Servants murmured nervously. Hunters paused mid-training. Even the guards stiffened.
The Vatican had arrived.
Uninvited.
Unannounced.
Unwelcome.
The doors to the grand hall swung open with a heavy echo. Inside, Lucien Callus stood proudly at the center of the chamber, his ceremonial armor gleaming silver and gold. His parents, Elric and Armia Callus, sat upon the twin crescent seats reserved for the ruling heads of the family.
At their right stood Sarville, silent, composed, but with a storm hidden behind his calm eyes.
A Vatican messenger stepped forward, flanked by two robed acolytes. He kneeled and unfurled a scroll bearing Saint Fariel’s seal — a blazing sun carved into pure white wax.
He read aloud:
**“By decree of the Holy See, and by authority of Saint Fariel,
the threat known as the SHADOWBORN shall be located, pursued,
and eradicated.
This hunt shall fall to the Callus family —
the shining spear of humanity.
Lead the exorcism expedition,
Lucien Callus.”**
Silence fell.
Lucien’s eyes gleamed. His lips curled into a confident smirk he tried (and failed) to hide.
“This honor… to slay such a creature — I accept,” he declared, placing a fist over his chest.
His mother beamed with pride.
His father nodded with the satisfaction of a man whose legacy was secured.
But Sarville…
Sarville’s brow creased.
His heart sank.
Something was wrong.
He stepped forward, speaking carefully.
“My lord, my lady. If I may…”
Elric looked over. “Speak, Sarville.”
“The Vatican does not give decrees to hunter families,” Sarville said slowly.
“It has always been a pact of cooperation — not obedience. Since when do we bow to their commands?”
Armia frowned. “This is a matter of great threat, Sarville.”
Sarville bowed his head slightly. “Yes. But there is a difference between a request…
and a leash.”
Lucien scoffed lightly. “Perhaps the Vatican simply knows that I — and Callus — are the best suited for this. Why else would they choose us?”
Sarville’s jaw tightened.
Pride. He’s letting pride blind him already.
He looked at Lucien.
“Young master… shadows do not move without reason. And the Vatican does not either. There is something deeper behind this order.”
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Lucien rolled his eyes.
“You worry too much. You always have.”
Elric barked: “Enough. Lucien will lead the expedition. Prepare the hunting retinue. We ride in two days.”
Sarville bowed, though unease carved itself into his soul.
Kevlar… wherever you are, I pray this decree does not reach you first.
Far beyond human lands, hidden within a pocket of distorted shadow and warm illusion, a small wooden farmhouse stood upon an endless field of golden grass — isolated, serene, timeless.
Inside, Kevlar tightened the strap of a travel pack.
Seven years.
Seven years of growth, training, laughter, pain, quiet nights by the fire, and warm mornings under sunlight that should not exist.
Seven years of a life that felt almost… human.
He paused and looked around the house.
The table where Lilith taught him ancient runic scripts.
The sofa where he would collapse after Lilith pushed him to his physical limits.
The fireplace where he slept on cold nights while she watched over him.
The first floorboard he broke during training.
The scratches on the kitchen door from a failed shadow-control experiment.
A quiet ache tugged at his chest.
So many memories…
Lilith watched him silently from behind.
She could read him like an open book.
With a soft exhale, she stepped closer.
Then, gently — unexpectedly — she wrapped both arms around him from the side, her cheek brushing against his.
Kevlar stiffened, flustered.
“L-Lilith…?”
She smiled softly and pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek.
Warm. Tender. Familiar.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered.
“The house will still be here, even after we leave.”
Kevlar blinked, surprised by the warmth in her tone.
“This place…” Lilith continued, her voice gentle as moonlight,
“…is our home. Our sanctuary.
Away from chaos.
Away from greed.
Away from judgment.”
She rested her head lightly against his shoulder.
“No matter where we go, or what war awaits…
You can always return here.”
Kevlar swallowed the lump in his throat.
For a moment, he felt something he couldn’t describe—
Not fear.
Not love.
Not longing.
Something in between.
A spark.
A warmth.
He placed a hand briefly on the doorframe.
A silent promise.
“I’ll be back soon,” he murmured.
They stepped outside.
The door closed behind them with a soft click.
The golden plains rippled like water—
And then dissolved.
In the next breath, they were standing again inside the Whispering Woods, the illusion dissolving back into ancient trees.
Forest beasts sensed their presence — and fled.
Not one creature dared cross their path.
Minutes later, they reached the high cliff overlooking the west.
Below them stretched the Covenus borderlands —
the frontier that guarded the northern entrance into the Shadow Realm.
But Kevlar and Lilith did not look toward Covenus.
Their eyes fixed beyond it.
Into the dark horizon where the air shimmered with ancient malevolence.
Lilith crossed her arms as the wind rustled her hair.
“Well,” she whispered,
“you revealed yourself to the human world.
So now… it’s time you reveal yourself to the other side.”
Kevlar nodded.
Silent. Firm.
Resolved.
Lilith looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Are you sure you’re ready?
Humans are fragile. Predictable. Easy.
But the ones beyond that rift…”
She smirked.
“Are not so polite.”
Kevlar’s expression didn’t waver.
“Are they ready for me?”
Lilith let out a soft, elegant laugh.
“Mm… can’t wait to see those prideful Royal One’s smug faces crack.”
Kevlar’s gaze sharpened.
“My goal isn’t them.”
He turned toward the dark horizon.
“My goal is to find him.
Draculius.
Your father.”
Lilith’s smile softened—rare, genuine.
“Well… he’ll be happy to see you.”
She stepped forward, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia.
“He holds you in high regard, you know.
Says you’re the only one who might inherit the old ways…
and surpass them.”
Kevlar said nothing, but the faint glow in his eyes intensified.
They took their first step toward the west.
Behind them, hidden by the forest canopy —
torches flickered.
The Callus hunting regiment had begun to march.
Lucien rode at the front, his golden hair shining under the moonlight, his eyes burning with pride and ambition.
Two predators.
Two paths.
Two destinies.
Headed straight toward each other.