Ira allowed herself to grin as the combatant turned sharply at her words. Maybe that would teach him not to be so full of himself, especially when he still had not proven himself. They were led to another short corridor. At the end of the hallway was a wooden door, they saw a pair of wings hanging at the opening, and when they looked to the side, they saw that the runes had glowed even brighter with each step they took.  

When they reached the end of the corridor, the combatant reached for the handle and opened the door. The room was small enough that they could walk circles around it. Dark walls loomed over them. There was a grey couch in the middle of the room, and a side table connected to the wall. There were glasses presented on the edge of the table, glistening from the red moonlight. On the other side of the room was a balcony that overlooked Eraief. 

Ira sank into the couch as Damian lounged beside the table. His fingers twiddled around the potted flowers. “You will receive the tasks in ten minutes,” the combatant snapped. Silas glared at Ira. If looks could kill, she would’ve drowned in the lowest pits of hell. She didn’t even bother to look back. “I suggest you start planning for what’s to come. May the devil be within you.”

“And may it always be,” they echoed uniformly. 

Silas shut the door with a loud bang. The vines that crawled up the door wavered at the sound. “Isn’t he a delight?” Damian murmured sarcastically. Ira simply shrugged in reply. 

For mortals, ten minutes were quick. A walk to the next two blocks, a very brief window shopping, waiting in a line to buy a burrito, ten minutes could sometimes be confused by a few seconds. It’s easily disappeared, easily taken for granted, easily wasted–no wonder the Aulisae and Poribus sects were quite taken with the world. For Ira, however, the last ten minutes were slow and precise, with every click of a second sending a jolt into her system. These were the last ten minutes she had over her freedom and safety. After this, she’d be pushed to their quest, and after that, she’d have to kill to survive. It was a gamble she was willing to place on her life.

Easy, at least, it was supposed to be. 

But as the curtains swayed and sighed at the rattling wind, she found herself staring at the Rumia sitting adjacent towards her. He didn’t look fazed at all…just like her,  to her dismay. Unlike the other Initiae who stepped on stage whose hands were clenched closely to their bodies, his posture was relaxed the moment he strode to the podium–as if he knew he belonged there the moment his name was called. It was either he was expecting it or waiting for the opportunity as much as she had, grasping over the silent wishes of fame.

For a Rumia, he was too quiet. She’d half expect him to be yapping about readying themselves or discussing strategies–but a cold silence replaced the supposed chatter. His eyebrows were knitted together as his eyes dulled and brightened from one second to the next like a kaleidoscope of gold and yellow. Damien looked up, just in time for Ira to look away, blinking. “I hope you’re prepared for what’s to come.” Ira’s voice echoed around the room, and he turned his gaze towards her, amusement dancing in his eyes the moment she was finished speaking.

“I’ve been ready since the moment I was created. Nothing to worry about,” he flicked a rotten leaf from the countertop. “Suddenly, so concerned over my well-being? I’m flattered.”

“I need a partner that’s ready for what’s to come, not some bumbling mess. I wanted to make sure.” Ira held the flower already wrapped around her neck. It was warm to touch, flaring brightly when she tugged on one of its closed petals. She removed her fingers, letting them lie suspended around her neck.
“Do you honestly think that I’d be rattled?” At her look, he shrugged. “Not to brag, but I’ve caused more hell on earth than any Rumia Initum. Your father being your father means that you could rival any faerie on the battlefield. In fact, given the rumors that I’ve been told, you’re a victor yourself. Initiae like us have no right to feel anything but ready.”

Hearing his words, her ears perked up. Damian Arkathe. She had always known he looked so familiar, but she had no idea what for. That was when her eyes widened. Flashes of the Rumia Faerie on the battlefield filled her mind. She remembered him pushing and knifing all his rivals in just one move. He was said to be the best of his sect. She remembered wanting to battle him, but she was too busy being put up against faeries in her sect. Although his reputation preceded him, his mother’s past interlocked around him like a shadow. Ira kept her composure. “Rumors, huh?”

“Rumors,” he confirmed, flashing his pointy teeth. “How fierce you are in battle. I spotted you once too. Pretty scary stuff.”

Ira smirked in return. 

“Now, on a serious note, the tasks are wired to our strengths and weaknesses. We need to pick up a strategy so that we don’t have to screw each other over. Although we can handle our own on our strengths, what about our weaknesses?”

Ira gingerly placed her hands over her legs, feeling the annoying absence of warmth. The Prihans had always prided themselves on standing the devil’s heat. They conserved the devil’s breath, which allowed them to wield hellfire as easily as water slipping past their fingertips. She didn’t have that ability. Although Ira was immune to the flames for short periods of time (given her father’s exercises), she wouldn’t be able to hold it in forever with the risk of bursting into flames like any other faerie. A disgrace. “I don’t believe in strategizing for tasks we don’t have yet,” she stated. “Suddenly scared of what’s to come, Arkathe?” 

Damian burst into laughter as he leaned in closer. “You know what?” A smile lingered on his lips. “This might be one hell of a Vestimortis and a Matrimortem. I thought this was going to be a definite win for me, but maybe not.”

She smiled sweetly, walking towards the counter to where he was sitting. “Too bad. Because unlike you, I don’t doubt my abilities to win.”

He grabbed two glasses from the table and handed one to her. The moment her fingers wrapped around her glass, golden liquid appeared. Her lips curled upwards. “May this be the Vestimortis that none of the devils could ever forget.” 

“It will be.” Ira downed her glass. The nectar ran down her throat, giving her a shot of adrenaline. The room around her brightened almost immediately, and she could feel her heart humming in her chest. 

Ding!