Vanessa—Neshi, or whatever name suited her whims at the moment—was a woman who embodied contradiction. Confidence and playfulness laced with the ever-present spark of mischief, unpredictable in a way that made it impossible to pin her down. She was chaos given form, a storm wrapped in silk, shifting effortlessly between teasing amusement and something far less readable.
Her body carried an effortless grace, slender yet well-proportioned, every movement fluid as though she had mastered the art of drawing attention without trying. She didn't rely on extravagance or vanity—she didn't need to. Her presence alone was enough to make people hesitate, uncertain whether she was about to offer a sly grin or upend their entire world just for the fun of it.
Her silver hair, wild and untamed, cascaded down her back in layered waves, some strands catching faint hints of lavender under the moonlight. It never quite settled, always falling in and out of place, much like the woman herself—unruly, unpredictable, impossible to control. She would idly push a few strands away, only for them to tumble right back into her face, as if even her own hair conspired to match her chaotic nature.
Her violet eyes were constantly alight with amusement, never staying still for long. There was something restless in them, a sharp, darting curiosity that suggested she was always reading, always analyzing, always playing some unseen game. One second, they held the glimmer of childish delight; the next, an unsettling intelligence that hinted at just how much she truly noticed beneath her carefree facade.
Her clothing, while practical, still carried her signature unpredictability. A deep navy tunic, high-collared and embroidered with subtle designs, clung to her frame without being overly revealing. A dark sash wrapped loosely around her waist, its tied ends swaying as she moved, and a long skirt, cut for ease of movement, brushed just above her ankles. The ensemble was modest, but unmistakably hers—refined but worn with the careless ease of someone who dressed to please herself and no one else.
Despite all of this—her sharp wit, her knowing smiles, her air of untouchable confidence—there was another side to Vanessa. A side reserved only for those she liked—a rare and selective category. Around strangers, she was all provocation, teasing grins, and unreadable smirks, always in control of the situation, always the one dictating the pace. But with those she trusted, those she chose to keep close, her sharp edges softened into something far less predictable.
With Aelius, that meant the playful arrogance melted into something resembling childish glee. The woman who could weave words like daggers and bend people to her whims was now sprawled across the dirt, grinning up at him like an excited child who had just found their favorite toy.
"Aelius~" she sang his name, her voice dripping with amusement as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, her legs kicking lazily behind her. A streak of dust clung to her cheek, but she didn't seem to notice—or care. "You're so mean! I finally see you again, and what do you do? Just shove me off like I'm some random stranger! You hurt me, Aelius, truly." She placed a hand dramatically over her heart as if wounded.
Aelius stood over her, arms crossed, his cloak barely rustling in the cold night air. His gaze was as unreadable as ever, but she could tell he was already weighing his next words with the kind of patience only he seemed to have.
"…Get up, Vanessa."
She pouted, rolling onto her back fully, arms stretched out as she stared up at the night sky. "Ugh, I just got comfortable in the dirt. Do you want me to be miserable? Is that it? Some weird plague-guy punishment?" She tilted her head toward him, violet eyes gleaming with mischief. "Or maybe—" she gasped in mock realization— "you just like looking down at me. You do have a bit of a superiority thing, don't you?"
Aelius exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You tackled me."
"You were standing there all broody and mysterious! What else was I supposed to do?"
"Talk. Like a normal person."
Vanessa snorted, finally pushing herself up to sit cross-legged in the dirt. "Oh, Aelius. You know that's not how I work." She dusted off her skirt—completely ignoring the fact that she was still covered in dirt—and grinned up at him. "So. Did you miss me?"
Aelius didn't answer immediately, his eyes regarding her with the same steady, unreadable expression. And yet, despite his silence, Vanessa's grin only widened.
"Hee~ you totally did."
Caius, who had been watching the entire display with his arms crossed and an expression hovering between amusement and disbelief, finally let out a low chuckle.
"Well," he drawled, tilting his head, "that was a hell of a reunion. Not exactly the kind of warm welcome I expected, but I guess subtlety isn't your thing, huh, Neshi?"
Vanessa, still sitting in the dirt where Aelius had unceremoniously pushed her off, perked up immediately. "Caius!" she gasped, as if only just now noticing his presence. She sprang to her feet in one fluid motion, smoothing out her skirt with an exaggerated flourish before flashing him a wide, mischievous grin. "And Aelius—you both got my message!"
Aelius remained unmoved. "Explain," he said flatly.
Vanessa's smile widened, but something flickered beneath her expression, just for a fraction of a second. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she placed both hands on her hips and turned away, pacing a slow circle before facing them again.
"You're so impatient," she chided. "It's not bad. Nothing is wrong." She made a vague gesture toward the old church. "It's just… nearly ready. And I wanted you two to be here for it."
Caius's gaze narrowed. "Nearly ready?" he echoed, crossing his arms. "You're gonna have to be more specific than that."
Vanessa hummed, tilting her head as if weighing the idea before immediately dismissing it. "Mmmm… nah. You'll see soon enough!" She spun on her heel and started up the steps toward the church doors. "But since you're both so eager to get to the serious part—" she shot them a grin over her shoulder "—we might as well do it inside. No point standing around out here."
Caius exhaled sharply, glancing at Aelius. "Yeah, she's stalling."
Vanessa gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. "How dare you!" Then, after a beat, she smirked. "Okay, maaaybe a little. But technically I'm telling the truth!" She tapped a finger to her temple. "You just have to trust me."
Aelius's stare remained unwavering, unreadable. "We'll decide that after we hear whatever this is."
Vanessa clapped her hands together. "Great! Then let's go." She turned back toward the church, already pushing the heavy doors open. "You're gonna love this. Or be really, really mad. Either way, it'll be fun!"
The inside of the church was exactly what Aelius expected—dust-ridden, abandoned, and weighed down by the kind of heavy silence that suggested it had been forgotten by time itself. The wooden pews were in various states of decay, some still upright while others had collapsed into heaps of splintered wood. Faint moonlight trickled in through shattered stained-glass windows, casting fractured, colorful patterns across the stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood, lingering incense, and something more subtle—something magical.
At the center of it all, sprawled across the stone floor, was Vanessa's work.
A massive magic circle had been drawn across the ground, etched with care and precision despite Vanessa's typically chaotic nature. The lines pulsed faintly with residual energy, carefully woven runes curling into intricate patterns, forming layers upon layers of interlocking sigils. It wasn't just one spell—no, this was a complex construction, a culmination of multiple enchantments built into a single design.
And in the middle of the circle, forming its very core, was a ring. Aelius's gaze fixed on it immediately.
It was familiar.
Uncomfortably familiar.
The design was unmistakable—an old, worn band inscribed with markings that mirrored some he had encountered before. The sight of it sent a ripple of something unpleasant through him, though he did not show it. If Vanessa noticed the way his eyes darkened upon seeing it, she gave no indication.
Instead, she was humming to herself, placing down various components around the outer ring of the circle. Small vials filled with shimmering liquid, fragments of old parchment, carved stones etched with symbols. Every piece had a place, and she moved with surprising precision, fingers careful as she set each one in its exact position.
Caius let out a low whistle, arms still crossed as he surveyed the setup. "Alright, Neshi, I'll bite. What the hell is all this?"
Vanessa, kneeling near the edge of the circle, barely glanced up. "Magic," she said simply, as if that explained everything.
Aelius's gaze remained locked on the ring. "Where did you get that?" His voice was calm, but there was a weight to his words.
Vanessa paused for half a second before flashing him an innocent grin. "Ohhh, wouldn't you like to know?" She picked up another vial and delicately tipped a few drops into one of the carved grooves. The liquid shimmered, vanishing as the circle absorbed it.
Caius sighed, shaking his head. "Yes, we would like to know. In fact, we need to know." He gestured broadly at the whole setup. "Because unless I'm completely misreading the situation, this isn't just some fun little experiment, is it?"
Vanessa pouted dramatically, sitting back on her heels. "You guys have no faith in me."
Aelius didn't respond. His attention was still on the ring, his mind piecing together possibilities, none of them particularly reassuring.
Vanessa stretched, arching her back with a satisfied sigh before reaching for a final component—a small, dark crystal, nearly opaque, with a faint flicker of light buried deep within. She turned it over between her fingers, watching the way it caught the dim light.
"Almost done," she murmured, more to herself than to them. Then, with a grin, she glanced up. "I told you, it's nearly ready. Nothing is wrong. I wanted you both to be here for it."
Caius exchanged a glance with Aelius. "It being…?"
Vanessa only giggled, placing the crystal at the final point of the circle.
"You'll see soon enough."
Caius exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as he took another glance at the intricate circle. His patience, already thin from dealing with Vanessa's usual antics, was running dangerously low.
"Alright, Neshi," he said, tilting his head. "You wanted Aelius here. You needed him here. So why didn't you just send him a damn message instead of pulling all this cryptic nonsense?"
At that, Vanessa froze mid-motion, her fingers hovering just above the outer ring of the magic circle. For a moment, she blinked, as if running through the question in her mind. Then, realization struck.
Her head snapped up, violet eyes wide, locking onto Aelius with an intensity that nearly made him take a step back.
"Aelius!" she gasped, as if he had personally betrayed her.
He sighed, already bracing himself. "What?"
"You never gave me a way to contact you!" She bolted upright so fast that some of the smaller components near her shifted, sending one of the carved stones skidding a few inches across the floor. Her expression twisted into sheer, unfiltered indignation, hands on her hips as she glared down at him. "How am I supposed to send you a message if you don't even let me? Huh?! What kind of nonsense is that? Who just disappears for years without leaving a way for their favorite person to reach them?"
Aelius, completely unshaken by her outburst, crossed his arms. "Favorite person?" he echoed, unimpressed.
"Yes, obviously!" she huffed, throwing her arms up. "Or at least, you were my favorite until I realized you're a terrible communicator!"
Caius pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about how ridiculous this was. "So what you're saying," he cut in, his voice flat, "is that you never actually planned for Aelius to get a message—because you couldn't—and instead, you just banked on me finding him and dragging him here?"
Vanessa's entire mood did a complete 180.
Her irritation vanished, replaced by an almost smug delight as she grinned at Caius, wagging a finger at him. "Exactly! See, you get it! I knew you'd go looking for him, and I knew he'd come if you told him something interesting was going on."
Aelius sighed through his nose. "That wasn't a guarantee, Vanessa."
She waved him off. "Pffft. Please. I had a feeling. And I was right." She punctuated the words with an exaggerated flick of her wrist before plopping back down beside her work, legs crossed. "Everything worked out perfectly, so what's the problem?"
Caius made a strangled sound of frustration. "The problem is that you operate entirely on 'feelings' and 'vibes' instead of actually making sense!"
Vanessa gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over her chest like he had just stabbed her. "How dare you. My vibes are flawless."
Aelius shook his head, feeling his patience thinning but choosing not to engage. Instead, he shifted his attention back to the circle, its presence far more concerning than Vanessa's antics. "Enough," he said, voice low. "You still haven't told us what exactly this is."
Vanessa hummed, her playful mood dimming just slightly. She traced one of the outer symbols with a single finger, eyes flicking to the ring at the center.
"I told you," she said lightly. "You'll see soon enough."
Vanessa, still reveling in her victory over their presence, turned back toward the circle, humming as she knelt beside it once more. "Now, all that's left is this part."
She pulled out a small vial from within her sash—a deep crimson liquid swirling inside. The glow from the circle pulsed slightly as she lifted it.
Aelius's eyes darkened. "Vanessa."
She smiled without looking up. "Relax, Aely. It's not blood."
That was not as reassuring as she seemed to think it was.
Aelius's gaze remained locked on the vial, watching the way the thick, red liquid clung to the glass as Vanessa tilted it slightly. The glow from the circle flickered, almost in response, its runes pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
"Then what is it?" Caius asked, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing.
Vanessa shot him a sly glance. "Trade secret."
Aelius's lips pressed into a thin line. "Vanessa."
She exhaled, clearly reveling in the tension before finally relenting—somewhat. "It's a reagent. A catalyst, if you want to get technical." She held it up, letting the dim candlelight catch its eerie shimmer. "It's what makes sure everything goes just right."
"That's not an answer," Aelius said flatly.
"It's the answer I'm giving," she shot back, unbothered as she uncorked the vial with a flick of her thumb. The scent that wafted out was sharp—earthy, metallic, with an undertone of something Aelius couldn't quite place.
The circle reacted instantly. The runes lining its edges rippled outward like ink in water, shifting slightly as if breathing. The ring in the center pulsed once, a faint resonance vibrating through the old wooden floor.
Aelius took a step forward, but Vanessa tilted her head with a knowing smirk. "Ah, ah—patience."
Caius tensed. "Vanessa, if you actually need us here for this, maybe tell us why before you—"
"It's nearly ready."
The lightness in her voice remained, but something in her eyes had changed—just slightly. Not fear. Not hesitation. But a sharp awareness, as if she knew something they didn't.
Aelius wasn't sure he liked that.
"Nearly ready for what?" he pressed.
Vanessa tilted the vial over the ring. The first drop hit the carved symbol at its center, and immediately, the entire circle flared to life—brilliant gold and deep crimson intertwining, casting shifting patterns across the ruined walls of the church.
She watched the reaction with an almost serene expression. Then, softly, she said,
"For you to see."
The moment the first drop of liquid touched the center ring, the entire magic circle came alive. The golden and crimson glow intensified, snaking outward like living veins through the carved symbols. The air inside the church thickened—heavy, charged with something unnatural.
Aelius felt it immediately.
A deep, unsettling wrongness sank into his core, curling around his very essence like an invisible vice. His magic, something that had always felt second nature—like a dark tide surging through his veins—now recoiled violently, as though it recognized what was happening and despised it.
His fingers twitched. His breath hitched slightly as he clenched his fists, trying to suppress the sensation crawling under his skin. It wasn't pain. It wasn't exhaustion. It was—antithetical. The ritual wasn't drawing from his magic. It wasn't even interfering with it in a way he could fight. It was rejecting it entirely.
Like oil and water. Like two things that were never meant to coexist.
He turned sharply to Caius, his voice quieter than usual but edged with something steely. "Do you feel that?"
Caius, arms crossed as he observed the growing ritual, barely even glanced his way. "Feel what?"
That made Aelius pause.
The weight in his limbs, the pressure in his core—none of it wavered, none of it lessened. It was wrong, and yet Caius—standing in the same room, near the same ritual—felt nothing?
Aelius's eyes flicked back to the growing light, his unease doubling. "You don't feel that?"
Caius finally turned to him, brow furrowed. "No. What are you talking about?"
Aelius exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "My magic—it's reacting to whatever she's doing. Like it's rejecting it. Or—no—like it rejects me."
Caius was silent for a beat, then looked toward the now still figure of Vanessa, standing off to the side, watching the ritual from a distance. His expression shifted slightly, his curiosity piqued.
Vanessa had stepped away from the ritual the moment the first phase had started, seemingly no longer part of the process, yet her gaze remained fixed on the growing, twisting light in the center of the room. The edges of her lips curled, her posture casual, but her eyes gleamed with an intensity that sent an odd shiver down Aelius's spine.
She didn't acknowledge them immediately, standing there with a quiet calm, arms folded loosely in front of her.
Aelius took a step forward, his voice cutting through the thickened air, but quieter now, as if he feared to disturb something he didn't fully understand. "Vanessa."
She blinked, as if startled out of her reverie, and then her gaze met his, the faintest of smiles pulling at her lips. It wasn't mischievous. It wasn't teasing or mocking. It was bright—almost disturbingly so.
"Vanessa," Aelius repeated, his patience thinning, and this time, there was a bite to his tone. "What is this ritual doing? What are you trying to pull?"
For a moment, she didn't answer. The warmth in her expression never faltered, and her gaze flickered briefly to the ritual as she shifted slightly where she stood. Finally, her voice came, soft but unwavering.
"I'm bringing back Princy."
Aelius's mind barely had time to register her words before the weight of them crashed into him.
Princy.
The name alone shouldn't have meant anything. It was a childish nickname, something spoken with casual ease, with familiarity. But the moment it left Vanessa's lips, it tore through Aelius like a blade of ice. His breath stilled, his gaze snapping toward the ring at the center of the ritual.
It was familiar.
Too familiar.
His vision narrowed, and in an instant, memories surged forward unbidden—flashes of a different time, a different place. A labyrinth of endless corridors, whispering walls, and shifting reality. And standing at the heart of it all—
Alaric.
The prince.
One of the few people Aelius had ever dared to call a friend.
His chest tightened. That ring—it had been his. A personal artifact of the young royal, always worn, always held close. To see it here, placed at the very center of a ritual that made his very soul recoil in disgust—
Aelius staggered back a step, his breath coming sharp and uneven. He barely noticed how his fists clenched, how his nails bit into his palms. His magic—it wasn't just rejecting the ritual. It was reacting violently because it understood what was happening, even before he did.
This was black magic.
The kind that defied the very balance of life and death.
The kind that tore something from the grave, binding it back to the world in a way that was unnatural, a violation of the natural cycle.
And his magic—his Plague God Slayer magic—was the antithesis of it.
Aelius wasn't like the necromancers or the warlocks who sought to play with the dead. His magic was deeply rooted in the domain of gods—divine in its corruption, sacred in its decay. It was destruction, consumption, an endless cycle of rot that stripped away the stagnant, allowing new things to grow.
But this—this ritual—was something else entirely.
It wasn't decay.
It was refusal.
It was a desperate grasp at something that should have been let go.
Aelius's jaw locked, and his voice was deadly quiet. "Vanessa."
She turned to him fully now, that warm, hopeful expression never wavering, as if she hadn't just declared something that turned his world sideways.
His breath was slow, measured, but his fingers twitched at his sides, fists curling and uncurling as he fought to suppress the raw instinct clawing at his gut. The urge to stop this. To tear the ritual apart before it was too late.
"You're playing with something you don't understand." His voice was lower now, gravelly, as though something primal had crept into the edges of his words. "This magic isn't something you can control."
Vanessa just tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something far too certain. "Oh, but I do understand, Aely."
He nearly flinched at the name.
Her gaze flicked back to the ritual, the pulsing glow intensifying, the markings on the floor beginning to shift, twisting unnaturally. The ring at the center trembled.
"It's already working." Her voice was soft, but brimming with something unshakable. "He's coming back."
Aelius couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this kind of rage.
It was different from the cold, calculating wrath he wielded in battle, the quiet, simmering anger that he used to drive his enemies to ruin. This—this was raw, visceral, something deeper than fury itself. It surged through him like an infection, his magic responding in kind, coiling through his veins with a sickening pulse, as though it too sought to reject what was happening.
The ring at the center of the ritual shuddered violently now, the glow intensifying, the air thickening with the scent of something wrong. He could feel it, the pull, the weight of the unnatural trying to take hold.
And Vanessa—Vanessa stood there, looking so goddamn pleased with herself.
Before he even processed the movement, he crossed the distance between them in a single stride, his gloved hand snapping out and seizing her by the collar of her robes. In an instant, he lifted her off the ground with ease, his grip ironclad as he held her aloft.
She gasped, but not in fear—no, there was something else in her expression. A glimmer of delight, an exhale that was almost pleased. Her body trembled slightly, but not in protest. If anything, she leaned into his grasp, as though relishing the power in it.
Aelius sneered. "You think this is a game?" His voice was a growl, more bestial than human.
Vanessa merely smiled down at him, that same insufferable certainty shining in her eyes. "I knew you'd be mad, Aely," she purred, her voice like silk wrapping around something sharp. "But I thought—" She exhaled, her lashes fluttering. "I thought you'd understand. I did this for you."
Aelius felt his stomach twist.
His fingers flexed—and then he let his magic bleed into her.
It wasn't the full force of his Plague God Slayer magic, not yet, but the moment the decay slithered into her body, Vanessa stiffened, her breath hitching. Her expression twitched, and for the first time, he saw something besides smug satisfaction.
She gasped, a real gasp this time, her body instinctively trying to recoil, but she had nowhere to go—not with his hand keeping her suspended in the air.
The sensation was unlike anything else—an infection that wasn't quite physical but utterly consuming, like the slow, creeping touch of something ancient and divine, the awareness that she was standing at the precipice of something greater than herself, something that did not tolerate defiance.
Her certainty cracked.
"Aely," she whispered, this time not quite so confident. Her fingers weakly clutched at his wrist, her body tensing under the spreading sensation.
"You don't get to make this choice," Aelius bit out, his voice like poisoned steel. His grip tightened, not enough to hurt—but enough to remind her that he could. "You don't get to dig up my past and parade it in front of me like some kind of gift."
Vanessa's lips parted, but no words came. She had wanted his attention, had wanted to show him what she'd done—to bask in the moment, to be praised, to be adored.
But this—this was not the reaction she'd craved.
And it stung.
Her expression shifted into something petulant, her eyes flashing with frustration. "I thought—" She inhaled sharply, her voice wavering between defiance and something more fragile. "I thought you'd be happy."
Aelius exhaled sharply through his nose, something bitter crawling up his throat.
"You don't get to decide that for me," he said, and this time, his voice was quieter, colder. "You don't get to play god.".
Her lips parted as if to argue, as if to plead, but no words came. The magic lingering in her veins—the one she had relished in just moments ago—was still there, still reminding her of what he was, what he could do.
She had wanted to give him a gift.
Instead, he had torn it apart with his own hands.
Her fingers curled weakly at his wrist, her voice small now, barely audible. "I thought it would make you happy."
Aelius stilled.
For a single moment, the room was silent.
Then—
"You make a mockery of life."
The words left him in a voice that was no longer entirely human. They crackled, raw and venomous, as if dredged up from the depths of something dark and ancient. His magic responded—violently.
The air shuddered as a pulse of decay radiated outward, curling into the walls like invisible hands clawing through the foundation. The ground beneath their feet cracked, deep fissures spreading outward, veins of black rot burrowing into the stone. The symbols meticulously drawn for the ritual warped, their edges curling in on themselves like dying flesh. The flickering torches guttered, dimming as though struggling to stay lit in the presence of something that sought to consume all light.
Aelius's cloak, the ever-present shroud that had hidden him from the world, began to crumble. The fabric withered, fibers splitting apart as though time itself had decided to claim them all at once. His mask followed suit, fractures spider-webbing across its surface before it finally gave way, disintegrating into nothing.
For the first time in years, Aelius's face was laid bare, by his own volition.
And Vanessa—Vanessa, who had always been so damn confident, so insufferably certain—froze.
His eyes.
They were not the impassive, unreadable gaze she had come to expect. No, what stared back at her now was something far worse. It was rage. Cold, absolute, and unforgiving.
"You defy the sacred cycle," he snarled, and with each word, his magic pulsed, the sickly energy creeping along the walls, the ceiling, the very air around them.
The chamber groaned, stone splintering under the weight of something it was never meant to contain. The marks of the ritual—painstakingly carved, painstakingly drawn—began to melt, eaten away by the rot slithering from Aelius's presence. The ring at the center of it all, the last piece of Alaric that remained, shuddered. The metal trembled, its surface distorting, fighting against the corruption overtaking it.
But Aelius's magic did not fight. It did not conquer.
It devoured.
Gold blackened. Metal wept as it twisted into something sickly, something fragile. Then—slowly, painfully—it melted.
The last trace of Alaric dissolved into nothing.
The backlash of the ritual's failure sent a shockwave through the room, the air splitting with an invisible crack. Vanessa gasped as the force hit her, but Aelius did not waver. He stood in the aftermath like an unmoving pillar of something terrible and ancient, his breath slow, controlled—yet his magic had not settled.
It wanted.
It hungered.
And Vanessa—Vanessa, who had done all of this for him—finally understood that she had miscalculated.
She lifted her wide eyes to him, disbelief flickering over her features before settling into something fragile. "You—" her voice cracked, somewhere between a whisper and a gasp. "You destroyed it."
His response was immediate. His grip on her arm tightened—not enough to break, but enough to hurt, to remind her exactly what kind of force she had chosen to play with. His free hand twitched, fingers curling like he was barely restraining himself from tearing into the space between them.
"You defy the beings that hold this world."
His voice was low, gravelly, carrying something ancient in its weight.
"You dare defile my friend's memory—"
The walls cracked. The floor groaned. The torches, struggling to stay alight, flickered dangerously, their glow drowned by the thick, suffocating presence of something that should not exist.
"And you thought it would make me happy?"
The accusation cut deeper than a blade, a venomous, unforgiving wound of words.
Vanessa trembled in his grasp, lips parting, but no words came. She had wanted praise. She had wanted to be acknowledged, to show him what she had done. But now—now, all she felt was cold.
Vanessa gasped, her feet barely touching the ground as Aelius held her aloft by the throat. His fingers, cold as death, dug into her skin like iron shackles, his grip unrelenting. Her own hands clawed weakly at his wrist, but it was useless—he was stronger, fueled by a fury unlike anything she had ever seen from him.
The walls cracked. The floor groaned. The torches flickered weakly, barely able to keep their flame against the crushing weight of his magic. The air itself decayed around them, thick with rot, suffocating and vile.
"And you thought it would make me happy?"
He repeated once more his words a poison, seething, dripping with something venomous and deep.
Vanessa tried to force out a response, tried to steady herself against the weight of his anger, but her body was betraying her. The pressure around her throat tightened ever so slightly, just enough to remind her how fragile she was in his grasp.
But despite the choking grip, despite the sheer weight of his fury pressing down on her, something in her snapped.
The fear that had crept into her chest twisted into something else. Something defiant.
Her lips curled into a smirk—strained, breathless, but still there. "That's rich, coming from you, Aely."
His dark eyes narrowed.
"Oh?" His voice was quieter now, but the sheer danger in it was suffocating. "You have something to say, Vanessa?"
Her breath hitched, but she forced out a sharp, hoarse laugh. "You're pissed? Really? I bring someone back and it's a crime, but you—" She coughed, struggling to pull in air, but she didn't stop. "You get to walk around like you didn't—like you didn't crawl out of the grave yourself?"
Aelius went still.
The air around them stopped moving.
For the first time, his grip faltered.
Vanessa felt it—the hesitation. The way his fingers twitched against her throat. The way his magic, wild and seething, seemed to stutter for just a fraction of a second.
He didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
That was the answer.
Her chest burned, her throat ached, but she pushed through, voice cracking. "You died, Aelius. You died, and you came back, and you look fine now—" Her fingers dug weakly into his wrist, nails dragging across his skin, not to fight him, but to make him listen. "But when I try to bring someone back, suddenly it's some unforgivable crime?"
Aelius's grip tightened again—just for a moment, just enough to remind her that he could kill her right now if he wanted to.
But he didn't.
His emerald eyes bore into hers, unreadable, but the fury was still there, still simmering beneath the surface, held back by something neither of them could name.
"You don't understand what you're talking about." His voice was lower now, but it wasn't as sharp. It wasn't as sure.
Vanessa let out a sharp, humorless breath. "Don't I?"
His fingers twitched again.
She laughed—a ragged, breathless sound, but there. "That's why you're so mad, isn't it?" Her voice was hoarse, but her words didn't waver. "Because I touched something that you think should have stayed buried. Because I reminded you of what you are."
Aelius exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening.
Vanessa smirked despite the burning pain in her throat. "You act like I defiled something sacred, but look at you, Aely. You don't rot anymore. You don't fall apart. You're walking around like nothing happened—like you aren't supposed to be in the ground right now."
His magic surged, a violent wave of decay that should have swallowed her whole—but it didn't.
Because he still hadn't let go.
"You think this is the same?" Aelius murmured, his tone sharp, brittle. "You think what you did—what you tried to do—is anything like what happened to me?"
Vanessa let out a slow, shaky breath. "I think it's close enough that you can't stand it."
Silence.
A dangerous, suffocating silence.
For a long moment, he just stared at her.
His grip tightened.
And then—
He laughed.
A cold, dead thing, devoid of even the memory of amusement. It wasn't the kind of laugh one heard from a man who had found humor in a situation, it was the sound of something breaking, something already broken fracturing even further. It was the kind of laugh that belonged to a man who had long since lost touch with reality, to something teetering just on the edge of control, something looking down into the abyss and daring it to stare back.
The torches guttered violently, their weak flames cowering in the face of the power that radiated from him. The walls groaned, as if they felt it, as if even the very structure of the room itself was recoiling from the decay, from the sheer wrongness of the moment.
Vanessa stiffened. That laugh, she had never heard him laugh like that before.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was like gravel dragged over steel, laced with venom and something far, far worse.
"You really think it's the same?"
His grip didn't loosen. If anything, it became even more unforgiving, his fingers pressing into her throat like a vice, as if daring her to answer.
Vanessa choked slightly, but she refused to look away.
Aelius leaned in slightly, just enough for his breath—cold as death—to ghost against her skin. "You think I chose this?" he murmured, voice dipped in bitter rage. "You think I wanted to crawl out of the grave? That I clawed my way back into this wretched world because I couldn't let go?"
His emerald eyes burned.
"I didn't come back." His voice sharpened, the weight of his fury pressing into every word. "I was dragged back."
The torches snapped violently, the flames thinning into barely-there wisps as his magic pulsed again, making the air unbearable.
"If I didn't die, then it wasn't my time. If it was, I wouldn't be here." His head tilted slightly, his expression twisting into something cruel, something mocking. "Do you know who did it? Do you know who forced me back?"
Vanessa gasped as the pressure around her throat flared for a fraction of a second before he let up—just enough to let her listen.
"My Grandfather."
Vanessa's stomach twisted.
Aelius let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "He brought me back. Not because I asked. Not because I wanted it. Because he decided I wasn't done. Because he decided I still had something left to do."
His voice lowered, the seething fury in it curling around every syllable. "And what did I come back to?"
His lips curled, but there was no humor in it.
"You?" he sneered. "Your ridiculous, exhausting need to toy with me? Caius's overwhelming need to fight every goddamn thing that breathes? The same pointless conflicts, the same cycle of destruction, the same—" His breath hitched slightly, but his fury never wavered. "I didn't want any of this. I didn't want to deal with you. With him. With any of it."
His grip tightened again, just for a second, just enough to make her see how serious he was.
"And yet, here I am." His eyes burned with something dangerous. "Here I am, alive against my will, dragged back to this world only to have you stand in front of me and act like we are the same."
His laughter came again—low, bitter, something twisted and hateful. "You are not me, Vanessa. You don't get to compare yourself to me. You don't get to pretend you understand anything about what it means to be forced back into a world you never wanted to see again."
The rot in the air thickened, curling at the edges of the room like fingers dragging across its very foundation.
"I didn't want this." His voice was sharp as a blade now, cutting through her like a scalpel. "You do."
The difference was everything.
The silence that followed was crushing.
Vanessa stared up at him, something unreadable flickering across her face. She couldn't breathe, not just from his grip, but from the weight of his words.
And then—finally—he let go.
She dropped to the ground like a discarded thing, coughing violently, sucking in deep, shuddering breaths. The air was still thick, still wrong, but she could breathe.
Above her, Aelius exhaled sharply, stepping back, shaking his head. His magic still rippled through the room, still curled at his feet, but there was nothing contained about it anymore. It leaked from him like an infection, soaking into the floor, the walls—everywhere.
Vanessa wiped at her mouth, swallowing back the burn in her throat. "You're a hypocrite," she rasped, voice raw but still defiant. "You hate that I did this because it makes you face what you are."
Aelius scoffed, shaking his head, his lips curling again, mocking, empty. "No, I hate that I actually thought you might have been worth helping."
Vanessa stiffened.
Aelius's words cut deeper than any wound, sharper than any magic.
He didn't yell. He didn't sneer. His voice was flat, cold in a way that made it clear—he wasn't trying to wound her. He was simply stating a fact.
Her fingers twitched against the ruined floor, something tightening in her chest, something unfamiliar. He had thought she was worth helping?
And now—now, he didn't.
Aelius exhaled sharply, shaking his head once, as if disgusted not just with her, but with himself for ever thinking otherwise.
He turned away.
The magic still curled at his feet, seething, hungry, but he didn't lash out with it. He didn't burn the rest of the room to ash, didn't destroy what was left. That would have meant he cared enough to see this place ruined.
But he didn't.
Not anymore.
His boots scraped against the cracked floor as he took his first step toward the door, the weight of his presence heavier than ever, thick with something unspoken. The decay still lingered, but it no longer pulsed with fury—it simply existed, spreading out in slow, inevitable waves, a reflection of the rot he had left behind inside himself.
"You always wanted my attention, Vanessa." His voice was quieter now, but no less sharp. "Congratulations. You have it."
Vanessa swallowed hard, but she said nothing.
"Not that it means anything anymore."
She clenched her jaw. Say something. Fight back. Laugh. Do something.
But she couldn't.
Because for the first time, she realized—this wasn't a fight to him anymore.
This wasn't the usual back and forth, the same game they always played, where he ignored her antics and she twisted the knife deeper just to make him react.
This was over.
Aelius stepped into the ruined doorway, pausing only for a fraction of a second, just long enough for the torchlight to flicker against his eyes.
And then—
He walked out.
The decay spread behind him, eating away at the edges of the threshold as if the room itself was rejecting him now that he had no reason to stay.
Vanessa sat in the wreckage, watching his silhouette fade into the night, a hollow, burning ache in her chest that she refused to acknowledge.
He's lying, she told herself, fists clenching at her sides. He still cares. He just doesn't want to admit it.
And yet—
For the first time, she wasn't sure if she believed it.
Aelius stepped out into the cold night air, his boots hitting the dirt with slow, deliberate steps. His breath came sharp, controlled—but only just. His magic still coiled at his feet like a living thing, curling around his frame in slow, creeping waves of decay. The walls of Blackhollow groaned as he passed, the buildings old and brittle enough that even his presence was enough to weaken them further.
He didn't care.
The thought of tearing this rotting town apart, of leaving behind nothing but withered husks and scorched earth, was tempting—gods, it was tempting. The anger still burned, sharp and consuming, every step forward only fanning the embers of it, refusing to let it die. His fingers twitched at his sides, his body tense with barely-contained power, the weight of it making the air thick.
But he restrained himself.
Barely.
Aelius wasn't in the mood to kill anyone, but if one of these pathetic wretches got in his way, he wouldn't stop himself either.
The streets were quiet—too quiet. The people of Blackhollow had felt the shift in the air, had heard the unnatural groan of the buildings, had seen the torches flickering wildly despite the absence of wind. They knew something had happened. And now, as he walked through their town like a harbinger of ruin, they did what they did best.
They hid.
Aelius caught glimpses of them—shadows behind half-shut windows, silhouettes barely visible through cracks in doorways. Eyes peered out from the safety of the dark, wide and fearful, waiting for him to pass. Waiting for the storm to leave their town without taking them with it.
It should have satisfied him.
It didn't.
His jaw clenched. Cowards.
None of them had the spine to even look at him properly, let alone face him. That was the nature of places like this—miserable, decrepit, filled with people too pathetic to do anything other than survive. Clawing at their wretched little existence like rats in a collapsing house.
His magic surged, reacting to the irritation creeping up his spine, and the cobblestone path beneath his boots split, black veins of decay spider-webbing out from where he stepped. A faint gasp came from one of the windows, a child's whisper carried on the wind before someone hushed them.
Aelius exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his magic down, down, down, coiling it back inside himself before it could spread further. The effort was frustrating. Restraining himself like this felt unnatural, like gripping the hilt of a blade and refusing to swing.
A man stood at the far end of the street, a shopkeeper from the look of him—middle-aged, thin, and trying very hard not to shake. His hands were stiff at his sides, his face pale, but his eyes didn't lower. He was afraid—they all were—but at least he had the spine to show himself.
Aelius stopped just before passing him, his eyes flicking toward the man in a slow, measured glance.
The shopkeeper swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You're… leaving, then," he said, his voice cautious.
Aelius said nothing.
The silence stretched, dragging between them like the edge of a blade. The man didn't look away, but he didn't push for an answer either.
Smart.
Aelius scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. "Lucky for you."
The shopkeeper stiffened but didn't respond. There was nothing to say.
Aelius stepped past him, his magic brushing dangerously close before he forced it inward once more.
His restraint was slipping.
The weight of Blackhollow, of Vanessa, of everything, still pressed against his skull, rattling inside his chest like a beast desperate to break free. He needed to get out of here. He needed to put distance between himself and this town before he decided to stop holding back.
The outskirts of Blackhollow loomed ahead, the treeline stretching wide and dark beneath the pale moonlight. The road to Fairy Tail lay beyond it.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to go back.
But he walked anyway.
And behind him, Blackhollow, the town that was running out of time, still stood.
For now.
—
The trees loomed ahead, dark and silent, their skeletal branches twisting against the night sky. The moment Aelius crossed the threshold into the forest, the last brittle structure of Blackhollow vanishing behind him, he let go.
His magic surged outward in an instant, ripping through the ground like a beast finally set loose from its chains. The pressure that had been coiling in his chest exploded, a pulse of rot and decay rolling off him in waves, turning the very air sick.
The trees closest to him withered instantly, their bark blackening, their leaves curling into brittle husks before crumbling to dust. The grass beneath his feet shriveled away, retreating from his presence like a living thing fleeing from death itself. The earth cracked, deep fissures splitting through the dirt as his power seeped into the land, corrupting it, consuming it.
Aelius exhaled slowly, his breath steady, controlled—but his power wasn't. He didn't want it to be.
He had been holding it back, leashing it like some rabid beast, restraining himself to spare the useless, cowering masses in that pathetic town. Even now, his hands twitched at his sides, fingers flexing as the sheer force of his magic pulsed through him like an unrelenting storm.
Why?
Why had he restrained himself at all?
Why had he walked through Blackhollow like a man bound in chains, forcing himself to care whether the buildings still stood, whether the people inside them lived?
Why did he always do this?
His lip curled, his fingers twitching again, and another pulse of magic erupted from him, surging forward in an unforgiving wave.
A deer, hidden among the brush, barely had time to scream before it wasted away, its flesh collapsing in on itself as the rot consumed it. The trees groaned in agony, branches snapping, bark peeling back in layers, like flesh stripped from bone. The very air was wrong, thick with death, thick with the undeniable stench of something that should not be.
Aelius breathed it in.
The scent of ruin. The weight of his own power, unrestrained.
It should have made him feel something.
It didn't.
His body was still coiled tight, tension still wound into every fiber of his being, the anger still there, still burning, still demanding more.
Vanessa's words still echoed in his skull, crawling under his skin like a parasite. You're a hypocrite.
She didn't know.
She thought she understood—thought she could twist his reality into some poetic tragedy where she and he were the same, where her pathetic, childish stunt was anything like what had happened to him.
She thought this was about facing what he was.
It wasn't.
He knew what he was. He had never not known.
What infuriated him—what truly made his skin crawl—was that, for a brief, stupid moment, he had actually thought she had been worth helping.
His magic lashed out again, twisting the very air, sending another wave of decay rolling through the forest. More trees collapsed, their roots rotted through in seconds. The dirt beneath him cracked apart, the corruption stretching outward, deeper, wider.
He should stop.
He didn't.
He let the power burn, let the world wither, let it take everything around him, just to feel something.
The shadows of the trees stretched unnaturally around him, bent by the sheer force of his presence, as if the forest itself was recoiling. The moonlight barely cut through the haze, its glow pale and weak against the deep, writhing darkness curling at the edges of his vision.
His breath came slow, steady.
The anger was still there.
But the exhaustion was creeping in.
Not physical exhaustion—no. His body could go for days, weeks, months without faltering. His magic would never let him die so easily.
But the mental exhaustion. The sheer, unrelenting tedium of it all.
Vanessa and her games. Caius and his view of danger as a joke. The constant, grating weight of existence, of the cycle repeating, of walking the same road with the same people and the same problems over and over and over again.
For what?
He didn't want to deal with it anymore.
His fists clenched at his sides, his teeth grinding together as another pulse of magic ripped through the ground, widening the fractures beneath his feet.
His rage had burned through everything, but the frustration still lingered, heavy and bitter, crawling at the edges of his mind.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, in the heart of the rot, in the graveyard of his own making, surrounded by nothing but ruin.
And yet, despite everything, he was still here.
Still alive.
Still walking the same damn road.
His eyes flicked up, past the dead trees, toward the distant horizon.
Fairy Tail.
His feet moved before his mind caught up.
He didn't want to go back.
But he walked anyway.
The forest stretched endlessly before him, twisted and rotting in his wake, the trees falling apart as his magic continued to pulse, rolling off of him in slow, seething waves. The anger still burned, a steady, unrelenting thing inside his chest, refusing to die no matter how much destruction he left behind.
His steps were slow, deliberate. Not because he was tired—he wasn't—but because his mind was still racing, grinding like rusted gears, replaying the events of the night over and over again.
Why?
Why had Vanessa done it?
The answer should have been obvious. Because she's selfish. Because she always plays these games. Because she wanted to see how far she could push me.
And yet, the more he thought about it, the more the anger twisted into something uglier.
Because, deep down, he knew, this wasn't just about her usual antics.
This had been personal.
She hadn't done this just to make him angry.
She had done it because she had wanted a reaction from him. Because she genuinely missed Alaric.
That thought settled like a stone in his gut.
His fingers twitched at his sides, the magic in his veins surging, hungry, desperate to lash out again. The trees ahead of him shrank away, their bark peeling, leaves curling in on themselves as the rot spread outward with every step. The world itself seemed to reject him, just as he rejected the very idea forming in his mind.
Vanessa missed Alaric.
Somehow, that infuriated him more than if she had done it just to get under his skin.
Because of course she missed him.
Because of course she looked at Aelius and thought this isn't fair.
Because of course she had tried to bring him back, because if Aelius had returned—if he had crawled out of the grave—then why couldn't Alaric?
His breath came out slow, measured, but his hands shook.
She wanted Alaric back.
And some sick part of her had thought that maybe—maybe—Aelius would want that too.
His jaw locked. His teeth ground together hard enough to ache.
Because she was wrong.
Because she was so damn wrong.
Because Aelius had loved Alaric, in his own way. Not in the naive, simple way that people like Vanessa understood love. Not in the way that made you cling to the past like some fragile, dying thing. But in the way that made you carry the weight of someone long after they were gone.
And Alaric was gone.
Dead and buried, lost to time and the fate that had claimed him.
Aelius had accepted that.
Had accepted that Alaric's story had ended, that there was nothing left to salvage.
But Vanessa—
Vanessa hadn't.
And it made something in Aelius snarl.
His magic surged outward in another wave, the rot crawling hungrily through the dirt, spreading like an infection, eating away at everything in its path. The trees collapsed in silent surrender, crumbling into brittle husks before disintegrating entirely. The wind itself refused to move, the air thick with death.
She had tried to rewrite the story.
She had tried to take something that had been decided, something that had already ended, and force it back into existence.
And for what?
For herself?
For him?
His head tilted slightly, his breath slow, steady.
No.
No, she had done it because she genuinely believed that what she was doing was right.
And that made it worse.
Because it meant she didn't understand him at all.
It meant she had spent years playing her little games, needling at his patience, testing his limits, trying to break his indifference—
And now, she had.
Not in the way she wanted.
Not in the way she had likely hoped.
But she had done it.
Caius's voice echoed in his mind.
"She loves messing with you. Something about trying to break that whole cold, unshakable indifference of yours."
A bitter, empty laugh slipped past Aelius's lips.
"Well," he muttered, voice low, rasping. "She did it."
She had won.
Maybe not in the way she had wanted.
But she had won.
Aelius hated that he had let her.
He kept walking.
—
The forest stretched on endlessly, a hollow wasteland in his wake, the earth brittle beneath his feet. His magic still roiled outward, uncontrolled, festering like an open wound that refused to close. He didn't bother restraining it. Not here. Not now. The trees withered, their skeletal branches collapsing in silent surrender, the very air thick with decay.
The anger still burned, a constant, unrelenting presence in his chest. But now, beneath it, something else festered.
Something worse, something he couldn't let go of.
Vanessa had won.
Not in the way she had wanted—no, never in the way she wanted—but she had still broken something in him.
He had spent years keeping himself distant, indifferent. Letting her push and prod at his patience, letting her try to get a rise out of him, and for the most part, he had never truly given in. He had always been the immovable force, the cold, unshakable presence she could never quite reach.
But now?
Now she had gotten to him.
Now he had snapped.
Now she knew.
Maybe not the full truth—she still didn't know what had happened to him, didn't know the details of how he had come back—but she knew enough.
She had seen it. The crack.
And that infuriated him more than anything.
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. His mask was gone, his cloak in tatters, his entire presence stripped down to the raw, seething thing that had always existed beneath the surface.
He should have been relieved that it was over. That he had left her behind, left Blackhollow behind. That she could no longer try to worm her way under his skin.
But she had already done it.
And now, the thought of her still lingered, echoing in his mind.
"You hate that I did this because it makes you face what you are."
His teeth ground together, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
No. That wasn't it. That wasn't why he was angry.
Aelius had never wanted to return.
And yet, here he was.
Dragged back, remade in the image of someone who had died long ago. His body restored, his veins pulsing with power that was never meant to be his.
It wasn't a resurrection.
It was a violation.
The thought clawed at him, his mind running back to the moment Vanessa had stood before him, so sure of herself, so certain that she was doing something right. She had tried to bring Alaric back, and for what? To fill the void she refused to accept? Because she thought she deserved him? Because she believed that if Aelius had returned, then so should Alaric?
She had no idea what she was asking for.
Aelius let out a slow, steady breath, the magic still rolling off him in heavy, seething waves. The forest groaned under the weight of it, trees collapsing, the earth splitting apart at his feet. He could feel it, feel the hunger of his own power, the same power that had been forced into him, the same magic that had rewritten him against his will.
"Rejoice in my most generous blessing, my cherished grandchild."
His grandfather's words echoed in his head, dripping with grotesque affection, the weight of them sickening, thick, wrong.
Rejoice?
Aelius almost laughed.
That old slug had taken everything from him—his death, his peace, his right to end. He had ripped Aelius from the grave and filled his veins with something foul, something that would never allow him to rest. He had given him a second life, forced him to walk a path that he had never wanted to take.
And now Vanessa had tried to do the same.
No, she hadn't been trying to bring him back, but it was the same damn principle. She had refused to let go. She had clawed at the past just as his grandfather had.
The realization made his hands tremble.
She was no different from him.
A sharp breath left his lips, his fists clenching as the air around him thickened, his magic pulsing violently outward, sending another wave of decay rolling through the forest.
She had won.
Not because she had gotten what she wanted—no, if anything, he had ruined that for her. But she had won because she had made him feel.
Because she had broken something in him.
Because she had reminded him, for the first time since his return, that he was still angry.
That he still hated.
Not just her. Not just his grandfather.
But the entire world that had refused to let him go.
A bitter, humorless chuckle slipped past his lips. "I should have stayed dead," he muttered.
But he hadn't.
Because someone else had decided his fate for him.
And maybe—maybe that was why he was still walking.
Not toward Fairy Tail. Not toward home.
But toward something that, even now, he didn't have a name for.
Time had passed. The moon had lowered considerably, dipping closer to the horizon, its pale light filtering through the skeletal remains of the forest. What had once been thick with life was now a graveyard of his own making—twisted, rotting husks of trees stood like the charred bones of a long-dead beast, the ground itself split and cracked, gasping under the weight of decay.
The air was still. Not silent—no, there was always something making noise in the night—but wrong. The sounds that remained were distant, cautious, as if the creatures that had managed to escape still felt the death lingering in the air and dared not return.
Not all had been fast enough.
Ahead of him, half-buried in the remains of what had once been thick underbrush, a Forest Vulcan lay still. Its large, ape-like form, once powerful and brimming with territorial rage, was now nothing more than a withered husk, its thick muscles deflated, its once-matted fur now brittle and falling away in patches. Its lifeless eyes, still wide with the last traces of its futile attempt to flee, stared at nothing.
And scattered throughout the dying woods, smaller creatures—a Hawk, its feathers reduced to brittle, decayed strands that disintegrated at the lightest touch; a Horned Serpent, its once-powerful coils now limp and fragile, as if its very essence had been drained away; a Weasel, its sleek body reduced to nothing but bone wrapped in thin, dry skin.
Aelius barely spared them a glance.
They were nothing.
They had simply been too slow.
His power did not discriminate, did not care for what was strong or weak, did not pause for creatures that had been here long before him. It simply was.
Just as he was.
He kept walking, stepping over the lifeless carcass of the Vulcan without hesitation, the brittle remains of leaves crunching beneath his boots. His magic no longer flared wildly—he had spent most of it by now, not by choice, but simply because it had bled out into the world around him, poisoning everything it touched.
And yet, despite all of this—despite the destruction, despite the death—
The anger still burned.
Aelius rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly.
He was still far from Fairy Tail.
Still far from anything that could be called civilization.