The house smelled of old wood and boiled grain.
Jeremiah sat at a narrow dining table beneath a low hanging lamp. Magus Selene sat across from him, arms folded.
He looked younger then—leaner, less filled out by training, his features cut sharp but absent of warmth. His red eyes rested on things without expression, holding a fraction too long before moving on.
She had found him only days ago, and he still watched everything like a creature measuring threat instead of comfort.
A bowl of porridge cooled slowly in front of him. Steam curled faintly into the dim air. Outside, wind brushed against the windows in soft, irregular taps.
Jeremiah stared at the bowl.
His expression was unreadable.
But his gaze lingered.
But for a moment, curiosity flickered in his gaze.
He reached for the spoon.
Jeremiah's fingers adjusted awkwardly around the handle, turning the spoon to study its curve before dipping it into the porridge. He lifted it to his mouth, his eyes widening slightly as he swallowed. After a brief, contemplative look at the utensil, he took another bite.
Watching him with open interest, Selene leaned forward, her elbows on the table and her chin propped in her hands. There was no caution in her gaze, only a quiet curiosity. "You seem to like my cooking," she said lightly. "At least you didn't spit it out."
Jeremiah paused, the spoon hovering midair as he carefully pieced his words together. "It… good," he started, before frowning and correcting himself. "It is good."
A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she tilted her head. "I was under the impression vampires only liked blood."
The spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. "…Vam…pire?" he asked, the word unfamiliar and heavy on his tongue.
"That is what you are called here," she replied.
He lowered the spoon slowly. "In this world?"
"And the other," she said calmly. "Though the names vary."
He studied her. "We… are common?"
A faint breath escaped her nose—almost a laugh. "No," she said, leaning back in her chair. "They are rare in both worlds. You're only the second I've ever met."
Jeremiah went still, his gaze dropping to the bowl. "Second," he repeated quietly.
Selene nodded. "The first was… unpleasant." Her expression shifted, her smile losing its humor. "He was a scary bastard."
Silence followed as Jeremiah watched the steam thin and fade above his meal. Second.He wasn't alone. For as long as he could remember, there had only been hunger, hiding, and the cold grind of survival.
Something shifted inside him—not quite joy or relief, but a sudden, lighter sense of clarity.
He lifted the spoon again. "That one," he said, his eyes still lowered. "Is he dead?"
Selene's gaze sharpened. "Yes."
Jeremiah nodded once, and continued eating.
Selene tilted her head slightly, her gaze locking onto his. "So, kid. What's your name?"
It was the first time she had asked. Jeremiah leaned back instinctively, the word tasting foreign as he repeated it. "Name?"
"You know," she said calmly. "What people call you."
Jeremiah went still, his red eyes losing focus as they drifted toward the ceiling, looking past the wood and plaster into a memory far away. "Monster," he said flatly. "Creature. Abomination."
His hand froze around the spoon, his gaze remaining fixed on the empty air. Selene's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes sharpened. She reached across the table and gently tapped the rim of his bowl, the sharp clink .
"Enough," she said softly. The dismissive wave of her hand seemed to sweep the words themselves away. "You don't get to keep those. None of those names define you."
Jeremiah's gaze lowered from the ceiling to her face.
He didn't speak, but the rigid tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction. He was listening now—truly listening. Selene leaned back, studying him not as an anomaly or a rare specimen, but simply as a boy.
"You need a name," she said. "A real one."
Jeremiah's fingers loosened their grip on the spoon. "Why?"
"Because names have more power than you know," she replied, folding her hands on the table. "A name anchors you. It gives you shape and tethers you to the world—both worlds, actually."
She smiled then, a bright and unrestrained expression that caused Jeremiah's eyes to widen for a fleeting second before he looked down at the table. Silence stretched between them until he finally looked back up.
"…Okay," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "I would like… your help."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Selene's features. "Very well."
She lifted a hand.
Mana gathered at her fingertips—cold, precise. The air crystallized instantly, frost forming in geometric lines before condensing into a thin, sharp shard of ice in her grasp.
She leaned forward and carved into the wooden table with smooth strokes.
J E R E M I A H
The ice scraped softly against the wood.
Jeremiah watched the lines form without understanding.
He looked at the carving.
Then at her. Expressionless.
Selene chuckled under her breath.
"It says Jeremiah," she told him. "What do you think?"
Jeremiah stared at the carving.
"Jer…e…mi…ah," he repeated slowly, sounding each piece out like he might get it wrong if he said it too fast.
He looked at her.
"Why… that name?"
Selene blinked, a flicker of mock offense crossing her face as she placed a hand against her chest. "What?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in playful accusation. "You don't like it?"
Jeremiah watched her, his expression unreadable at first. "No," he said quietly. "I like it." He shifted in his chair, his fingers brushing the table's edge before he turned back to her. "I just… I wanted to know."
The playfulness drained from her face, replaced by a soft exhale. She leaned back, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "To be honest, if I'd ever had a son… that's what I would have named him."
A heavy silence settled between them. Jeremiah's gaze dropped to the table, and for the first time since she had found him, his expression shifted openly. It wasn't the look of a monster or an abomination; it was something softer.
When he looked back up at her, he smiled. It was small and uncertain, but it was real.
"Thank you," he said.
Jeremiah woke to warmth—soft sheets beneath him, the faint hum of distant traffic, and the quiet whisper of air conditioning somewhere above. An unfamiliar white ceiling stretched overhead, patterned with recessed lighting he didn't recognize.
For a few seconds, he didn't move. It wasn't that he was assessing for danger; he simply couldn't. Consciousness surfaced slowly and reluctantly, like pulling himself through deep, heavy water. His limbs felt distant and unresponsive.
When he tried to raise his head, the pain finally arrived.
"Yeah, don't do that," a voice said.
Jeremiah blinked, turning his head slowly toward the sound.
Mariah sat in a chair beside the bed, arms folded, glasses lowered slightly on her nose as she watched him. The hotel lamp beside her cast a soft amber glow across her face, catching in her dark hair and along the curve of her jaw. The amber light didn't just catch her face; it traced the full, firm curve of her chest, the sleeveless top stretching taut over her breasts as she leaned back. The thin fabric clung to her, emphasizing a deep, feminine contrast to her otherwise lean, muscular frame. As she crossed her legs, the soft fabric of her lounge pants strained to contain the deep, flared curve of her hips. The movement pulled the material dangerously thin across the heavy, rounded weight of her ass, pressing it firm against the chair's cushion until it spilled slightly over the sides. That single shift of her weight highlighted the sheer scale of her lower half—a lush, expansive contrast to her narrow waist—making her physical presence felt thick and intoxicating.
Simply put, she was breathtaking.
Across the room, Tessa leaned against the wall with a loose, playful confidence. Unlike Mariah's quiet intensity, Tessa wore a bold, unabashed grin that crinkled the corners of her piercing sapphire eyes.
Her long silver hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid moonlight, contrasting sharply against the dark cotton of an oversized T-shirt. Despite the baggy fit, the fabric draped heavily over her ample, rounded bust, hinting at the powerful, athletic frame beneath. The short sleepwear left her long, toned legs bare, the light caught the softened, feminine curves that her warrior's discipline couldn't quite take away.
The hotel room was quiet and dimly lit, defined by sterile white walls, a modest desk, and the faint, rhythmic hum of the AC overhead. Beyond the curtains, the city lights of BayPort flickered against the glass, with distant traffic painting streaks of moving light across the night.
Near the window, Nyx sat wrapped in a borrowed jacket far too large for her frame, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Moonlight spilled around her, tinting the edges of her dark hair violet as she watched him with focused, unwavering intensity—making sure he was truly awake.
Jeremiah stared back, his voice a dry croak. "…Where are we?"
His eyes moved slowly around the room, taking in the unfamiliar walls before his gaze drifted back to them. "…Did we win," he asked quietly, "or is this the part where three beautiful women watch me die comfortably?"
He shifted, attempting to sit up, but instant regret followed. A ragged breath left him as pain flared violently through his ribs.
"…Because I feel like I already died," he muttered, sinking back into the mattress, "twice."
Tessa burst out laughing.
Mariah pinched the bridge of her nose, but it did little to hide the faint curve at the corner of her mouth.
Near the window, Nyx lowered her gaze quickly, a faint flush rising across her cheeks at being included in that comment.
Mariah recovered first.
"We're at a secured hotel north of the annex," she said evenly. "Alliance-owned property." She checked the time on her watch.
"You've been out for about seven hours."
Jeremiah blinked once.
Damn that long.
Mariah shifted in her chair, turning more fully toward him. The movement drew the fabric of her top snug for a brief moment before it settled again.
Jeremiah's expression didn't change.
But his gaze lingered there for half a second too long.
He cleared his throat and redirected his attention—firmly—to her face.
She removed her glasses and began cleaning them with the edge of her shirt, gaze still on him.
"There are," she said calmly, "a number of questions I have for you. After what we saw."
Tessa's grin faded slightly.
Nyx watched him quietly.
All three of them were looking at him now.
Mariah slid her glasses back on.
"But," she continued, voice leveling out, "since you're finally awake… we have a new member."
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Nyx.
"And I think we should all reintroduce
ourselves properly."
Mariah straightened slightly and offered Nyx a small, reassuring smile.
"Mariah Ardent," she said. "Captain of this unit."
Nyx nodded politely, hands still tucked into the oversized jacket sleeves.
"Tessa StoneHeart," she said, pushing off the wall. "Lightning Mage."
As Tessa pushed off the wall, the movement sent a ripple through the oversized fabric of her shirt. The heavy cotton, intended to obscure, instead became a canvas for her shape as it pulled taut across the rounded fullness of her chest.
Despite the shirt's sheer volume, it couldn't mask the heavy, rhythmic sway of her weight as she stepped forward. The collar shifted, sliding precariously toward the edge of one shoulder, while the front of the garment draped and clung in a way that left no doubt about the soft, generous proportions beneath.
Tessa's gaze lingered on Nyx for a moment longer. "Pretty... and violet eyes?" she added, tilting her head. "That's honestly kind of unfair."
Nyx blinked, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. "Thank you," she managed softly.
Mariah shot Tessa a warning look, but Tessa just held up her hands. "What? It's true."
On the bed, Jeremiah finally managed to sit up properly. The blanket slid to his lap, revealing a shirt torn and stained with the dried blood of the battle, though he didn't seem to notice—or care.
He placed a hand lightly over his chest, his gaze holding hers. "It's a pleasure, Saintess. I'm Jeremiah. Just Jeremiah. Your humble sword."
He started to incline his head in a formal bow, but Tessa stepped in and lightly smacked the back of his head. "Stop being weird," she muttered.
Jeremiah winced, his hand flying to his temple, while Nyx blinked in surprise before letting out a soft laugh. The tension finally bled from her shoulders as she straightened. "Nyx Althaea," she said. "It's really a pleasure to meet all of you."
Her violet eyes moved back to Jeremiah.
"And... Thank you. For saving me."
She smiled then, a warm, unguarded expression that reached her eyes. Jeremiah stared for a heartbeat longer than he intended before rubbing the back of his head and grinning.
"Yeah," he muttered. "No problem."
Mariah folded her arms again, her expression settling back into command.
"Alright," she said evenly. "Now that introductions are out of the way…"
Her gaze swept across the room before settling back on Jeremiah.
"We'll go over everything," Mariah said, her nose twitching faintly. "But first—you smell like a battlefield."
Jeremiah blinked, the exhaustion momentarily dulling his reaction. "…Fair."
She gestured toward the bathroom. "Go clean up. Ten minutes, then we talk. And for heaven's sake, change."
Jeremiah looked down at his ruined shirt as if noticing the dried blood for the first time. He swung his legs carefully off the bed and stood, moving with a deliberate slowness. Before heading toward the door, he tapped the ring on his finger, his mana brushing against the stone in a familiar pulse. He could feel the spare clothes, the supplies, and the blood packs Selene had provided before the mission.
He reached deeper instinctively, but felt only an empty void where his sword should have been. His hand stilled. The memory of the impact hit him in a flash: wind detonating against steel, the barrier shattering, and the blade snapping under a force it was never meant to withstand.
That insane motherfucker.
A sour look crossed his face; he was genuinely glad the bastard was dead. Withdrawing his mana from the ring, he muttered a simple, "I'll be back," and headed for the bathroom.
The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
Jeremiah didn't move immediately; he stood with his hand still on the knob and his forehead resting against the cool wood. He took one slow breath, then another. Only after the third did he finally straighten and step toward the sink.
The harsh bathroom light caught his reflection in the mirror: grey eyes, heavy-lidded and exhausted. Blood streaked across his collarbone and jaw, while dirt caked into drying cuts and bruises mottled the skin already struggling to repair itself. He looked like he'd crawled out of a grave.
He turned on the shower, watching the steam rise before stripping the ruined clothes from his body and tossing them onto the counter. The fabric hit the porcelain with a damp, heavy thud. As the water ran hot, he stepped in, letting the heat hammer against his shoulders. Blood thinned and slid down his skin in red ribbons, pooling briefly before spiraling into the drain.
As he dipped his head beneath the stream, his mind unhelpfully wandered to the three beautiful women just outside the door.
He thought of Mariah sitting in her chair, the soft fabric of her lounge pants and fitted top catching the amber light as she moved. Then there was Tessa, radiating an effortless, raw magnetism as she leaned against the wall, her oversized shirt slipping slightly off her shoulder.
And then, there was Nyx's smile—soft, genuine, and deeply grateful. Her quiet thank you echoed in the back of his mind.
Jeremiah exhaled slowly, letting the water mask his face. He lifted both hands and smacked his cheeks—once, then twice—splashing the water outward.
Focus.
He lowered his hands and watched the last of the diluted blood spiral down the drain, disappearing into the dark along with the distraction.
When he stepped out, steam clung to the mirror in a foggy veil.
He sent a thin thread of mana through the ring.
The storage artifact responded instantly.
Fresh clothes appeared in his hand first. He set them aside on the counter, then grabbed a towel and draped it around his neck, water still running down his shoulders.
He reached into the ring and withdrew the blood pack Selene had provided before the mission. Tearing it open, he drank, grimacing at the taste—it was as stale and processed as ever, like food left out far too long. Unpleasant, but necessary.
As he swallowed, a slow warmth spread through his chest, soothing the lingering aches and loosening his muscles one by one. Once finished, he sealed the empty pack and returned it to storage, leaning forward to brace his palms against the sink.
He stared at his reflection, grey eyes meeting his own. Then, for a fleeting second, they flashed a deep, predatory red. He took a slow, deliberate breath, then another, until the color faded back to a calm grey. The pain was gone and his mana, though low, had finally stabilized.
Good enough.
He reached for his clothes.
10 minutes earlier while the shower continued to hiss behind the door, the steam curled faintly into the room.
Mariah remained seated where she had been, posture composed, one leg crossed neatly over the other.
Tessa was already near the bed. After a moment, she simply dropped down onto the mattress, resting her forearms on her knees as she glanced toward the bathroom door.
Nyx hesitated briefly, then moved closer and sat beside her, folding her hands in her lap. The two of them leaned in slightly.
Mariah didn't join them.
Instead, she sent a thread of mana into her ring.
The veil artifact appeared in her hand — a small cube of dark metal etched with fractured runes, faint frost still clinging to its edges.
Tessa sent a thread of mana into her ring and produced one of the demon tribal masks they had recovered. She turned it over in her hands, studying the crude mana channels carved along the inside.
After a moment, she extended it toward Mariah.
Mariah set the veil artifact down on the bedside table and reached for the mask. Their fingers brushed briefly as she took it.
She gave Tessa a small nod.
Tessa returned it with a faint smile.
Nyx glanced toward the bathroom door, listening to the steady rush of water. He was different than she imagined. Her mind flickered back to the Annex—
the shattered stone, the heavy scent of smoke, and Jeremiah lying in the center of the devastation with blood dark against his skin. She hadn't expected someone capable of such destruction to be so charming, or so polite.
She had already recounted everything she remembered: the chase, the rooftop, the explosion, and finally waking to find him unconscious beside her. Nyx blinked and looked up at the two women, her fingers tightening slightly in the oversized jacket draped around her shoulders. There was something she still needed to know.
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she glanced once more at the bathroom door before turning back to them. "So," she asked carefully, "how long have you known him?"
Tessa smiled. "We all met this morning."
Nyx blinked, stunned.
"I obviously knew her," Tessa added, jerking a thumb toward Mariah. "We were at the Academy together. But him? Never heard of him." She tilted her head, watching Nyx's reaction. "Did you know he's a quadra-elemental practitioner?"
Nyx's violet eyes widened. "…Quadra?" she breathed, momentarily speechless. The sheer implications of four elements were staggering.
"Yes," Mariah said calmly, her gaze steady on the artifact in her hand. "And since it's only day one, pressing him for answers won't work. He's a mystery." She lowered the cube, setting it carefully on the bedside table next to the mask. "But he's our comrade. And whatever power he displayed earlier… we're going to need it."
As the steady rush of water behind the door suddenly stopped, silence settled over the room. For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then, Tessa abruptly pushed off the bed.
"Okay, I'm starving."
She made a straight line for the hotel phone on the nightstand, flipping open the laminated menu pamphlet with enthusiasm that felt aggressively normal after everything that had happened.
Her eyes skimmed down the list.
"Oh, yeah. Pizza. Definitely pizza." She glanced back at them. "What do y'all think?"
Nyx nodded almost immediately. "That sounds good."
Mariah didn't even look up from where she sat. "I don't care. Just order whatever you want."
"Done."
Right on cue, the bathroom door opened.
Jeremiah stepped out.
For half a second, the room went quiet again.
He looked… different.
The grime and dried blood were gone. His skin looked almost unfairly clear beneath the warm hotel lights. His grey eyes—usually dull and sleepy—held more clarity now, more presence. He wore a fitted black shirt that traced the lines of his shoulders and chest without being tight, and loose black athletic pants hung low on his hips. A towel rested around his neck, dark hair still damp.
Tessa gave a low whistle.
"Damn," she said. "You clean up well."
Nyx's eyes widened before she quickly looked away, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
Mariah, on the other hand, regarded him evenly.
"Find a seat," she said calmly. "Tessa's ordering food. We're sharing everything we know."
Jeremiah's gaze shifted to the phone. Then to the menu in Tessa's hand.
"…Pizza?" he repeated.
His face fell.
Tessa froze mid-dial.
"…You don't like pizza?" she asked slowly, turning toward him with a raised brow. "Who doesn't like pizza?"
Jeremiah stared at her.
His expression was unreadable.
"…Pizza's not my favorite," Jeremiah said flatly.
Tessa's blue eyes narrowed, irritation flashing across her face. Before she could fire back, Nyx leaned forward slightly.
"So… what would you like, Jeremiah?"
The shift was immediate.
Jeremiah stopped glaring at Tessa. Stopped glaring at the menu. Stopped glaring at existence.
He turned toward Nyx instead.
"…Thank you, Saintess," he said gravely. "For including me."
Tessa's eye twitched.
"If this she-devil here would relinquish the pamphlet," Jeremiah continued, extending his hand toward Tessa without looking at her, "I can make an informed decision."
A vein popped visibly on Tessa's forehead.
She smiled.
It was not friendly.
"You can eat nothing," she said sweetly, "if that's the tone you wanna take with me."
Jeremiah paused.
Reality set in.
He was, in fact, the poorest person in the room.
His gaze dropped. Then lifted slowly back to her.
He switched tactics instantly.
"I'm sorry, Miss Tessa," he said smoothly. "I am unworthy to choose. But if you would show mercy… perhaps a humble burger and fries would suffice."
He hesitated just long enough to make it convincing.
"…Please."
Nyx smiled at Jeremiah's antics, violet eyes lingering on him.
Her smile was small but genuine, and Mariah noticed. Something in her chest tightened—a sharp, unfamiliar sensation that wasn't quite anger, but something she couldn't yet name. She pushed the feeling down, refusing to acknowledge it.
"Enough," Mariah said, her voice cutting cleanly through the warmth of the moment. "Place the order, Tessa. Jeremiah, sit."
The sudden coldness in her tone was unmistakable.
Tessa shot him a knowing look as she finished dialing the number. "You're lucky the captain's here," she muttered under her breath.
Jeremiah offered a faint, tired smile. "…I am aware."
Mariah's eyes flicked to him, entirely unamused. "Sit," she commanded again.