Ilyas slumped heavily on the black throne, the weight of his new worries pressing down on him. The ancient hall echoed with the quiet hiss of shifting air, the dim light from narrow high windows painting long, wavering shadows over the cold stone floor. In his hand, the delicate moth‐like creature Suika fluttered, its colorful wings a stark contrast to the austere surroundings. Ilyas absently ran his fingers over the creature's soft, white face, a small comfort amid isolation and pain. He wondered about his newfound powers. How would it affect him? He had already been battling with bloodlust. How much worse would it get? Am I even able to control it? His inner debate began to sound like he was contradicting his choice, wondering if the sword was really worth it. He watched as its runes flashed in the darkness. 

"Look at you, you’re pretty cute," he murmured in a low, almost musical tone, voice echoing slightly in the vast room. "So small yet so heavy." Suika tilted its head, its colorful wings glinting in the low light. It scarcely answered but its soft coo seemed to murmur comfort, urging him on in his unspoken soliloquy. He allowed himself a moment of respite from the fury of the day. Exhaustion settled deep in his bones. He needed to get his strength back if he was going to go back down there.

The silence in the throne room allowed his thoughts to spill free. His mind recalled the two knights—a memory seared into his mind like a brand. "They didn’t deserve that," he murmured softly, the weight of that promise echoing in his heart. "I will hunt down every last one of them. I will avenge those two, and anyone else those bastards plan on harming." His voice barely stirred the stagnant air, yet within its quiet cadence lay an oath steeped in vengeance and duty.

A faint rasp, like the scrape of leather against stone, announced a sudden presence. With measured, cautious steps, a woman crossed the threshold. Striding into the heart of the throne room, the scarlet edges of her worn surcoat caught the scant light. Torn fabric and streaks of dried blood marked the vestiges of her recent ordeal. Her eyes, burning with a fierce amber beneath long, wild strands of black hair, fixed themselves on Ilyas. Her voice sliced the hush of the room.

"I knew it. I’d find more of you up here. Damned monster."

The accusation felt like a spear across the stagnant silence. Ilyas's hand stilled on Suika, and he raised a dark, intense gaze toward the intruder. His tone was soft, he had been excited to see her. She wore the uniform of the squad.

"Is that how you choose to spend your hours?" she barked, her tone biting and fierce as she advanced across the threshold. "Coddling a pet while the lives of humans are thrown away."

Ilyas's eyes lifted slowly, catching the burnished glint of anger in her amber gaze. A wry smile ghosted across his face—one that held both relief and rueful amusement. "What? You’re a survivor… this is great, we can head back now.”

"You dare mock me?" she snarled, standing mere paces away, the tension in the room tightening like drawn bowstrings. "I won’t let you curse this world any longer."

"I’m not a monster," he replied, pulling out the medallions. “Vita Endorica. Look.”

Her eyes narrowed, her gloved hand twitching near the hilt of a blade she concealed beneath her damaged surcoat. They glazed over with fury as she came to a conclusion. "Do not presume to twist the truth. You killed those men to get them. Three medallions. All three of my squad… You’ll suffer.."

A low growl rumbled in the tense air. Ilyas's lips, set in a thin line, gave nothing away as he removed his hand from Suika, letting the small creature flutter to hover near the base of the pillar. "You’re confused. I’m a mercenary, hired by Taldris to-."

 “Mercenary? Do you take me for an idiot? You seem to sit comfortably on that throne, and even bear the Dawnbringer. What kind of mercenary are you?” Her gaze flickered between him and the moth, a sneer playing on her lips. "Retribution? You want retribution for what? Us keeping you sanctioned off. Protecting your potential victims."

"Ugh, I can explain, if you’d just let me," he countered, rising from his throne slowly, every movement deliberate. This is becoming a drag, what great timing. The cool marble pressed against his legs as he stood, his muscular figure outlined by the dim light. "I swear, I’m on your side. Let me show you where your comrade lies."

Her eyes flashed with incredulity. "You put on a good facade. Yet I see nothing but the mirage of a monster. A creature who revels in the suffering of the innocents!"

A beat of silence passed. Ilyas leaned forward, though not menacing—more quietly irritated—and slowly raised the medallions up. "These," he stated, holding them aloft so the light caught each intricate detail, "are what took from the two knights I promise, I had nothing to do with their deaths."

"I have no time for pretty lies, vampire," her tone carved across the silence of the great hall. Her eyes flashed, and she stepped forward with fierce determination

A palpable tension filled the space as Ilyas's grip on the medallions tightened. "I never asked for this . I do what I can to save lives, even if it means fighting those urges. I don’t take them for sport."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" She scoffed, arms folding tightly across her chest. "You value life only when it serves your whims. Look at you—petting that moth as if everything were carefree." Suikas antenna flopped at the comment, saddened. Yet, for an instant, the woman's gaze softened, betraying a tinge of belief in his words, a spark quickly quenched by her resolve. A brief moment of stillness fell over them. Her gaze shifted, wrestling with the possibility that perhaps there was more to him than vampiric cruelty. Still, that fleeting sliver of doubt vanished like mist under the desert sun.

"I am Callaia Genisi, the Arcus Sacerdotis," she declared sharply, her voice echoing in the silent grandeur of the hall, eyes narrowed into slits of relentless purpose. "State your name."

A silence fell again, punctuated only by the soft flutter of suika's wings as it hopped onto Ilyas's knee. He allowed himself a moment of silent communion with his tiny companion before meeting Callaia's gaze again. He swallowed hard. The Arcus Sacerdotis, the pinnacle of the Ashen Sancti’s Paladins. I need to ask for more pay after all this. “I am Ilyas Al-bey, Mercenary of the 100 roses.” 

 She froze a moment, taking in his surname. Her fists clenched tightly, the material of her gloves squeaking. Ilyas wondered what his name did to cause her to writhe in fury as she stared at him, now her flames of fire sparked up even more. "No more of your half-truths, no more of this mercy for the damned," she roared, her tone edged with a promise of ruthless judgment. "Today, I will finish the Al-Bey bloodline."

Ilyas stood still, his features set in defiant melancholy as he met her relentless stare. "I don’t want to fight. But I will do what I must to defend myself," he replied, voice steadied by a painful conviction. "Callaia, I am no mindless killer. Hear me out."

"I have heard enough," she intoned, her final words slicing the heavy air with cold precision. Silver rang against the floor as her blade skimmed past him. The resounding clash echoed, intermingling with the desperation of their declarations.