Lorelai woke with a groan, her mind a fuzz, the faint stain of wine on her lips. Steam, it felt like she’d been run over by one of those hover bikes and then tossed into the underworld’s pits. Her face pulsed the gallops of poison she drunk, the liquid catching up and taking interest.

  “Uhh, where am I?”

  Ego vibrated, the Valkar inside her leaving the impression of grogginess. That lazy one always came and went whenever it wished, the figment of her imagination as solid and reliable as a drunk shadow.

  With a huff, she flickered her lashes open to see the cramped barracks clamp around her. Unlike the luxurious upper floors of the ship, the lower levels retained their barracks-like structure. As the name suggested, it was built to hold soldiers with no fluff, no comfort, just the bare minimum that could be squeezed into an eight-by-eight-metre box.

  When she pressed her fingers into the worn-out bed, which was meant to replace hard benches and weapon racks, it objectively felt worse. Hell, the cheap fabric was cheaper than her dress, and that had been stitched with scraps and chucked at her to wear.

  She sighed. And Amara would undoubtedly refuse to give her anything better than the itchy, rubbish fabric she wore. But was it that hard to imagine something that actually fitted her? A cloth that didn’t leave a rash whenever she wore it? Something that let her feel pretty for once in her adult life?

  Then, like darkness that consumed her sight, Amara’s antlers curled over her, her fangs ready to snap. The woman might not have been an Archdemon, but it didn’t make her any less imposing. Her glare was on par with that of the Valkar man, but not even that oozed such hostility. Lore’s tail tightened; she knew that expression anywhere, and she knew to brace.

  “I told you!” Amara screamed. “Do you have any idea who you let go? That man is a killer and a danger to everyone on board!”

  Lore opened her fangs,” You didn’t tell me he was a-”

  The woman grabbed the bed frame, clenching the cold wood, like a twig she wanted to snap.

  “You need to find him,” she hissed, “fuck, get the twins to help you.”

  The surprising even Lore, the woman’s bark had turned pale. The tips of her antlers were shaking as if there was something even this Wendigo was afraid of.

  “We can’t let that woman find out,” Amara whispered.

  However, like a gunshot to Amara’s shaky feet, the door slammed open. Lore and Amara snapped their attention to the frame, Lore ready to run in the opposite direction.

  “What are you staring at?” Cassian said.

  The she-snake slithered out of the bathroom; steam, soap, and perfume filled the air. Lore could watch the fragrance collide with musk. It battled, fought, then, as all things sweet, it dissolved and burned to the greater force. The Musk won. Because that was the rule. That was the result of a struggle.

  The weak never won.

  But smacking that grin right off Cassian’s smug siren face, Cass shoved her sister aside.

  “Hey,” the elder twin hissed.

  But Cass ignored her, her emerald eyes narrowing to the musk that surrounded them. The hint of blue hued the girl’s neck, the telepathic touch causing Lore’s horns to itch. The sensation was barely noticeable, just a faint indication lingering in the tightest part of her mind

  But worse was the way Amara’s and Cass’s faces instantly synchronised. The frown, the chewed lip, and the lingering on Lore afterwards. It told her everything, without saying a word---Something was bad, like really bad.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Meanwhile, Cassian flinched as she heard something only a Neurweaver could hear. And Amara’s shadowed expression darkened to a blistering scowl. The whites of eyes, the snap of fangs.

  Then came the single heel, a click against wood.

  Lore instinctively moved.

  Amara followed like a volcano.

  Face to face, panic clashed with scorn.

  “Get out of my way,” Amara growled.

  “No,” Lore replied.

  Cass stared with her jaw slack.

  Cassian hid behind her younger sister.

  Lore held the front.

  “Do you still think you’re a princess?” Amara hissed.

  Lore remained steady, unmoved. And despite her confused appearance, even Cass hid behind Lore’s silhouette. Both girls were shaking to avoid whatever Amara had planned for them.

  Amara was clearly unwilling to yield, and it was evident that someone needed to bear the responsibility. Someone had to face punishment. Lore’s body shivered, her lips grew dry, and her old bruises tightened as she braced herself.

  That person had to be her.

  Amara snarled, her hand lifting to deliver what had to be endured. And Lore just held her eyes open, bracing in her mind and skin. However, instead of a slap, or much of anything. Nothing was said for what felt like centuries, just fragile heartbeats, until, like the eldest of the bunch.

  Lore’s lips opened. Her thoughts were a mix of begging and determination. Would she stand up or back down? Will she plead or let the cycle continue unchecked?

  Was justice worth the pain?

  Lore leaned forward, her arm like a flimsy shield for the girls behind her, her body demanding she not do something so stupid, so risky.

  If Ego were awake, what would she say?

  Would she agree? Or would she be ashamed?

  Lore hadn’t the answer.

  She had only the pride simmering inside. The pulse that flared inside her skin. The sensation of royalty that lay dormant inside her veins.

  She was no Archdemon; she lacked what her father and even mother had. The burn of heat that cooked her throat. The fury bubbled out of her lips. And for a moment, she thought she could see steam flow out. Imagined she had power, might and authority.

  “Back... OFF.” Lore hissed.

  Amara’s bark crunched, and then the hand moved. Hard, fast and inevitable.

  "KNOW. Your. PLACE!"

  But before it could connect, like a string, something strangled all movement. The palm froze mid-air, her breath scorched with each inhale.

  “I would say the same.” Said a new voice.

  Then, like the devil herself, a white-haired Valkar walked in.

  “Whitefield...”

  Amara snapped to attention, almost banging her head as she bowed.

  “Lady Sylvain. I apologize---”

  The room changed into a network of purple lines, with about a dozen tethers attaching sharp, heavy objects. And as if that wasn’t enough, the Valkar’s fingers grasped two whole double-deck beds connected by a single Gravium thread. The implication thick in the air.

  One snap and they get crushed.

  One move and the Archdemon would kill them all.

  But what hooked Lore was the tail that hung loose behind the messy lab coat. Heart tipped, and waving side to side. This demon wasn’t just a Valkar; she was a Sucubus like her.

  A woman who held power and absolute unflinchable authority

  “I am General Sylvain, to you.” The Valkar said.

  And oddly, the woman’s cold, icy eyes seemed to linger on Lore as she said it. Eyes like that, Dragon Slayer. Even her face looked similar. Like whatever granted them power was hereditary.

  “Of course, General.” Amara blurted, “I didn’t expect you this evening so---”

  The Archdemon twitched her thread, and the bed’s nails groaned as the sound of wood began to give.

  “Wait, I can explain---” Amara shouted.

  Another crack, and Amara started to sweat. They all did.

  “Enough excuses,” The Archdemon said, “I thought you said you could handle the job.”

  Amara lay out her hands, half begging, half ready to shield herself.

  “There was an accident, I didn’t expect---”

  “Which one was it?”

  Lore immediately felt eyes trace her direction. Felt the faces that were about to throw her under the bus.

  However, unexpectedly, Amara straightened her shoulders. And looked right at the glowing General, her fist so tight they could have popped.

  “It was me.” She admitted.

  Lore stared at the Wendigo in disbelief. Amara. AMARA... Taking the blame. It didn’t make sense. It was impossible.

  But when Lore looked at the General, that stare hadn’t wavered. This woman was clearly looking right at her. Like she knew something Lore didn’t.

  “Let me borrow her, as payment.” The Archdemon said.

  Amara took a step forward, her dress fluttering as she shot out an arm.

  “No, that was not part of the deal. I’ll find that knight, so just let me...”

  The Archdemon’s body exploded into black Obsidium, the room warping as she folded space-time to appear before Lore. Steam flowed off her skin, her stare so close she could taste the aged apples of Eden from her breath alone.

  “Have you not awakened your powers, girl?” the woman asked, “Do you want to know how?”

  Lore felt her instinct to pull her back, yet another urge to lean forward smashed in just as hard.

  Answers, real answers. This Archdemon could help her; this woman knew secrets. That much Lore could tell.