The rain stopped.
Not gradually—instantly, as if someone had closed a faucet. The clouds remained, but the rain simply ceased, droplets hanging in the air for a moment before evaporating into mist.
Solomon snapped his fingers once.
[Skill Activated: King's Summons][Target: The Thirteen (all members)][Priority: Maximum][Response Time: Immediate][Cost: 130 MP]
Thirteen girls bloomed into the terrace like constellations finding their places. Not teleportation—manifestation. They'd been waiting in their assigned positions throughout the Manor, and when he called, reality simply agreed they should be here instead.
Each one materialized with knees to stone, heads bowed, their shadows stitching together into a thirteen-point star around him. The geometry was perfect—a summoning circle created by presence alone.
"Rise, Thirteen," Solomon commanded.
They lifted as one, a synchronization born from centuries of practice.
Eve took her position at the forward-left, sigils already humming at her wrists like caged birds. Her silver hair caught the mist-light. She wore combat robes—Enchanted Silk (Rare), defensive rating 340, with mobility enchantments that let her move at three times normal speed when casting.
[Eve - Full Status]Level: 367Class: Arcane Architect / Information WeaverUnique Skill: [Infinite Inscription]Combat Role: Long-range control, information warfareCurrent MP: 11,140/12,400Status Effects: [Combat Ready], [Analytical Focus], [Protective Stance]Loyalty: AbsoluteTime Served: 89 years, 2 months, 18 daysPersonality: Playful, cryptic, sees five steps ahead in every situation
[Bellona - War's Edge]Level: 383Class: War Saint / Combat InstructorHer knuckles were wrapped in ritual linen—blessed cloth that had absorbed the blood of 1,000 warriors she'd defeated in honorable combat. She wore armor that looked ceremonial but was actually Mythic-tier battle gear (Divine Steel Plate, defensive rating 890). Her hair was cut military-short, black as night, and her eyes were steel-gray. Scars covered her arms like medals.Unique Skill: [Eternal Warrior] - Cannot be defeated in single combat, grows stronger the longer a fight continuesCombat Role: Frontline combat, training, moraleKill Count: 8,234 (all in fair combat)Specialty: Has mastered 847 different weapon stylesLoyalty: Absolute (sworn through combat oath)Time Served: 112 years, 7 months, 3 daysPersonality: Blunt, honorable, respects strength, despises cowardice
[Seshat - The Record]Level: 364Class: Cosmic Scribe / Knowledge KeeperInk stained her nails like midnight crescent moons—permanent marks from her Unique Skill that let her write with her own essence. She wore robes covered in script that constantly rewrote itself, documenting everything happening around her in real-time. Her hair was black with streaks of gold, styled in elaborate braids. Her eyes were dark brown, but when she used her power, they turned into pools of liquid ink.Unique Skill: [Eternal Record] - Everything she witnesses is perfectly documented and can never be altered or forgottenCombat Role: Intelligence gathering, contract enforcement, historical analysisSpecial: Her records are admissible as evidence in any court, mortal or divineLoyalty: AbsoluteTime Served: 98 years, 5 months, 22 daysPersonality: Quiet, observant, has perfect memory of every conversation
[Mnemosyne - Memory's Keeper]Level: 377Class: Temporal Archivist / Memory MageHer eyes reflected rooms that no longer existed—places destroyed, forgotten, or erased from time. She could see the past overlaid on the present, walking through memories as if they were physical spaces. She wore robes of Temporal Silk (Mythic-tier), which existed in multiple time periods simultaneously. Her hair was silver-blue, and her presence felt like nostalgia made manifest.Unique Skill: [Perfect Recall] - Can access any memory from any location she's visited, even if that location has been destroyedCombat Role: Historical intelligence, temporal magic, memory manipulationSpecial: Can extract memories from objects, places, even corpsesLoyalty: AbsoluteTime Served: 124 years, 9 months, 11 daysPersonality: Melancholic, speaks of past events as if they're happening now, kind but distant
[Brigid - Hearthkeeper]Level: 358Class: Sacred Smith / Home GuardianA warm forge-breath followed her everywhere—the scent of metal and fire and safety. She wore a blacksmith's apron over elegant robes, both enchanted to Legendary-tier. Her hair was flame-red, literally—it moved like fire but didn't burn. Her eyes were amber, warm as hearthlight. She carried a hammer that had forged some of Solomon's most powerful artifacts.Unique Skill: [Eternal Forge] - Can create or repair anything given time and materials, her creations never break unless she wills itCombat Role: Equipment maintenance, enchantment, defensive barriersSpecial: Any home she tends becomes a sanctuary—cannot be breached by hostile forcesLoyalty: AbsoluteTime Served: 107 years, 4 months, 16 daysPersonality: Maternal, warm, but has a temper like molten steel when her people are threatened
[Nyx - The First Night]Level: 392Class: Primordial Shadow / Night HeraldShe wore the first second of night like a shawl—literal darkness from the moment day became night, harvested from the edge of sunset. Her skin was dark as void, her hair was darker still, and her eyes were pinpricks of starlight. When she moved, shadows deepened around her. Light bent to avoid her presence.Unique Skill: [Primordial Darkness] - Controls all shadows, can merge with darkness to become intangible, sees perfectly in any darknessCombat Role: Stealth operations, shadow manipulation, fear tacticsSpecial: In complete darkness, she is effectively invincibleLoyalty: AbsoluteTime Served: 131 years, 8 months, 27 daysPersonality: Silent, speaks rarely, communicates through gestures, unexpectedly gentle
[Tiamat - The Majordomo]Level: 412 (highest overall, counting non-combat abilities)Class: Majordomo of Calamity / Greater DemonAlready present, she stood with tray in hand, bow low, her uniform black-gold-purple aflame with residual rain that evaporated as it touched her. Her horns curved like a crown, her tail moved with serpentine grace, and her wings were folded but present—four of them, massive and terrible when unfurled.Unique Skill: [Perfect Service] - Can anticipate needs before they're spoken, summon items from nowhere, and be in multiple places at onceCombat Role: Support, logistics, emergency combat (extremely dangerous)Special: Has never failed a task Solomon has given herLoyalty: Absolute (Blood Oath, cannot be broken even by death)Time Served: 140 years, 1 month, 7 days (tied with Sophia for longest)Personality: Professional, efficient, proud of her service, genuinely cares for Solomon
Solomon's gaze passed over each face, a silent inventory of oaths and capabilities. His [Absolute Analysis] ran automatically, checking their status, their readiness, their emotional states. All optimal. All prepared.
"Form," he commanded.
The Thirteen shifted—no footsteps, only intent—into a wide circle around him. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, each one taking exactly seven steps to reach their position. Palms extended forward, fingers precisely angled.
[Formation Activated: Thirteen-Point Seal][Type: Mythic-tier binding circle][Power Source: Combined mana of all thirteen members][Total MP Available: 167,340][Effect: Creates absolute authority zone, amplifies Solomon's skills by 1,300%][Range: 500 meters][Duration: Until dismissed]
Lines braided between them: Eve's sigils connected to Hecate's thresholds, which connected to Ariadne's threads, which connected to Seshat's records, which connected to Mnemosyne's memories, and so on around the circle. Ink to wire, wire to light, light to law, law to shadow, shadow to flame, flame to steel, steel to justice, justice to fate, fate to death, death to desire, desire to knowledge, knowledge back to ink.
The circle locked—thirteen to thirteen, a crown laid flat upon the world.
[Thirteen-Point Seal: COMPLETE][Status: All members connected][Amplification: Active][Solomon's effective level: 847 (temporary boost)]
The air pressure changed. The temperature dropped three more degrees. Every magical sensor in a kilometer radius registered the surge of power.
"Atrium migration proceeds at moonrise," Solomon stated, his voice carrying the weight of absolute command. "Our banner: Alexandria. Our posture: ally, not ornament. Our temper…" He let his eyes rest on Lilith, then Morrígan. "…measured."
Lilith's smile sharpened. Morrígan's wings rustled with barely suppressed violence.
The bound Writ-Killer strained against the comma chains, making the sound of paper losing an argument with reality.
Solomon's curious nature wanted to study the thing properly—dissect its construction, understand the magic that let concepts become assassins. But there would be time for that later. Right now, he had a manor to move and enemies to educate.
"Assignments," he continued, his tone crisp as a ledger stroke. Each word clicked into place like pieces on a game board. "Eve—maintain pull on the Tithekeeper's line. I want to know every time they breathe wrong."
Eve nodded once. Her sigils brightened, and Solomon could see—with his analytical eye—the thread of connection extending from her fingertips, through three shell companies, across 1,847 kilometers, directly into the Tithekeeper's personal chambers. The poor bastard was probably feeling a headache right now, not knowing why.
"Lilith—questions they won't want to answer."
"A pleasure," Lilith purred, her eyes lighting up like someone had just promised her a favorite toy. She specialized in interrogation—not through torture, but through desire. She found what people wanted and weaponized it. Solomon had seen her break trained spies in minutes by simply offering them what they secretly craved.
"Sophia—protocol with the Regent. If they forget their courtesy, loan them some of ours."
Sophia's lips twitched—her version of a predatory smile. "With interest," she added quietly. Her [Perfect Ledger] meant she'd remember every slight, every misstep, every obligation the Regent might try to overlook. And she'd collect. Oh, she'd collect.
"Morrígan—disarm the knives they haven't thrown yet."
"A pleasure," Morrígan murmured, echoing Lilith's words but with entirely different inflection. Where Lilith found pleasure in breaking minds, Morrígan found it in preventing violence before it happened. She'd identify every assassin, every trap, every hidden weapon before they could be deployed. And if she found them after deployment? Well. That would be unpleasant for someone.
Solomon continued, moving through the Thirteen with the efficiency of a general deploying troops:
"Hecate—unlock nothing and close everything. I want thresholds obedient."
Hecate's three keys chimed on their ring. She smiled mysteriously. "The paths will remember their manners, my lord." Her [Crossroads Authority] would seal every entrance to the Manor except the ones Solomon explicitly permitted. No more uninvited guests.
"Astraea—hold judgment in abeyance. Weigh every word that crosses this stone."
Astraea's scales glowed with soft golden light. "Truth will be measured," she intoned, her voice carrying divine resonance. Her [Absolute Judgment] would analyze every statement made in the upcoming negotiations, marking lies, half-truths, and deliberate misdirections. No one would deceive Solomon while she listened.
"Ariadne—run a second map beneath the first. Keep me three exits ahead."
Ariadne's threads spooled faster, connecting to invisible points in space. "The paths are already woven, my lord. I see seven routes from here, twelve from there, infinite from everywhere." Her [Infinite Thread] would map escape routes, tactical positions, and optimal paths faster than enemies could think to block them.
"Bellona—drill the wardens. Short swords, long corridors."
Bellona's fist clenched, ritual linen tightening. "They'll be ready to paint the halls if needed." Her [Eternal Warrior] skill made her the perfect combat instructor. The Manor's guards would be trained to lethal efficiency within hours.
"Seshat—record all statements by compulsion. Seal them with their own breath."
Seshat's fingers already dripped ink that wasn't quite liquid, wasn't quite light. "Every word will become evidence," she confirmed. Her [Eternal Record] would document everything said in the upcoming conference. The records would be legally binding, admissible in any court, unalterable even by gods.
"Mnemosyne—wake the house's old roads. Let it remember how it walked when it was young."
Mnemosyne's eyes glazed over, seeing past overlaying present. "The Manor remembers when it crossed the Burning Wastes in a single night. I'll remind it how its legs worked." Her [Perfect Recall] would access the Manor's oldest memories, optimizing its movement patterns.
"Brigid—bank the hearths. A moving home is a jealous god."
Brigid's forge-breath warmed the cold air. "The fires will sleep safely, my lord. No spark will stray." Her [Eternal Forge] controlled all heat sources in the Manor. During movement, fires had to be carefully managed or they'd spread. Brigid would ensure every flame knew its place.
"Nyx—draw the Atrium's shadow thin and lay it over Alexandria before we arrive. I want our silhouette there first."
Nyx bowed without speaking, darkness pooling at her feet. Her [Primordial Darkness] would project the Manor's shadow across 1,847 kilometers, announcing their arrival hours before they physically arrived. Psychological warfare at its finest.
"Done," they answered—not together but perfectly, a chorus of affirmation that felt like reality agreeing with itself.
Solomon turned his head a fraction toward the bound assassin. The Writ-Killer had stopped struggling, realizing perhaps that resistance was futile. Or perhaps it had simply calculated that survival required compliance.
"And you."
The quill-bailiffs angled their points inward. The chains punctuated a warning—literally, as periods and exclamation marks materialized along their lengths.
"You came as a debt," Solomon said, his voice soft as rain under eaves but carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "You will stay as a witness. When the Regent and the Tithekeeper sit, you will recite who put the knife in your hand. Then you will watch what law looks like with a spine."
The thing shuddered, its paper-teeth chattering—a sound like ancient documents being fed through a shredder.
Solomon lifted his palm and the circle brightened. Thirteen lines of power tightened until they sang—a harmonic frequency that resonated with the fundamental laws of magic itself.
[Formation Status: Peak Resonance][Power Output: 234% of baseline][Solomon's Authority: Absolute within range][Effect: All magic within 500 meters subject to his will]
"Oath-form: Alexandrian Descent," he declared formally, his voice carrying the weight of binding declaration. "Seal of Solomon—acknowledge."
[Declaration Magic: Activated][Type: Territorial Oath][Witnesses: 847 (minimum required: 100)][Binding Force: Mythic-tier][Status: PERMANENT (until formally dissolved)][Effect: Manor officially recognizes Alexandria as new allegiance]
Thirteen auras bowed in response—not the women themselves, but the magical presences they projected, the manifestations of their power acknowledging the oath.
A low bell tolled somewhere in the wood of the Manor itself—the building's way of acknowledging a major change in its status. The sound resonated through walls, floors, foundations, rippling out to every room, every corridor, every hidden space.
And somewhere deep in the Manor's bones—far below the visible foundations, in the dimensional spaces where its true mechanisms resided—something massive shifted its weight.
Solomon felt it through his bond with the building. The Manor was preparing to move. Its legs—vast constructs of compressed space and solidified concept—were unfolding from their storage dimensions. Its feet—each one the size of a cathedral—were testing their grip on reality.
[Moving Manor - Movement Preparation][Status: 47% complete][Estimated time to movement capability: 6 hours, 23 minutes][Destination locked: Alexandria][Path calculated: Optimal route (avoids populated areas)][Weather conditions: Checking...][Political clearances: Being arranged...][Manor excitement level: High]
That last one made Solomon's curious nature flare. The Manor had emotions—crude ones, more like instincts than thoughts, but present. It was excited about moving. It had been stationary for forty-seven years, and buildings like this were meant to walk.
He made a mental note to observe the movement process more carefully this time. Last time he'd been too busy with political ramifications to study the actual mechanics. This time, he'd set up recording equipment, take measurements, understand it properly.
"Thirteen," he said, lowering his hand slowly. The circle dimmed but didn't disappear—they'd maintain it at standby power. "Bow to no one but the work."
They inclined their heads—not to him, not to crowns or thrones or gods, but to the shape of what must be done. It was an old oath between them, a reminder that they served the cause, not the man. Solomon had insisted on it when he'd first gathered them. He'd seen too many rulers demand personal loyalty and become tyrants.
"Make ready."
The Thirteen dispersed, each vanishing to their assigned tasks with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Eve through a sigil-gate. Lilith through shadow. Sophia through a door that appeared for her convenience. Morrígan as a scatter of ravens. The others through their various methods, each one perfectly suited to their nature.
Only Tiamat remained, still holding her tray, still bowing slightly.
Solomon glanced at her. "Status report. How are the household preparations?"
She straightened, her professionalism absolute. "Kitchens are secured for transport, my lord. All perishables stored in stasis. Servants briefed on movement protocols. Guest quarters prepared for Alexandrian dignitaries. The wine cellar has been reinforced—we lost seventeen bottles last time due to vibration."
Solomon winced slightly. Those had been good bottles. "Excellent. And the library?"
"Master Tobias has personally secured all volumes rated Rare or above. The traveling bookcases are loaded and locked. He asks that you not visit during the move, as the organizational system is 'temporarily chaotic' in his words."
Solomon almost smiled. Tobias, the head librarian, was even more obsessive than Sophia about perfect order. The old man probably considered "temporarily chaotic" to be a personal crisis.
"Noted. And our guests?" He gestured to where the Western Marches delegation was being quietly escorted to waiting rooms by very polite guards with very sharp swords.
"Confined to the diplomatic wing, my lord. Fed, watered, comfortable but monitored. They cannot leave, cannot send messages, cannot access anything beyond their assigned rooms. They are, in essence, very comfortable prisoners."
"Perfect." Solomon turned his attention to the Writ-Killer, still bound by grammar and law. "This one goes to the Evidence Vault. Full containment protocols. I'll want to study it later."
"Of course, my lord." Tiamat gestured, and two of the letter-bailiffs stepped forward to escort the bound assassin away. It made no protest—it was compelled to cooperate now, its contract subverted and commandeered.
As they dragged it away, Solomon's analytical mind was already cataloging questions:
What was the base material used for construction? How was consciousness bound to contract? Could the technique be replicated? What were the theoretical limits? Could it be improved?
His curiosity was both his greatest strength and his occasional weakness. He wanted to understand everything, and sometimes that desire led him down rabbit holes that consumed days.
But not today. Today he had a manor to move, a kingdom to ally with, and enemies to educate about the consequences of sending assassins to his door.
Tiamat cleared her throat delicately. "My lord, if I may—the Regent of Alexandria sent a preliminary message while you were occupied. They're... excited about your arrival. They've prepared the Scholar's Quarter for your use. Seventeen research facilities, full library access, and a 'conversation' with their top theoreticians."
Solomon's heterochromatic eyes lit up. "Theoreticians?"
"According to the message, they've made breakthroughs in dimensional magic and wanted your consultation. Something about..." she consulted the tray, where a small note had appeared, "...folding space more efficiently than current standard methods allow."
His curiosity surged like a tidal wave. Dimensional magic was his specialty. He'd invented six different space-folding techniques himself. The idea that someone else had found a new method was intellectually intoxicating.
"When do they want to meet?"
"Three days after our arrival. They're suggesting informal discussion over dinner, followed by laboratory demonstration."
"Accept. Enthusiastically." Solomon's mind was already racing ahead, thinking about theoretical frameworks, testing methodologies, possible applications. This was why he'd allied with Alexandria. Not just safety, not just political advantage, but knowledge.
"Done, my lord." Tiamat bowed and vanished in her signature violet flame.
Solomon stood alone on the terrace now, rain gone, mist clearing, the first hints of moonlight breaking through clouds.
He walked to the balustrade and looked out over his domain. The Moving Manor stretched below him—thirteen visible floors, forty hidden ones, 1,247 rooms currently configured, countless more possible. Gardens that defied seasons, towers that touched clouds, basements that went deeper than should be physically possible.
His home. His fortress. His laboratory. His legacy.
And in six hours, it would walk.
[Solomon - Personal Status Check]Level: 542Class: Arcane Sovereign / Contract KingUnique Skills: 37 (including [Absolute Analysis], [King's Seal], [Strategic Dominion])MP: 8,240/10,000 (recovering)Status Effects: [Sovereign's Presence], [Analytical Focus], [Curiosity (very high)]Current Concerns: 23Current Excitement: SignificantPlans: 847 (concurrent)
He smiled—a rare expression for him, genuine and unguarded because no one was watching.
The map was moving in their favor.
And Solomon was going to a kingdom that valued knowledge above conquest.
It had been a good day.
Interlude: The Manor Remembers
Deep beneath the visible floors, in spaces that existed sideways to normal reality, the Moving Manor thought.
It wasn't consciousness as humans understood it. More like... architectural instinct. Structural desire. The building knew things without knowing how it knew them.
It knew Solomon. Master. Bond-holder. The one who'd found it abandoned 140 years ago and coaxed it back to life. Before Solomon, it had been dying—unable to walk, forgotten, its magic guttering like a candle in wind.
Solomon had asked—asked, not commanded—if it wanted to live. If it wanted to walk again. If it wanted purpose beyond merely existing.
The Manor had said yes in the only way it could: by opening every door simultaneously and offering itself completely.
Now, 140 years later, it was preparing to walk again. To carry its master to new horizons.
It extended its legs carefully—twelve of them, each one a marvel of compressed space and solidified concept. They unfolded from dimensional pockets, massive beyond imagining, strong enough to carry a castle because they were a castle.
[Moving Manor - Self-Assessment]Age: 2,847 yearsCore Health: 98.3% (excellent for age)Legs: All functionalFeet: Firm and stablePurpose: RenewedMaster: Beloved
It tested each foot against reality, feeling the world beneath it acknowledge its weight. Good. The ground would hold.
It checked its internal systems—water circulation, air flow, mana distribution, defensive wards, emergency protocols. All nominal.
It verified its inhabitants—847 permanent residents, all accounted for, all safe. Good. The Manor protected its people.
It calculated the path to Alexandria—1,847 kilometers, twelve dimensional steps required, optimal route avoiding cities to prevent civilian panic. Good. The Manor was considerate.
It prepared to walk.
And deep in its structural memory, buried in foundation stones older than most kingdoms, it remembered the first time it walked—2,847 years ago, when it was newly built and filled with wonder at the world it could see.
It had walked across continents. Through deserts and forests and mountains and seas. It had seen civilizations rise and fall. It had carried scholars and warriors and dreamers and fools.
And now it would walk again.
The Manor was excited.
For in six hours, it would walk again. And this time, it was walking toward knowledge.
Chapter Three (Continued): The Weight of Contracts
Solomon descended from the terrace through a spiral staircase that shouldn't have existed five minutes ago. The Manor was helpful like that—creating paths where they were needed, optimizing his movement through its structure.
He needed to check something. The assassination attempt had stirred a concern in his analytical mind, a probability he didn't like.
His right hand flexed unconsciously, and he felt it: the familiar tug of thirteen bonds, each one a connection forged through blood, oath, and divine magic. The Seal of Solomon—his blessing and his burden.
[Seal of Solomon - System Information]Type: Divine Blessing (Degraded)Origin: Granted by [REDACTED] 847 years agoOriginal Purpose: To command demons and spirits in service of divine willCurrent Status: Modified, Repurposed, Possibly HereticalBonds Active: 13/72 (maximum capacity)Bond Type: Mutual Pact (not slavery)Cost: Significant (soul-deep)
He descended three more flights, passing servants who bowed as he walked. They knew better than to interrupt when he had that expression—the one that meant his mind was three steps ahead and two dimensions sideways.
The Seal of Solomon. God's gift to him, 847 years ago when he'd been young and faithful and foolish enough to think divine blessings came without cost.
He'd been twenty-three. A scholar studying theological theory in the Celestial Archives. He'd made the mistake of asking too many questions, seeking too many answers, wanting to understand why rather than simply accepting what.
God had noticed.
And God, it turned out, had a sense of humor.
"You want to understand everything? Very well. I give you the power to bind and understand. But Solomon—curiosity is a hunger that never fills. Be careful what you feed it."
The Seal had manifested on his right palm: a six-pointed star within a circle, inscribed with script in languages that predated human speech. It burned for three days and three nights as it etched itself into his soul.
[Memory Fragment - 847 Years Ago]Solomon's Status at Time of Blessing:Age: 23Level: 47 (considered prodigy)Class: Theological ScholarFaith: AbsoluteCuriosity: Dangerous
The Seal granted him three capabilities:
[Seal of Solomon - Original Capabilities]
[Command] - Absolute authority over demons and spirits [Understanding] - Perfect comprehension of languages, contracts, and magical theory [Binding] - Ability to forge pacts that could not be broken
It was meant to make him a champion. A crusader. A holy warrior who would use demons against demons, command spirits to serve the light, bind evil and cast it down.
Instead, Solomon had done something else entirely.
He'd started asking questions about the Seal itself. How did it work? What was the theoretical framework? Could it be improved? Modified? Expanded?
God had been... displeased.
Solomon reached the Seventh Floor—the Archive Level—and walked through corridors lined with books that whispered to each other in the darkness. The Manor's library was organized by Tobias into a system so complex it bordered on religious devotion.
He found the room he wanted: a small study off the main archive, warded so heavily that magical sensors couldn't penetrate it. His private research chamber.
The door recognized him and opened without touch.
Inside, the walls were covered in notes—centuries of research into the Seal, into pact magic, into the nature of divine blessings and how they could be... adjusted.
[Solomon's Private Research Log - Entry 847]Subject: The Seal of Solomon (Modified)Status: Heretical (probably)Progress: SignificantDivine Approval Rating: Very Low (estimated)
He'd figured it out about 200 years after receiving the blessing. The Seal wasn't just a gift—it was a test. God had given him the tools to either become a perfect servant or to fall spectacularly.
Solomon had chosen a third option: independence.
He'd modified the Seal. Carefully, over decades, rewriting its fundamental structure. The [Command] aspect he'd weakened—he didn't want slaves, he wanted allies. The [Understanding] aspect he'd strengthened—curiosity demanded better comprehension. The [Binding] aspect he'd transformed entirely.
[Seal of Solomon - Modified Version]
[Conscription] - Temporary commandeering of written contracts/oaths within territory (replaces Command) [Absolute Analysis] - Perfect analytical comprehension of anything he focuses on (enhanced Understanding) [Mutual Pact] - Forge bonds that benefit both parties, cannot be broken without consent (replaces Binding)
It had cost him his divine favor. God had stopped answering his prayers around year 300. The angels no longer visited. The holy texts he tried to read burst into flames.
But Solomon had gained something more valuable: freedom.
And the ability to forge genuine partnerships rather than master-slave relationships.
He approached a specific shelf and pulled down a tome bound in silver and white leather. The Contract Grimoire—a record of every pact he'd made using the modified Seal.
[Contract Grimoire - Status]Total Pacts Recorded: 13 (active), 847 (completed/dissolved)Current Bonds:
Eve (127 years active) Lilith (134 years active) Sophia (140 years active) Morrígan (118 years active) Hecate (95 years active) Astraea (103 years active) Ariadne (89 years active) Bellona (112 years active) Seshat (98 years active) Mnemosyne (124 years active) Brigid (107 years active) Nyx (131 years active) Tiamat (140 years active) 13th Contract: [CLASSIFIED - Phoenix Contingency]
He flipped to Tiamat's page. The contract glowed faintly, still active, still binding. The text was written in three languages simultaneously—Demonic Script, Human Common, and the Language of Oaths that only the Seal could produce.
[Pact Record: Tiamat]Forged: 140 years, 1 month, 7 days agoLocation: Ruins of Carthage InfernumCircumstances: Tiamat was dying, betrayed by her previous master, left to dissolve
[Terms - Tiamat's Obligations]
Serve Solomon in capacity of Majordomo Protect Solomon and his household Execute assigned duties with full capability Maintain loyalty to Solomon's cause
[Terms - Solomon's Obligations]
Provide purpose and direction Never command self-destruction Respect Tiamat's autonomy in personal matters Share knowledge freely Grant freedom if Tiamat requests it (after 200 years minimum service)
[Bond Benefits]
Tiamat: Power stabilization, purpose, belonging, access to Manor's mana reserves Solomon: Loyal ally, demonic expertise, household management, combat support
[Current Status: Both parties satisfied, bond strengthening over time][Dissolution Requests: 0][Contract Violations: 0]
That was the key difference. Solomon's pacts were mutual. Yes, the Thirteen served him, but he served them too. He gave them what they needed: purpose, safety, knowledge, belonging. They gave him loyalty not because they were compelled, but because they chose to.
It was inefficient compared to slavery. Slaves didn't argue, didn't have opinions, didn't require negotiation.
But slaves also didn't innovate. Didn't grow stronger. Didn't protect you because they wanted to.
Solomon closed the grimoire and returned it to the shelf.
His curiosity had driven him away from God, yes. But it had also driven him toward something better: understanding people as more than tools.
Though he suspected God might have planned that too. The old bastard had always been playing chess while everyone else played checkers.
A flicker at the edge of his vision.
[Warning: Anomalous Mana Signature Detected][Location: Approaching from Southwest][Distance: 847 kilometers][Speed: Accelerating rapidly][Estimated Time to Impact: 2 hours, 13 minutes][Threat Assessment: UNKNOWN - INSUFFICIENT DATA]
Solomon's heterochromatic eyes narrowed. His [Strategic Dominion] was alerting him to something big moving toward the Manor at speeds that shouldn't be possible.
He turned and left the research chamber, his pace quickening. He needed to reach the Observation Deck.
The Manor's Architecture
Solomon climbed rather than descended this time. The Manor obliged by creating a direct vertical shaft—a temporary elevator made of compressed space that shot him upward through seven floors in three seconds.
He emerged onto the Observation Deck, the Manor's highest point: a glass dome that offered 360-degree views and housed some of his most sensitive detection equipment.
Morrígan was already there, which meant she'd sensed danger before his systems had.
"My lord," she said without turning. Her eyes were fixed southwest, and around her, seven spectral ravens circled like a crown. "Something is coming."
"I know." Solomon approached the primary scrying array—a massive construct of crystalline lenses, mana-focusing mirrors, and probability calculation matrices. "The Manor's sensors picked it up two minutes ago."
"The Manor is scared," Morrígan said quietly.
Solomon paused. "What?"
"The building. It's scared." Morrígan's hand rested on the glass of the dome, and Solomon realized she was right. The Manor's usual ambient warmth had gone cold. The walls were... tense.
[Moving Manor - Emotional Status]State: Fear (moderate and growing)Cause: Unknown threat approachingResponse: Preparing defensive protocolsQuestion: Should we run?
Solomon felt the building's anxiety through his bond with it. The Manor wanted to walk now, to flee before whatever was coming arrived.
"No," he said aloud, answering the Manor's unspoken question. "We don't run. We identify the threat first."
He activated the scrying array, feeding it 200 MP to get maximum resolution.
[Scrying Array - Active][Target: Anomalous signature, 847km southwest][Resolution: Maximum][Analysis: Processing...]
The crystal lenses rotated, focusing. The mirrors aligned, collecting light from 847 kilometers away and bending it through space to display here. The calculation matrices hummed, processing probability and possibility.
An image formed in the air above the array.
Solomon's blood went cold.
[Target Identified][Entity: Wrath][Classification: Demon Emperor][Level: 789][Threat Assessment: APOCALYPTIC][Status: HOSTILE][Target: Moving Manor (confirmed)][Estimated Power Output: Enough to destroy a kingdom]
"Oh," Solomon said quietly. "That's... problematic."
Morrígan's wings spread instinctively. "A Demon Emperor. Moving at combat speed. Directly toward us." Her voice was flat—the tone she used when violence was inevitable. "Why?"
Solomon's analytical mind raced through possibilities:
The Writ-Killer's capture had triggered a response The Western Marches had called in a favor they shouldn't have had Someone didn't want the Manor reaching Alexandria This was about something else entirely
"Tiamat," he said, and she appeared instantly in violet flame.
"My lord?"
"Is there any reason a Demon Emperor would be personally hunting us?"
Tiamat's face went carefully neutral—which for her meant extreme concern. "No, my lord. Demon Emperors don't move for petty reasons. They're strategic assets. If one is coming here..." She paused. "Someone very powerful sent it. Someone with authority over the Infernal Realms."
Solomon's right hand tingled. The Seal of Solomon was burning—not painfully, but with heat that meant it was detecting demonic presence on a massive scale.
"Could it be about you?" he asked Tiamat carefully.
She shook her head. "I'm far beneath imperial notice, my lord. Unless..." Her eyes widened. "Unless they learned you modified the Seal. If the Infernal Throne discovered you're making pacts instead of commanding demons—"
"They'd see it as heresy," Solomon finished. "An insult to the natural order where demons should be enslaved, not partnered with."
[New Analysis: Threat Origin][Probable Cause: Theological/Political][Solomon's modified Seal has upset power balance][Infernal Throne responding to eliminate example of demon-human equality][Assessment: This is an execution, not a battle]
Morrígan's ravens scattered, flying to alert the other members of the Thirteen. "We fight," she said simply.
"We can't," Solomon said, his analytical mind already running the numbers. "Wrath is Level 789. I'm Level 542. With the Thirteen-Point Seal, I can temporarily boost to effective Level 847. That's still a 58-level difference against an entity designed for combat."
[Combat Probability Calculation][Solomon + Thirteen vs. Wrath (Demon Emperor)][Victory Chance: 0.0034%][Survival Chance: 12%][Manor Survival Chance: 0%][Recommendation: FLEE IMMEDIATELY]
"Then we run," Morrígan said. "The Manor can walk now if we push it—"
"We'd never outrun a Demon Emperor," Solomon interrupted. "They can fly at supersonic speeds. We'd have to walk through dimensional gates, which takes twelve steps and six hours. Wrath would catch us on step three."
Tiamat's hands clenched. "My lord, I can try to negotiate. Demon to demon, invoking ancient protocols—"
"Wrath doesn't negotiate. He embodies his sin." Solomon's mind was racing through options, discarding them as fast as they appeared. Fight? No. Flee? No. Negotiate? No. Surrender? Absolutely not.
Which left...
He thought about the thirteenth contract. The one he'd forged in secret, the one even the Thirteen didn't know about. His contingency plan for the scenario he'd hoped would never come.
[Contract #13: Phoenix Contingency][Status: DORMANT][Activation Condition: Solomon's death][Effect: CLASSIFIED][Cost: Everything]
"Eve," he called, and she materialized from a sigil. "How long until we can evacuate the Manor? Get everyone to safety?"
"Forty-seven minutes if we use emergency protocols," she reported immediately. "Servants first, soldiers second, Thirteen last. But my lord—"
"Do it. Full evacuation. Everyone leaves. That's an order."
"My lord!" Tiamat stepped forward. "We can't abandon you—"
"You're not abandoning me. You're preserving assets." Solomon's voice was calm, clinical, the tone he used when making hard decisions. "If Wrath destroys the Manor with everyone inside, the Solomon Estate ceases to exist. If he only destroys me and the building, you can rebuild."
"No." Morrígan's voice was steel. "The pacts bind us to protect you—"
"And I'm releasing you from that obligation," Solomon said, raising his right hand. The Seal blazed on his palm. "As holder of the contracts, I invoke emergency clause seven: in case of unwinnable scenario, all Thirteen are released from defensive obligations to preserve continuation of the Estate."
[Contract Override: Activated][Emergency Clause 7: INVOKED][Thirteen's defensive obligations: SUSPENDED][Duration: 24 hours or until threat resolved][All Thirteen are ordered to evacuate]
Thirteen simultaneous pains flared in his chest—the bonds protesting, the contracts straining against the override, but ultimately obeying because he'd written that clause specifically for this purpose.
Tiamat's face twisted with anguish. "My lord, please—"
"That's an order, Tiamat." Solomon met her eyes, and his voice softened. "I need you alive. All of you. The work isn't finished."
Sophia appeared next, ledger in hand, and for the first time in 140 years, Solomon saw her composure crack. "You can't—there must be another way—the calculations—"
"I've run them," Solomon said gently. "You know I have. This is optimal strategy: I buy time, you evacuate, you survive. The Estate continues."
"Fuck optimal strategy," Lilith snarled, appearing in a burst of shadow. "We don't leave family behind."
Family. The word hung in the air.
Solomon smiled, sad and genuine. "That's exactly why you have to go. Because you're family. Because you matter more than I do."
"That's not true!" Eve's voice cracked with uncharacteristic emotion.
"It's strategically true," Solomon corrected. "I'm one person. You're thirteen. The Manor can be rebuilt. My research can be recovered from backups. But if you die, decades of growth and development are lost. You are the Estate's future. I'm just its present."
The others were arriving now—Hecate, Astraea, Ariadne, Bellona, Seshat, Mnemosyne, Brigid, Nyx—all summoned by Morrígan's ravens, all realizing what was happening.
"There has to be something," Bellona said, her warrior's mind refusing the scenario. "Some tactic we haven't considered—"
Solomon shook his head. "I've considered 847 different approaches in the last ninety seconds. This is the only one where you survive. Please. Trust me one last time."
"One last—" Sophia's voice broke completely. "You're saying goodbye."
"I'm saying thank you," Solomon corrected. He looked at each of them, memorizing faces he'd known for decades or centuries. "You've given me more than I deserved. Family, loyalty, purpose. Thank you for choosing to stay, even when the contracts would have let you leave."
"We stayed because we wanted to," Nyx whispered, her usual silence broken by urgency. "Because you listened. Because you asked instead of commanded. Because you were different."
"Then stay different," Solomon said. "Survive. Rebuild. Continue what we started. Show the world that demons and humans can be partners, not masters and slaves. That's my legacy. You."
[Time to Impact: 1 hour, 47 minutes][Evacuation Progress: 23%]
"Go," he said softly. "Protect the people. Get them to Alexandria. Tell the Regent what happened. And..." he paused. "If this goes wrong, tell them I'm sorry I'll miss the dimensional magic demonstration."
His curiosity, even now. Even facing death.
Tiamat bowed, tears of literal fire streaming down her face. "My lord. It has been my greatest honor."
One by one, the Thirteen departed. Not because they wanted to. Because he'd made it an order they couldn't refuse without breaking the contracts.
Only Morrígan remained, her ravens circling. "You have a plan," she said. "I can see it in your eyes. You wouldn't accept death this easily."
Solomon's right hand flexed. The Seal burned brighter.
"I have a contingency," he admitted. "It'll cost me everything, but I'll survive. In a sense."
"In what sense?"
He smiled mysteriously. "In the sense that 'me' is a flexible concept. Now go. That's not a request."
Morrígan vanished as a murder of ravens, her final words echoing: "We'll find you. Whatever happens. We'll find you again."
Solomon stood alone on the Observation Deck as the Manor emptied beneath him. 847 people fleeing through emergency gates, carrying what they could, leaving everything else behind.
He felt the building's confusion. Its fear. Its unwillingness to leave him.
"It's okay," he told the Manor, placing his hand on the glass. "You're going to be okay. You'll walk again, I promise. Just not today."
[Moving Manor - Emotional Response][Question: Why are you staying?]
"Because something has to slow Wrath down," Solomon said. "And I'm the best bait there is."
He walked to the center of the Observation Deck and sat cross-legged on the floor. His right hand opened, palm up, the Seal of Solomon glowing with barely suppressed power.
Thirteen contracts burned in his chest—the bonds to his family, temporarily suspended but still present.
And one more. The secret fourteenth contract, the one he'd forged with a Phoenix 200 years ago when his paranoia had suggested this exact scenario might occur.
[Contract #14: Phoenix Pact][Forged: 200 years ago][Partner: Ash-and-Ember, Phoenix of the Eternal Flame][Terms - Phoenix's Obligation:]
If Solomon dies, collect his soul Preserve his memories, personality, knowledge Resurrect him in appropriate vessel Deliver him to safety
[Terms - Solomon's Obligation:]
Payment: All accumulated mana at time of death Secondary payment: The Seal of Solomon (temporarily) Tertiary payment: Rebirth will reset physical age to child state
[Special Clause: Rebirth Location]
Phoenix's choice, optimized for Solomon's survival Must be within range of allies Must allow for eventual reunion with the Thirteen
[Activation: Automatic upon death][Status: ARMED]
He'd kept it secret because the Thirteen would never have approved. They'd have argued, protested, found some other way. But Solomon's curiosity had demanded he plan for every possibility, including his own death.
And now that planning would save him.
Sort of.
He'd be reborn as a child. No power. No authority. Starting from zero.
But alive. With his memories intact. With his knowledge preserved. With his curiosity undiminished.
And the Thirteen would find him. He'd made sure of that—hidden markers in the Phoenix contract, clues only they could follow.
[Time to Impact: 23 minutes]
Solomon closed his eyes and began to meditate, conserving his energy. Wrath would arrive soon. The Manor would be destroyed. Solomon would die.
And then...
Then the real story would begin.
Because Solomon had always been curious about what came after death.
Now he'd get to find out.
The Seal of Solomon burned on his palm, and somewhere far away, a Phoenix stirred from eternal sleep, sensing a debt about to come death.
Now he'd get to find out.