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Enith’s face twists in fear. “I don’t… unless you’re lying. Or they missed a stray branch of the line.” The wand trembles in his hand. “If the monarchy catches wind of an Abyssborn in their city, they’ll scorch entire districts to find you. The chaos your survival brings?—”

His words hang like a hammer blow. The chaos your survival brings.

My blood runs cold. So it’s true. If the dark elves confirm I’m Abyssborn, they’ll raze everything to smoke, ensuring I never threaten their order.

My stomach twists. I overhear that my survival might unleash chaos—just like the illusions said.

I step closer, ignoring the panic roiling beneath my ribs. “Tell me all of it. Why does my existence matter so much?”

Enith’s gaze flickers to Malphas, fear shining bright. But Malphas only stares back, unwavering, as though daring Enith to refuse. Finally, the elf exhales, nodding once. “Fine. But close the door, for the Gods’ sake.”

Malphas shuts it, bolting us in. The cramped sitting room feels more suffocating by the second, but I endure it, focusing on Enith’s words.

He sets the wand aside with shaking fingers, rummaging among his scattered papers until he pulls out a battered ledger.

“I keep fragments of genealogical references—some legitimate, some gleaned from contraband libraries. The monarchy might suspect, but they haven’t destroyed everything yet. ”

He flips through pages. “Here,” he mutters, resting a fingertip on a scrawled symbol that resembles the one Malphas showed me in the fortress.

My stomach tightens. “That’s the mark of the Fallen One’s brood,” Enith explains.

“Rumor says any descendant can unravel demon pacts or strengthen them tenfold. The monarchy fears that if an Abyssborn chooses to side with a demon—especially a powerful one—they could shatter centuries of control.”

Malphas tenses beside me, jaw clenching.

So it’s not just about me. They fear an entire shift in power if I’m freed.

My heart pounds, a mixture of dread and rebellious satisfaction.

The monarchy’s stranglehold on Protheka might be undone by my blood.

But that also paints a target on my back the size of a fortress.

Enith keeps reading, voice quivering. “I’ve found references to a prophecy: When the scion of the Abyss emerges, the binding of countless souls shall break. Or else all demonkind shall be yoked anew. The accounts differ, but that’s the gist.”

My knees feel weak. Malphas’s revelations echo in these ancient words. If I fail to use my power properly, demonkind might suffer worse enslavement. My heart constricts at the idea of being responsible for that outcome.

Malphas exhales a slow hiss. “So the monarchy has discovered I haven’t killed her. They must suspect she’s special.” He turns to me, illusions rippling across his face. Beneath them, I sense the tension carved into his features. “They’re sending warriors to reclaim you, to ensure you die.”

A new wave of anger surges in my chest, laced with hurt. “When did you plan on telling me you knew they’d ramp up efforts to kill me if I was discovered? Or that you fully believed I was this… Abyssborn thing?”

He meets my eyes, something like regret flickering in the crimson depths. “I told you enough?—”

“Enough?” I snap, stepping away. “You said I might break your contract. You hinted the elves might hate me. You never mentioned they’d burn half the city to find me. You withheld that for yourself.”

Enith clears his throat, unsettled by the argument crackling around him. “Please, keep your voices down. If the watch hears?—”

I whirl on the archivist. “Then start talking. Is there a way to—” My words die as a jolt of noise explodes from below, the distant clang of boots on steps. All three of us freeze. My hand drops to my sword hilt, pulse skyrocketing.

Malphas inhales sharply. “We’re not alone.” He glances at Enith. “Is there another entrance?”

The elf shakes his head frantically, voice low. “Just the door we used and the window. But we’re on the second floor. Climbing out quietly might be impossible.”

Footsteps thunder on the stairs. A voice echoes through the thin walls, barking orders in the sharp cadence of dark elf dialect. I pick out words: target inside… do not let her escape. My skin crawls. They’re here for me.

Malphas curses under his breath, illusions flaring.

He grips my wrist, dragging me behind a tall shelf.

Enith scrambles to the other side of the room, rummaging frantically for something among his scattered scrolls.

I press close to Malphas, breathing shallowly, as the door rattles under the force of someone trying to open it.

The latch holds. For a moment, I think they might retreat.

Then a concussion of magic slams the wood, splintering the lock.

The door flies open, revealing two tall dark elves clad in black plate, their eyes glowing with arcane energy.

Behind them stands a figure that makes my blood freeze: another demon, shorter than Malphas but still massive, with horns coiled back like a ram’s.

Chaos magic flickers around its claws. They must have conjured or bribed a demon to hunt me.

I shrink against Malphas, heart hammering. The intruders step inside, scanning the cramped space. The demon sniffs the air, letting out a guttural hiss. It whips its head toward the shelf behind which we crouch, nostrils flaring.

A savage grin splits the lead elf’s face. “He’s here,” the elf sneers, voice echoing. “Malphas defied the monarchy, and that human girl is alive. This time, we do not fail.”

I try to calm my racing thoughts. So they know everything. They even brought a demon to handle Malphas in case the oath is not enough. My grip tightens on my sword. Malphas gives me a pointed look, urging me to remain silent.

Enith, trembling, steps forward, arms raised. “Wait, please—I have no quarrel with the monarchy. I’m just a humble archivist?—”

One of the soldiers slams him with a burst of arcane force, hurling him against a bookcase. Enith crumples, gasping in pain. My stomach twists. I can’t let them kill him. I start to move, but Malphas’s hand clamps on my arm, stopping me. His silent command is clear: Don’t rush out. Not yet.

The soldier picks up a fallen scroll, scanning it. A sneer curls his lips. “You think you can hide an Abyssborn from us, archivist? We’ll flay you alive if you don’t reveal her location.”

Enith groans, blood trickling from a split lip. “I— I don’t know what you’re?—”

The demon with ram-like horns growls, striding forward. Its eyes blaze yellow. “Lies,” it snarls in a guttural tone. My pulse leaps—this demon can speak. Another intelligence, bound to the dark elves. We are not the only ones forging twisted alliances.

It sniffs the air again, turning its gaze to the shelf where Malphas and I hide. Fear warps my gut, but a flicker of fury follows. I recall the illusions, the talk of my heritage. They want me dead because I threaten their precious hold on demonkind. Enough is enough.

Before I can decide on a plan, Malphas steps out from behind the shelf in a blur of motion, illusions swirling around him.

The soldier with the scroll startles, but his training kicks in, and he raises a blade crackling with magical energy.

The second soldier lunges, and the demon roars, brandishing wickedly curved claws.

I bite down a curse, darting forward to stand beside Malphas. My illusions remain in place for the moment, but I doubt these soldiers will be fooled. “We have to get out,” I whisper fiercely.

Malphas bares his teeth. “We’ll have to fight our way free first.” He flicks a hand, summoning a flicker of chaos flame.

The illusions around him shimmer, revealing glimpses of his true form—enough for the soldiers to confirm their suspicions.

One soldier backs up, fear flashing across his features, but the other charges with a war cry.

Steel clashes, chaos flares. The demon under the elves’ control leaps at Malphas, raking claws. Malphas meets it head-on, illusions glitching as he unleashes black flame to parry the blow. The room erupts in pandemonium—scrolls catch fire, shelves topple.

I stagger aside, brandishing my sword. The soldier who retreated notices me and snarls, “The girl!” He lunges, blade sparking with arcane energy. I block the strike, muscles screaming from the impact. My ribs protest, but I grit my teeth and hold firm. I refuse to be a victim again.

He tries to slam me with a backhand of raw magic.

I duck, sweeping my blade upward, catching his gauntlet.

Sparks fly, the metal scoring with a shriek.

He curses, reeling back. I follow up with a lunge, fueled by desperation.

My sword pierces the gap in his armor near the thigh. He howls, dropping to one knee.

A triumphant rush surges through me. I yank the blade free, blood splattering the pages strewn across the floor. The soldier collapses, cursing me in elven. I spin, seeking the next threat.

Enith cowers behind an overturned chair, eyes wide in terror.

The second soldier has engaged Malphas from behind while the demon tries to corner him from the front.

Malphas stands in the center, black flame swirling around his fists.

The illusions that once disguised him are flickering wildly, revealing glimpses of ebony skin traced by molten veins.

His horns glint in the dancing firelight.

The demon roars, slashing a claw at Malphas’s flank. Malphas twists, catching its wrist. They lock in a brutal contest of strength, muscles straining. The soldier leaps in, swinging a wickedly curved sword at Malphas’s back. My heart lurches. He can’t defend from both sides at once.

I rush forward, intercepting the soldier’s strike. Our blades clash. The jolt nearly numbs my arm, but I hold. “Malphas!” I shout, letting him know I have his back.