and smiled again.
"It was about time you woke up," he said. "Ingvild."
She was surprised he knew her name, especially since she didn't know who he was yet.
Seeing her confused expression, he smiled understandingly and extended his hand.
"Want to get up?"
She didn't decline. Her body wasn't strong enough to move on its own. She took his hand, and with his help, slowly stood.
Looking around, she couldn't help but give a sad smile.
"A casket," she said softly. "They thought I was better off dead."
"To their credit, they took care of your body and kept it protected from dust," he said with a chuckle. "Not to mention the golems guarding you, which I barely managed to escape."
She didn't fully understand what he meant, but perhaps it didn't matter. What mattered was that she wanted to thank him.
"Thank you," she said. "I… I don't know how to thank you enough."
He sat to her left, on a stone block, still smiling. His hand remained over hers, and she liked that. After so long, the feeling of someone holding her hand was something she had longed for.
"For a start, we can get out of here," he said. "My friends are holding the golems that were guarding you. I don't know how long they can keep it up."
She looked down at her lap and nodded.
"We should," she said with a small smile. "But I'd like to know your name first."
"Faiser," he answered. "Faiser Valefar-Barbatos, heir of House Valefar and Barbatos, and soon to be lord."
She was surprised.
"Weren't those pillars… destroyed?" she asked.
"They were—or so people believed. But like you, I was asleep for a long time. When I woke up, things happened, and I ended up with these titles."
He simplified it, she knew that. Somehow, she liked it that way.
"How is the world now?" she asked. "It has been… a century, I think."
"It has changed," he answered. "Though by how much, I don't really know."
Seeing her confused expression, he explained, "You've been asleep for a hundred years. I had been asleep for five hundred. When I woke up, everyone I knew, everything that made sense to me… nothing was there. I felt like a foreigner in my own home."
She was surprised to hear that, but after a moment, a wave of sadness washed over her.
Sure, she hadn't been asleep as long as he had. But a hundred years was still a long time—even by devil standards. Their lifespans were long, but time flowed the same. And considering how people had stopped visiting her, she figured they were either long gone or no longer cared.
"Are there any Leviathans left?" she asked, a hint of hope in her voice.
That hope was crushed instantly when she saw his face.
"Sorry." he answered.
The answer sank deep, and she felt a familiar sadness, even though she had known it would likely be true.
"So… what will happen to me now?" she asked, and he paused, thinking.
It was certain that her future wouldn't be simple. Even a century ago, she had been hidden from the world. Now, with those who protected her gone, her fate was uncertain.
"The current Satans and Lords will hold a meeting regarding you," he said. "There may be conflicts since you are a true Levaithan descendant, even if only half. You have rights to the Levaithan name and the Satan position. Some will resent your existence, while others will rejoice that a true Levaithan descendant lives."
His words made her stomach churn. She didn't want to face those people. She didn't want anything to do with the Levaithan name. All she wanted was an ordinary life, away from politics, with people who cared about her.
She clenched her fists, scared of her future and desperate to avoid politics.
"I… don't want to go out," she said, surprising herself. "I don't want to be a Levaithan descendant. I don't want to be used in politics. I don't want people to hate me."
Though she couldn't see it, Faiser's expression softened—far more honestly than before.
"It will be difficult," he said. "The current Satans are reasonable. They will protect you."
"But who will I live with?" she asked. "I don't have a family anymore. I don't have a house. I don't have anyone I know."
He looked at her, unsure how to comfort her.
"I don't want the Levaithan name. I don't want the power inside me—the reason they kept me hidden for so long." She gripped her chest, feeling the awakening power. "I know it has awakened. I know people will come for me, to use me, to take the power I have. The power of Leviathan… and the other power inside me."
Tears welled up in her eyes again. "I just… want to live."
He took a deep breath, hesitant.
"You know about the evil pieces, don't you, Ingvild?" he asked.
"You want my power?" she asked bluntly. Neither hid their intentions.
"I would love to have you in my peerage," he said. "If your power comes with it, good. Even if it doesn't… I don't mind."
She studied him, trying to detect any deception. Being a Levaithan and born with the ability to control, manipulate, and sense water, she could tell when someone lied. Blood flowed like water in the heart, and she could read it.
This time, it didn't feel like a lie.
"I came hoping to convince you to join me," he continued. "Hoping you would help me rebuild my family and estate, lost over these five hundred years. Hoping you had the power to help. I was trapped for five hundred years, lost everyone I cared about, and was left with nothing—no family, no house, no one I knew."
He looked at her. "I believed I could convince you to join my peerage. We are both without family now. We could grow our pillars together… though I now see that you do not wish to reestablish the Leviathan pillar."
She looked at him, deep into his eyes. She tried listening to his heart, and again, she knew he wasn't lying.
She knew that no one ever approached her without lusting after her powers or her looks. But now, meeting a devil who was truthful, who didn't lust after her and was willing to accept her into his Peerage even if she didn't have her powers—she felt uncertain.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I see myself in you," he answered. "Lost, without anyone, and someone who can genuinely help having a friend."
She found it hard to believe anyone could want that from her. And yet, he did. He wasn't lying; she could hear it in his heart.
He was like her. Lost in a world with no one who truly knew him. Even if he now had people around him, he had started the same way she had. And she knew about the Valefar and Barbatos pillars. She had stayed hidden from the world in the past and devoted herself to studying it as an alternative.
She read about Barbatos and Valefar, about how powerful they were and how rich their houses were. She knew people would want to use him after he woke up—or get rid of him.
And yet, he was standing before her now. He was like her—or maybe worse—and he didn't complain.
"So you truly mean it?" she asked. "About being a friend, about wanting me in your peerage even if I were to lose my powers one day, or lose my Levaithan name?"
"I do," he said, staring into her eyes. "Because I would have wanted the same in the past."
She closed her eyes, a sad but certain smile on her face. "I see," she said. "Then I guess I would want to be your friend. I want to go with you, as a member of your peerage."
She surprised him by adding, "If you can promise me that you won't treat me like a tool, and will treat me like family in your peerage."
She wanted someone to rely on, someone to call family, someone to lean on.
"I promise," he said, extending his hand. "I want you to guide me just as much as I guide you. And I'll let you lean on me, so we can support each other."
His hands glowed purple and gold, and a magical chess piece appeared on his hand.
"Every king needs a queen, Ingvild. And a queen is who a king relies on the most," he said, smiling genuinely. "So, will you be my queen?"
She looked into his eyes and returned his smile.
"I will," she said, extending her hand.
The queen piece flew toward her, passing through her hand and settling in her heart. Before she knew it, it had entered her, filling her with a warm sensation.
She felt her body grow warm, her powers becoming stronger and more in tune with her mind.
And deep in her heart, she felt a connection—unexplainable, yet strong.
A connection to the man before her.
"Congratulations, Ingvild Levaithan. You are now part of the peerage—of the family."
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{A/N:A/N: Got a pat reon named RedLamp01 with 30+ chapters.
New chapter of DC: What am I, Magneto? Posted on Pat reon (even free members can read, just join). I will post it on WN from next month.}