Stone walls gleamed from generations of enchantments, every arch reinforced with runic magic, and guards in silver-blue armor patrolled the pristine roads. Cindralis, the Land of Security, was a place where violence was forgotten history… or so the legends claimed.
But as Ryle and Thea stepped onto the plaza, a roar of angry voices shattered the image.
Hundreds of citizens surrounded the marble courthouse. Protesters chanted with fury, shaking banners and throwing curses—not magic, but words.
"STOP THE NIGHT DEATHS!"
"WE DESERVE ANSWERS!"
"OUR FAMILIES DIED IN BED!"
"Looks like the 'secure' city's cracking," Ryle muttered, eyes scanning the unrest.
Thea pulled her hood low. "They're not scared of monsters. They're scared of being ignored."
A unit of guards stood before the crowd, shields raised. One barked: "Cindralis is under drain lockdown. All mages are restricted from using magic without permission."
A woman screamed, "So what?! My husband turned to bones last night!"
"We're investigating," the guard lied flatly. "Disperse, or you will be detained."
As the protest raged, two knights stepped toward Ryle and Thea.
"You two," one said, eyes fixed on the glimmering swords at Thea's back. "All enchanted weapons must be surrendered."
"No," Thea replied, calm but firm.
The knights exchanged glances. "We weren't asking."
"You should've been," Ryle said, eyes gleaming gold. "Last time someone touched those blades, they lost their hands."
In less than a minute, reinforcements arrived. Magical chains wrapped around Ryle and Thea's limbs, the knights smiling smugly as they were dragged away.
The prison of Cindralis was almost laughably elegant—glass doors, soft floors, and enchantments meant to suppress magic. But suppression only worked on those who couldn't adapt.
In their cell, Ryle traced a line along the wall with one clawed finger, chuckling. "They tried to arrest Me. Cute."
Thea examined her swords—hidden in an illusion she created moments before capture. A perfect mimicry left behind, humming with harmless fake magic.
"Ready?" she asked.
Ryle nodded. "Ladies first."
Light flared from her fingertips, melting the suppressive runes on the walls. Then a brilliant flash—and when the guards blinked, the cell was empty.
Outside, they slipped through the rooftops as the city whispered.
Banners painted in blood-red streaks hung from alleyways. Quiet figures passed coins and daggers in the dark. Walls bore fresh graffiti:
"They protect the nobles, not the people."
"Sleep is death."
"Magic is a lie."
A revolution brewed beneath velvet silence.
Thea and Ryle settled in an abandoned church for the night, behind stained glass depictions of gods long forgotten.
"You've improved," Ryle said, tossing her a blanket. "That light magic trick back there? Clean work."
She smiled faintly. "Thanks."
He laid back, hands behind his head. "You can fly now. That means no more princess carrying."
Thea turned red. "I didn't ask for them…"
"I'll miss them anyway." He grinned. "You were warm."
She threw her blanket at his face.
That night, Thea dreamed.
She stood in a sunny courtyard, flowers blooming around her, Ryle leaning against a fountain. No enemies, no war. Just him. He smiled at her—warmly—and reached for her hand.
"Want to go on a date?" he asked, and her heart fluttered.
They walked through a festival, shared sweets, laughed under lanterns. For once, peace didn't feel far away.
Then… the scene changed.
A motel room. The air grew heavy.
Ryle leaned over her, his eyes laced with hunger. His smile changed.
Wrong.
"Thea…" he whispered, touching her neck.
She shoved him back. "What are you doing?"
He pinned her wrists. "You want this, don't you?"
"No!" she shouted—and slashed his cheek.
His eyes turned pink, not gold.
And his skin shimmered—morphing into a stranger. Beautiful, cruel, and furious.
"You were supposed to love me!" he shrieked.
Thea summoned light, piercing his chest.
He screamed. Then everything went black.
She gasped awake.
Sweat soaked her collar. The church was dark, but—
"Ryle," she whispered.
He sat up beside her, eyes wide.
"I had the dream," he said slowly.
They stood.
No time to question it. Something was wrong.
The moment they stepped outside, the screams began.
Citizens rioted in the streets, enraged by silence and death. Guards retaliated—no hesitation, no mercy. Sword met flesh. Magic struck skulls. Smoke rose into the starless sky.
But Ryle's sharp eyes saw something worse.
"The soldiers… they're not in control," he growled. "Look at their pupils."
Pink. Glowing. Dazed.
"Succubi and incubi," he muttered. "Illusion and seduction magic. They're controlling the guards."
"Then we knock them out," Thea said, drawing her twin swords. "No deaths."
"Yup." Ryle muttered.
They moved like thunder.
Ryle's claws disabled enchanted guards with pinpoint strikes. Thea's Twinlight danced, disarming without killing. Each succubus and incubus was knocked out cold, dragged into alleyways and silenced.
By dawn, the chaos was halted.
But not without casualties.
A young man cradled his lover's body in the street, blood soaked into his tunic. Her body lay still—her chest had been pierced by a corrupted knight.
He sobbed, begging her to wake.
Ryle knelt beside him.
"They used your pain. Twisted your protectors into killers."
The young man looked up, eyes red. "Why would they do this? She didn't deserve it…"
"No one did," Ryle said gently. "But that doesn't matter now."
He stood, golden eyes hard.
"Do you want revenge?"
The young man gritted his teeth.
"Yes."