The iron gates of Valencrest Keep groaned open under the chill of the northern winds. Snow drifted across the cobblestone courtyard as Seraphine rode in, her silver hair shimmering under the pale light of dawn. Her knights rushed forward to greet her return — their relief visible in their eyes — but Seraphine’s expression was cold and unreadable.

  She dismounted gracefully, handing her reins to a stablehand, and strode directly into the keep’s grand hall. Her steps echoed sharply against the marble floor. The air inside was heavy, tainted with the faint scent of incense — a sign of uninvited guests.

  And there they stood.

  Three men clad in white and gold robes — Vatican inquisitors, marked by their distinctive sun-crest insignia.

  At their center, wounded yet still standing proud, was Inquisitor Varrin, his left arm bandaged and the faint burn of violet energy still etched into his skin.

  Seraphine’s gaze cut through the hall like a blade. “So,” she began, her tone smooth and precise, “the rumors were true. The Vatican’s dogs have wandered far from their leash.”

  Varrin bowed stiffly, forcing politeness into his voice. “Lady Seraphine of Valencrest. We bring word from His Eminence, the Cardinal of—”

  She raised a hand, cutting him off before he could finish.

  “Save your rehearsed sermons for the faithful, Inquisitor.”

  Her boots clicked slowly as she approached him, each step deliberate. When she stopped before him, she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping into a whisper sharp enough to pierce steel.

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice you and your hounds tailing me beyond the border.”

  A faint smile curved her lips — elegant, venomous.

  “Tell me, who gave you the guts to spy on me in my own land? And you dare stand here pretending nothing happened?”

  Varrin’s jaw tightened. His hand twitched toward his chest — whether out of reflex or shame, it was hard to tell.

  Seraphine’s eyes flicked briefly to his bandaged arm, and she added with quiet, deliberate mockery:

  “It seems you’ve suffered a misfortune, Sir Inquisitor. Did the heavens abandon you? Or perhaps…” she tilted her head slightly, eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement, “someone else crossed your path before I did?”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Varrin’s silence was answer enough.

  Her tone turned ice-cold.

  “Pack your relics and prayers. You and your men will return to your homeland by sunrise. Your service is no longer welcome in Valencrest.”

  The other inquisitors looked uneasy, but Varrin inclined his head stiffly. “As you command, Lady Seraphine,” he said through clenched teeth. “But know this — the Church does not abandon its pursuit of darkness. Not even in the far North.”

  Seraphine smiled faintly, stepping closer — her presence so composed, it was almost frightening.

  “And I do not tolerate darkness hiding behind holy light. Remember that when you report back to your masters.”

  With that, she turned away, her cloak sweeping across the floor like a whisper of frost. The inquisitors bowed stiffly and left without another word, their silhouettes fading beneath the falling snow.

  When the grand doors closed behind them, Seraphine stood still for a long moment — her eyes distant, her mind calculating.

  Kevlar… was that your doing? she wondered silently.

  You never did take kindly to leashes.

  She exhaled softly, then turned to her most trusted aide — a tall knight with short auburn hair, waiting quietly by the pillar.

  “Send word to our spies in the eastern court,” she ordered quietly. “Discreetly. I want everything you can uncover about the Vatican’s current dealings — their reasons for suspecting me, and any records about this so-called Shadowborn.”

  The aide nodded. “And their method, my lady?”

  Seraphine’s eyes hardened like crystal.

  “Any. If they believe they can manipulate the Hunter Clans under their faith, they are mistaken. I want to know who among us they’ve bought and what they plan to gain.”

  She turned toward the window, gazing out into the cold horizon where the forests stretched endlessly beyond sight.

  “They hide their corruption behind sermons and divine light. Let us see what filth festers beneath their sacred robes.”

  Her voice dropped, barely a whisper.

  “I will not allow them to use us as pawns… not again.”

  The echo of ancient stone groaned faintly as Kevlar adjusted his cloak. The violet light from his shadow pulsed softly through the cavern walls. Lilith sat upon a broken altar, eyes half-lidded, watching him with her familiar smirk.

  “She let them live,” Lilith murmured.

  Kevlar glanced at her. “Seraphine?”

  Lilith nodded slowly. “She could’ve executed the Vatican scouts for espionage… but she didn’t. Curious, isn’t it?”

  Kevlar’s voice was calm, detached. “She’s always been cautious. She’ll investigate before she decides which side to strike.”

  Lilith’s lips curved. “And which side do you think she’ll find herself on this time?”

  He sheathed one of his twin blades, the faint glow of its violet edge dimming. “Whichever side holds the truth,” he said simply. “Even if it burns her world apart.”

  Lilith chuckled softly — a haunting, melodic sound that echoed off the cavern walls.

  “Ah, so poetic. But remember, Kevlar… the truth isn’t always light.”

  He turned his gaze toward the deep chasm ahead — where faint whispers of the Shadow Realm stirred like breathing mist.

  “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”

  And as his shadow rose behind him — vast, formless, alive — Lilith joined him, the two standing at the edge of the abyss, waiting.

  Waiting for the world that once rejected them… to finally come knocking again.