The rank of magis was of grave importance, yet it was not a gate that barred the path of a true predator. In the eyes of the abyss, every title was merely a social construct within the Sanctus hierarchy.
An acomage could still execute nearly any mandate provided Sadir or the mission officials granted approval based on their discretion. They could engage in high-tier hunts without obstruction—just as Seraph had served as an Assistant Curator for a decade despite his lowly status.
Though dissent still simmered in the shadows, Sanctus knelt only to the sovereignty of strength. Might was the sole shield against the demon tide; those who lacked the power to hold the line lacked the right to speak in this world.
✧ . ✶ . ✡ . ✶ . ✧
Seraph received the tidings of his own elevation almost instantly, the formal decree from the Sanctus Council delivered into his hand by a mageia construct.
As he traversed the galleries of the Grand Basilica, dozens of eyes tracked his movement, and whispers hissed through the air with blatant disrespect. Yet, he paid no heed to such trifles. Their envy was as weightless as dust.
"My Lord! Lord Seraph!!" a young woman cried out, her voice chasing him through the expanse of the Basilica.
The shout echoed against the vaulted stone, followed by the frantic rhythm of her footsteps as she pursued him.
Seraph halted and turned. 'Who is she? I don't recognise her... yet she knows me. Her attire is eccentric, a total defiance of Sanctus tradition. If a woman this radiant had pursued me before, every man in this hall would have snapped his neck just to steal a glance.'
While the Sanctum enforced no rigid dress code, public consensus dictated that every magis wear a cloak emblazoned with the Sigil of the Stormcloud Citadel. Yet, the woman approaching him was draped in a lavender gown befitting a high-tier noble.
She appeared to be eighteen, her luminous violet hair bound in a striking ponytail. Her double-layered skirt swept down to her heels, billowing like a silken tide with every stride. Across the fabric, golden petals drifted and danced as if stirred by an invisible gale—a clear sign that her gown was a high-grade artefact.
Her arms were encased in long white gloves, while the bodice featured a daring, deep-V cut that exposed the curve of her bosom and the smooth turn of her shoulders. Her back was almost entirely bare, saved only by a plush, expensive white fur mantle. Had she walked without it, she might have inadvertently slaughtered every male magis in the Sanctum through sheer, blood-rushing shock.
Four pieces of exquisite jewelry adorned her: a diamond-amethyst necklace, a purple jade hairpin, matching jade bracelets, and earrings of pure amethyst. Each was a coordinated violet, bearing the prestigious crest of the Golden Swan.
The vestments and adornments upon the maiden were entirely composed of artefacts. While such opulence was common among the wealthy nobility, the Golden Swan sigil, set against a field of royal blue and violet, was a staggering anomaly. It carried a profound weight, signaling that this lady was of royal blood—or at the very least, intimately bound to the Arkflame throne.
When Seraph finally halted, the noblewoman caught up at last. She exhaled a weary, labored breath before suddenly lunging forward, coiling her arms around his neck. She was a conflagration of passion.
Seraph stood taller than the average man of Laurasia, and though the girl eclipsed most women in height, she was still half a head shorter than him. Her face pressed firmly against his shoulder. Though the sensation was far from unpleasant, the sight of a strange maiden embracing a magis in the heart of the Sanctus corridor drew every eye. Seraph felt a surge of dread; he knew a tidal wave of scandalous rumors was about to flood the Citadel.
"Er... who are you? Please, step back for a moment—"
The girl reached up, her gloved hands cupping his cheeks. Before he could react, she pulled his face down and pressed a swift, fervent kiss upon each of his cheeks.
Soft lips met skin. A surge of warmth and sudden, electrifying intimacy flowed between them, etching the moment into his very soul. For a heartbeat, time itself seemed to stretch into an eternity.
[BOOM!]
A violent detonation erupted from the nearby corridor. The shockwave was so forceful it sent a knight-golem sprawling, the metallic sentinel crashing to the floor in a heap of clattering steel. Thick plumes of smoke spiraled upward from the unfortunate construct stationed at the terrace.
Seraph's eyes widened. He felt as though the girl were forcibly draining his soul while his guard was down. Between the rhythmic thrum of his own heart and the distant roar of the explosion, his consciousness jolted back to reality. Instinct took over; he shoved the lady's shoulders with enough force to send her collapsing onto the walkway.
"Kyaaa!" she let out a soft, startled shriek.
Guilt immediately washed over him. Seraph quickly reached out to pull her up.
"Are you alright? I... I didn't mean to—"
But as the girl grasped his hand, she "stumbled" and fell right back into his embrace, acting as if it were a clumsy accident.
"Do you enjoy playing the ruthless knight, my lord?" she whispered, her eyes brimming with a seductive heat. Before he could pull away, she pressed another kiss to his cheek and playfully nipped at his earlobe.
"You... we're in public," Seraph warned, his voice straining for composure. "Please, step back. I don't wish to tarnish your reputation."
He tried to pry her hands off, but she only clung tighter, binding him like an octopus.
"Does that mean you want to take me somewhere more private?" she teased with a charming giggle. "You lewd man..."
"I believe you've mistaken me for someone else. I have to go," Seraph said, struggling to disentangle himself from her grip.
"I'm Sophia, Nahreb's elder sister!" she declared.
Seraph froze. The revelation forced him to look at the girl with newfound gravity. Had she not spoken, he might have missed it, but her lavender hair and exquisite features were a mirror of Nahreb's. Yet, their temperaments were polar opposites; her social grace and sheer audacity far eclipsed anything her brother had shown.
"Why have you sought me out?" Seraph asked, feigning a cool ignorance.
"You're Seraph, aren't you? The young magis who saved my brother," Sophia replied, her eyes searching his.
"I am... but how did you know it was me?" Seraph inquired, his suspicion mounting.
"There's only one silver-haired magis in all of Sanctus," Sophia laughed. "Though I'll admit, you weren't exactly easy to track down."
"You've gathered a fair amount of intelligence on me. Are you truly Nahreb's sister?" Seraph pressed, his suspicion still a cold weight in his chest.
"I am! Don't we look alike?" Sophia asked with a blossoming smile.
"No... you just seem a bit more cheerful," Seraph remarked.
"I came here for one reason: to find you and offer my gratitude," Sophia continued, her tone softening.
"I acted out of duty, nothing more. Your family commissioned the mission and paid the Sanctum accordingly. There is no debt between us, no bond. You needn't have sought me out just to say—"