Meanwhile, while the trio unraveled threads in the shadows of Talagra, Princess Urillia Azel moved openly—yet far more dangerously.
Her destination lay within the highest spire of the city: the Department of Intelligence.
At its helm sat Bane Cotus, a man whose name alone commanded respect—and unease. He was renowned across Azel for his unmatched analytical brilliance and an almost inhuman stoicism. Politics bored him. Faith disgusted him. Public unrest meant nothing unless it threatened the balance of power between empires.
Talagra's chaos had been, until now, beneath his notice.
Yet the moment Urillia stepped into his office, Bane realized—perhaps too late—that indifference had been a mistake.
The room was silent save for the faint ticking of enchanted instruments embedded into the walls—devices that tracked foreign mana fluctuations across borders. Bane stood behind his desk, hands folded neatly behind his back, his sharp gray eyes studying the princess without a hint of fear.
"Princess," he said calmly, inclining his head just enough to be respectful.
"It seems your visit is... unexpected."
Urillia did not bother sitting.
"I wouldn't need to visit," she replied coolly, her golden eyes narrowing, "if you had been doing your job."
The air thickened.
"Tell me, Bane," she continued, her voice cutting like glass, "why are you ignoring the chaos unfolding in your city? I am one hundred percent certain you are aware of what is happening—and who stands behind it."
Bane exhaled slowly, as if disappointed.
"Of course I'm aware," he said. "I am aware of everything that happens within Azel's borders." His gaze sharpened.
"And I am also aware of why you truly came here, Princess."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"And it isn't for the people."
Urillia's expression did not change—but the temperature in the room dropped.
"Interesting," she said at last. "Then you won't mind answering my next question."
She stepped closer to his desk.
"Where are the sage's old research records?"
Bane studied her for a long moment. Then, without protest, he turned away.
"I kept copies," he admitted.
He walked toward a smaller table in the corner of the room, sealed beneath layers of complex magic—wards designed to repel even high-ranking mages. With a precise motion, he dispelled them, lifted a thick bundle of documents, and placed them before the princess.
The top page bore a single name, written in stark black ink:
Lyra — Shadow-Born Demon
Urillia's eyes flickered as she read.
"...Interesting," she murmured.
She did not ask questions. She did not thank him.
Gathering the documents, she turned and began walking toward the door.
"This is all I need," she said over her shoulder. "Continue watching from your high tower, Director."
There was mockery in her tone—but also certainty.
The door closed behind her.
Bane remained standing, staring at the place she had been.
"Do I even have a choice..." he muttered bitterly.
He sank back into his chair, rubbing his temples.
"Everything is already in your grip, Princess."
A tired sigh escaped him.
"Why are all royals like this... even the youngest is just as devious as the oldest."
Outside, unseen by him—
the game had already shifted.
Back in the city, it took time—but eventually, Leon stirred awake.
His head throbbed as if someone had split it open and stitched it back together poorly. He groaned, rubbing his temples while Asuma and Amira filled him in on everything he had missed.
By the time they finished, the room felt heavier than before.
"...This whole situation is a mess," Leon muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
Then, quieter, more bitter:
"And the sage... she didn't deserve to die like that."
Silence followed.
"She didn't," Asuma agreed, his voice tight. "But we can't stop now. Whoever killed her took Latriys for a reason—and until we know what that reason is, none of this ends."
Leon exhaled sharply.
"So what's the plan?"
Asuma didn't hesitate.
"The church."
Before either of them could respond, the world outside screamed.
A sudden tremor shook the antique shop, rattling broken clocks and sending dust cascading from the ceiling. Through the cracked windows, they saw it—
Talagra was burning.
Flames devoured the upper districts, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and black. But fire alone wasn't the worst of it. A vast, suffocating mystic aura rolled across the city like a tide—thick, malignant, unmistakably ritualistic.
Amira's eyes widened.
"The poison!"
She tore a strip from her sleeve and pressed it tightly over her nose and mouth.
"Asuma—Leon—now!"
They followed her lead instinctively.
Outside, chaos reigned.
People staggered through the streets, coughing, choking, collapsing where they stood as the long-sealed toxin from the garden finally escaped its bindings. Some fell silently. Others screamed until their voices gave out.
And then came the others.
Shadows peeled themselves from the walls—humanoid, twisted silhouettes that moved against the firelight rather than with it. Demons born of darkness and poison alike. They descended upon the streets, tearing through anyone who hadn't already succumbed, carving through bodies as if flesh were nothing more than mist.
Leon stared, frozen.
"What the fuck... is happening?"
Before Asuma could answer, a voice brushed against his mind—soft, intimate, wrong.
"Prince of Mercy."
His breath caught.
"Huh?" He spun, hand tightening around his sword. There was no one behind him.
And this voice—
It wasn't the woman from the void.
It was something else.
Something closer.
Then—
CRASH.
Hundreds of shadow-formed hands slammed into the antique shop's windows all at once, spiderwebbing the glass before smothering it completely. Light vanished. The world outside disappeared beneath writhing darkness.
The shop was swallowed whole.
And Talagra fell into nightmare.