The late afternoon light streamed through the living room window, painting the interior of the house with warm shades of orange and gold. Damon sat at the table, calmly sharpening his sword. The sound of metal sliding against stone was the only noise until Aria emerged from the kitchen, a steaming mug in her hands. Ester followed close behind, as always, impeccable and with a controlled expression.

"So," Aria began, leaning against the table, "tomorrow is the day."

Damon looked up, without interrupting the movement of his hands. "The day of what, exactly?"

"Your presentation at the Knights' Academy," Ester replied, sitting down opposite him. "Elizabeth should have already arranged the registration. All you have to do is show up."

Damon frowned, resting the sword on his lap. "I still don't understand why this is really necessary. I already know how to fight, I already have experience. Do I really need to submit to… classes?"

"It's not a matter of learning," Ester explained, crossing her hands on the table. "It's a matter of legitimacy."

"Legitimacy?"

"Yes," she continued, patiently. "Here in Arven, any knight who wants recognition or the right to a contract needs to go through the Academy. It's the fastest way to gain a surname, a formal title, and access to noble circles—without having to kneel to any lord."

Aria smiled, taking a sip of her tea. "In other words: it's your chance to become someone important without having to kiss ass."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "And why would I want that?"

"Because names open doors," Ester replied without hesitation. "And you'll need many open doors if you want to survive around here."

Silence fell for a few seconds. Damon looked away towards the fire in the fireplace, thoughtful. He had never cared about titles, coats of arms, or lineage—but he knew, from experience, that the world respected them more than competence. Aria leaned forward, a relaxed smile on her face. "Besides, it'll be easy. You know how to fight, you have presence, and you don't talk too much. Just pretend to be a little more civilized than you really are."

"Pretend?"

"Yes. You know, smile once in a while. Don't look at everyone like you want to kill them."

Damon stared at her, serious. "I don't look at everyone like that."

"Yes, you do," she replied, laughing. "But that's okay. I can teach you how to look less... deadly."

"No thanks."

Ester watched him attentively. "The most important thing, Damon, is to remain discreet. Avoid drawing attention, avoid displays of power. The Academy is full of scouts—from the Northern Orders, the Eastern Orders, even the Knights of Astoria. If they realize what you're truly capable of, the approaches will begin."

"Approaches?"

"Invitations, offers, promises... and threats," Aria explained, resting her chin in her hands. "They hunt for talent. And you're going to be the biggest target of the season."

Damon sighed. "Great. So the best way to be discreet is to enter a place where everyone is competing to stand out."

"Welcome to politics," Ester murmured.

He was silent for a moment, staring at the trembling reflection of the flame on the blade. The fire danced on the steel, as if mocking the calm he was trying to maintain.

"How long will this take?" he finally asked, in a controlled tone.

"Around six months," Ester replied. "The basic training course is short for recommended candidates. You already have a letter of recommendation, so you'll start at the advanced level."

"Six months," he repeated slowly, as if savoring the discomfort. "That's too long."

Aria shrugged. "Time flies. And, look on the bright side, you'll have a roof over your head, food, and paid training." "And a bunch of uniformed idiots staring at me like I'm some kind of trophy," Damon retorted.

Ester held his gaze. "You don't have to like it. You just have to do it."

Damon leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Does Elizabeth really think this is going to accomplish anything?"

The two exchanged a quick glance—that kind of silent exchange that said more than words.

"We don't know," Aria replied after a few seconds. "But she has a plan. A big one, apparently."

"She always does," Ester added. "And she rarely shares the details."

"And yet you trust her?"

"She saved us," Aria said simply. "And when someone does that, you learn to trust, even without understanding everything."

Damon lowered his gaze for a moment. The sound of the fire filled the pause between them.

"She saved me too," he admitted, almost in a whisper. "But sometimes I have the feeling that we're just pieces on a chessboard that she moves however she wants."

Ester crossed her legs, never taking her eyes off him. "That may be. But even pieces can decide how they move, if they understand the game."

"And do you understand her game?"

The woman glanced away slightly. "Not completely. But I trust the outcome."

Aria finished her tea, placing the empty mug on the table with a soft clink. "Anyway, the important thing now is for you to adapt. Don't ask too many questions, don't trust anyone, and for the love of the gods, don't get into trouble in the first few days."

"That coming from you is almost funny," Damon teased.

"Hey! I only get into trouble when it's worth it."

"And when is that?"

"Almost always."

Ester let out a short sigh, but a slight smile crossed her lips. "She's right, though. Avoid confrontations. You're not there to prove anything. You're there to be accepted."

Damon nodded slowly. "Accepted... right."

The weight of the word hung in the air for a few seconds.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, carrying the cold scent of the night. Damon stood up, sheathing his sword and going to the window. The lights of Arven shone in the distance—golden points against the gray horizon.

"Six months," he repeated, in a low voice. "Six months to become someone I never wanted to be."

Aria approached, leaning her shoulder against his. "Or six months to discover who you really are."

He didn't answer. They remained silent, watching the moonlight silhouette the distant city walls.

Ester, still seated, watched him with that calm, analytical gaze that seemed to penetrate intentions.

"Elizabeth knows what she's doing," she said, finally. "And if she's bet on you, there's a reason. Even if we don't know what it is yet."

Damon continued looking at the horizon, without moving. "I hope the reason is worth it."

The night in Mirath was steeped in silence. Outside, the cold wind blew over the fortress towers, howling through the cracks in the walls like a distant lament. The moon, high and pale, cast its light through the wide windows of Elizabeth's room, painting the surroundings in silvery and bluish tones.

She sat at her work table, her elbows resting on a pile of ancient scrolls and books. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across her face—a serene yet tense face, of someone who had spent too long planning something that still seemed far from fruition.

The door behind her opened without a sound. No creaking, no hesitation. Just a slight displacement of air.

"Enter."

Elizabeth's voice was firm, almost icy.

From the shadows, a feminine figure emerged, shrouded in a dark cloak that absorbed the light. Her face was hidden by the hood, and only her lips—thin, pale—were visible. As she approached, the sound of her footsteps was so light it seemed more like a whisper.

"My lady," said the low, hoarse, but respectful voice. "I found three of the manuals you requested."

Elizabeth slowly raised her gaze, her golden eyes glinting in the candlelight. "Three?"

"Yes. The others are still out of reach. But these..."—the woman removed three books wrapped in dark cloth and placed them on the table—"...these are authentic."

Elizabeth observed the volumes for a long time in silence. The covers were ancient, marked with almost faded demonic runes. The energy emanating from them was dense, almost palpable, the kind of power that made the air feel heavier.

"From where?" she asked, without touching the books.

"Directly from the palace of the Celestial Demon," the shadow replied, with a slight inclination of her head. "They were sealed in the lower vaults, under the protection of three guardians. Obtaining them required... resources." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Resources?"

"A thousand gold coins, my lady."

The young woman sighed, leaning back in her chair. "A thousand coins… for three books."

"There is no lesser price for something that belonged to the Archdemon of Dreams himself," the shadow replied calmly. "And if you truly wish to understand Damon's lineage, these manuals are essential. No human library, not even Arven's, has anything comparable."

Elizabeth watched her for a few moments, silently, her fingers tapping on the table. The candle flame reflected in her eyes, giving them an unsettling gleam.

"These arts… are they legitimate?"

The woman nodded slowly. "Yes. The inscriptions in the margins are identical to those in the original grimoire from the Palace of the Abyss. Every movement, every energy seal, and every demonic prayer has been preserved. They are true martial arts of an Incubus—pure, not the corrupted or distorted versions that circulate among humans and mercenaries."

Elizabeth leaned forward and opened one of the volumes. The smell of old leather and antique ink escaped from the pages. Intricate symbols were scattered across the paper—drawings of postures, notes in an extinct language, and diagrams describing the circulation of dark mana through the body.

She ran her fingers over one of the pages and murmured, almost to herself, "Reverse flow of essence… partial conversion of desire into vital energy… fascinating."

The shadow remained motionless, watching her.

Elizabeth carefully closed the book and rested her hands on it. "Good work. Even at the cost, it was worth the effort."

The woman gave a slight bow. "Do you wish me to continue searching for the other volumes?"

"Yes. But without drawing attention. The more people who know that these manuals have been recovered, the greater the risk of interference—especially from the orders that hunt demonic descendants."

"As you wish."

Elizabeth stood and walked to the window. The moon illuminated her profile, and for a moment she seemed distant, thoughtful.

"If these techniques truly work, he will be able to channel the power without losing control," she said in a low voice, more to herself than to the servant. "And when that happens… everything we planned will begin to move."

The shadow bowed again. "So everything is going according to your plan, my lady?"

Elizabeth gazed at the silvery horizon for a long moment before answering. "For now."

She turned, her gaze cold and calculating. "Continue watching Damon. No detail should escape him. He cannot know yet—not until he has completely mastered his own nature."

"Understood."

The woman took a few steps back and, before the candlelight could touch her face again, disappeared into the darkness—as if she had never been there.

Elizabeth remained still, her eyes fixed on the three books on the table. The night breeze drifted through the window, making the flames flicker and the shadows dance across the walls. A slight smile curved her lips.

"It's only a matter of time now," she murmured. "When he awakens… the whole world will change… I hope his will returns… Lord Asmodeus."

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