The text in the book was ancient—detailing forbidden techniques of alchemy centered on mind control. Apparently, Demonia couldn't take full control of someone's actions, but her influence worked through altering perception and distorting intent.
According to the book, people were unable to distinguish between their own thoughts form the foreign ones that quietly crept into their minds. She didn't force decisions—she rewired the reasons behind them. The ideas felt natural, familiar—like impulses they believed were theirs all along. The techniques were subtle, built on emotional cues and memory distortion. Over time, the target wouldn't obey because they were commanded, but because they believed it was their own will.
When Lucius woke up, his eyes glimmered strangely when he looked at me. He bowed suddenly, hands and knees to the ground. The gesture startled me, and I instinctively took a step back. "I, Lucius Magolias, swear loyalty to you—my Sovereign. From now on, I am under your command." He raised his head, waiting for a signal to rise.
I looked at him for a moment, then said quietly, "Stand."
He obeyed. His joints crackled as he moved, the sound made me internally flinch but I didn't show it. I raised an eyebrow at Demonia and gave her a questioning look, and she shrugged.
The anticipation rising in my insides was brutal. It was like swinging on that thin line between restraint and power. And I liked it.
Power.
I want more.
This time Lucius gave me a proper tour through the Vault, selecting the hidden manuals—some sealed, some dust-covered—each one layered with warnings and sigils. They traced the path from basic alchemy to the forbidden techniques I'd only glimpsed in passing.
"Rest now, my Sovereign. I'll send them to your room," he said, bowing at the door. I tossed the sigil toward him. "Return it to Rhea." He caught it mid-air and bowed again. My lips twitched slightly upward.
It was almost sunrise. The corridors were empty, no one was there except for Theo. He looked pale, startled. When he saw me, he rushed forward, eyes wide. "Where have you been? How dare you leave your room without my permission?" he spat.
How dare you?
I kept walking. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission."
"You do," he snapped, stepping in front of me. "You're not special, Elena. You think just because your magic is different it makes you untouchable?"
I tilted my head. "Is that what you think I am? Untouchable?"
He scoffed. "You're a liability. A child playing with fire that was never meant to be yours. You can't even overpower a real high-rank Alchemist. Without that power, you're basically nothing."
Nothing?
Was it really always one or the other—amonster or nothing?
People'd always stared down at me for years, like their eyes were touching me, pressing into my skin. It had only been within the past few years that I dare confess that they disgusted me beyond all possible limits. Their words had worn me down, made me quiet, made me weary and sullen.
And yet, gaining more power hadn't brought me peace.
No. It was because I wasn't enough. I didn't have enough.
I need MORE.
What Theo'd said settled wrong in my chest. I looked at him—really looked. Burning hot fire was emerging in the back of my mind, I saw red, restraint was so hard so instead I said one word. "Demonia" I commanded.
She lunged at him, but all she did was pass through him. His breath caught. His body stiffened for a second and he flinched.
He blinked, confused. "What... what was that?"
She couldn't control him.
Why?
I didn't answer. I just walked past him.
I stayed up all night reading the manuals Lucius had sent me. They all spoke of a technique—one that required complete mental control over the body's energy. The process involved drawing that energy inward, concentrating it around the heart, and circulating it until it condensed into a core.
I tried to shape one. Over and over. But nothing held. The energy refused to settle, kept scattering, slipping through my fingers like smoke.
By the time the sun rose, I hadn't slept. My hands trembled from exhaustion, my thoughts frayed at the edges.
When Theo saw me in the corridor, he jumped—startled by the black circles under my eyes, the pallor of my face, and the way I moved like someone half-drunk.
"Have you seen a ghost?" I tried to be cynical.
He rushed toward me, brows furrowed. "Elena, are you sick?"
I kept walking. "No. Move." I waved him off, barely glancing at him.
He hesitated, then fell into step beside me as we headed toward the training grounds. The morning air was sharp, and the stone beneath our feet still held the chill of night.
Darius was already there, stretching lazily. When he saw me, he leaned toward Theo, cupping a hand around his mouth. "What's wrong with her?" he murmured, eyes flicking toward me.
Theo shrugged. "No idea. She looks like she just crawled out of a casket."
Darius snorted.
"I can hear you," I said flatly, crossing my arms.
Darius grinned. "Good. We were starting to think you were half-alive, half-deaf." They both burst out laughing and it was excruciatingly tempting to kill them both, I could barely hold myself.
Darius wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye with the tip of his finger, still chuckling.
He didn't wait for my comeback. Instead, he clapped his hands once. "Okay, let's start."
Then he threw me a sword.
Not a training blade. A real one. And nothing like the ordinary weapons I'd seen before.
"Darius," Theo said, his voice tight—in disbelief. Like he hadn't expected Darius to give me that sword.
It was unlike anything I'd ever touched. The blade shimmered with a silver-dark sheen, its edges angular. The hilt was adorned with interlocking rings and wing-like extensions of gold and red that flared outward. The grip was wrapped in textured leather, and the pommel tapered to a sharp point.
"Forged by the House's sorcerer-blacksmith," Darius said, his voice quieter now. "He shaped metal through alchemical resonance. He forged this blade for you—and for the kind of power you carry."
It felt like he'd placed a great deal of trust in that sigil-bound bracelet on my wrist. So I played along—letting him think he was in control.
Training began soon after. Darius led with combat drills, testing my reflexes more than my strength. Theo watched in silence, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Then someone came running toward us
I didn't look at him. Supposedly, he was one of the House's people I wasn't meant to see. It seems the illusion I cast worked.
The man leaned in, speaking low to Darius. "The Vault," he said. "Someone opened the sealed door. The one no one's ever breached. And what was inside—it's gone."
Darius stiffened—just slightly. Then he straightened, clapped his hands once, and forced a smile. "I think that's enough for today," he said, too quickly, and turned and walked away, leaving us in the cold morning air.