Jude stepped out of the bathing chamber, wiping the last droplets of warmth from his face. The steam drifted around the room, fading into the polished walls and tall windows of the Avernus residence.
Despite its size, the house carried a refined elegance—arched door frames carved with delicate patterns, soft lanterns casting a mellow glow, marble floors veined like frozen rivers. Each hallway was crafted with intention, neither loud nor boastful, but undeniably noble in its beauty.
Abaddon was already sprawled across the bed, feathery wings half-open, looking more like a creature claiming territory than a guest. Jude shook his head and dressed himself, pulling on a simple blue garment that contrasted his dark hair and made his eyes brighter.
"Time to go see Father," he muttered.
Abaddon raised an eye ridge but said nothing, instead melting smoothly into Jude's shadow, spreading like ink across the floor until he vanished completely. The room dimmed for a heartbeat before settling.
When Jude opened the door, the Head Guardian was waiting with the posture of a statue—broad shoulders, spine straight, expression unreadable.
"This way, young master," he said, bowing and then turning.
Jude followed him through the mansion's main hallway. Their footsteps echoed softly, bouncing off the high ceiling and smooth stone. The house was quiet, but not empty; the silence here felt purposeful, dignified, as though the entire home understood when to remain still.
They passed tall windows dressed in soft drapes, the afternoon light spilling in and making long shapes across the floor. Decorative vases lined the walls, filled with fresh flowers that added color without overpowering the air. The faint scent of jasmine lingered.
Each step brought them deeper into the heart of the estate.
Soon they reached a pair of large doors carved with simple but elegant contours.
The Head Guardian placed a hand on one door and pushed it open.
"Go in," he said.
Jude nodded and stepped inside with steady confidence.
The Patriarch's study was vast but meticulously arranged. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with books of every size. Soft sunlight fell from a circular skylight above, illuminating the dust particles drifting through the air. A large desk stood near the center, polished and organized, though untouched at the moment.
The Patriarch himself was on a tall ladder, one hand steadying a thick book while the other rested on the shelf beside him. His black sleeves contrasted sharply with the golden light, giving him the presence of a figure carved from shadow and discipline.
"Greetings, Father," Jude said.
The Patriarch looked down, eyes sharp and unreadable. "Welcome, youngest. Give your report of the journey."
Jude already knew the knights would have delivered every detail—yet the Patriarch preferred hearing it from him. So Jude spoke, explaining the events of the day: the fight, the discoveries, the trials he hadn't expected to face.
Again, he felt the weight of everything he'd gone through. But his voice stayed even.
The Patriarch listened without interrupting, closing the book gently before descending the ladder. When he reached the floor, he studied Jude for a moment.
"How was Torvin of Ravencross?" the Patriarch finally asked.
Jude answered honestly. "He was an honorable man. Strong, too."
The Patriarch nodded. "I thought as much." Then his gaze sharpened slightly. "Now… when will you introduce your little friend to me?"
Jude felt a flicker of confusion. "Father… what are you talking about?"
"The one hiding in your shadow," the Patriarch said plainly, turning his head as if addressing someone standing right behind Jude.
Jude stiffened.
He hadn't sensed his Father noticing anything. Abaddon had suppressed his presence completely. So how—
His pulse quickened. Abaddon shifted faintly under his feet, a stirring of power like a hot coal pressed to the floor.
Slowly, the shadow beneath Jude rippled, growing darker, deeper. A shape pushed outward. Wings. Feathers of living midnight. Twin eyes, ember-red.
Abaddon emerged in his phoenix form, rising behind Jude like a living eclipse. His presence flooded the room—intense, ancient, suffocating in weight. Books trembled on their shelves. The air thickened.
The Patriarch didn't flinch.
In response, a pressure equally powerful surged from him. Not wild, not chaotic—controlled, disciplined, the pressure of a man who ruled not with cruelty but with complete certainty of his strength.
Jude felt the clash instantly.
His bones creaked. His knees threatened to buckle. Even breathing became effort, as if the world had suddenly decided to press down on him alone. His fingers curled involuntarily, fighting against the invisible weight crushing his chest.
Then—suddenly—the pressure lifted.
Abaddon laughed. A deep, ancient sound that shook the air.
"You are really strong, human," the phoenix said, wings folding with deliberate grace. His voice echoed like burning charcoal. "I am Abaddon, Guardian of the contractor of Morthos… the Shadow Phoenix."
The Patriarch watched him with a calm expression that gave nothing away.
Jude, catching his breath, realized this meeting was only the beginning.