The wheels of the carriage rolled steadily over uneven cobblestone, every creak and jolt echoing louder than it should have. The landscape outside was dry and rugged, painted in rust-red hues and scattered with gnarled rock formations.
Liliana sat alone inside, dwarfed by the lavish carriage interior that had clearly not been designed for her. She leaned against the window, forehead resting on the cool glass, watching the terrain crawl by. Dry hills, twisted trees, and the occasional flicker of movement in the distance. She didn't care what it was. Whether beast or bird, it still had more freedom than she did.
She hadn't spoken a word since the journey began.
Not to the guards riding ahead. Not to the driver. Not even to herself.
But inside her head, the words never stopped.
They really sent me away.
Just like that. No ceremony. No goodbyes. No last look.
Her fingers tightened around the scarf tied loosely around her neck. It smelled faintly of rosemary soap. Sira had always smelled like that.
I thought maybe—just maybe—Mother would say something. Anything. Even just a nod. But she didn't. She walked past me like I was a broken vase she'd finally thrown out.
She looked down at her lap. Her dress was too formal for travel, stiff around the collar. The kind nobles wore to maintain dignity during exile. As if there were dignity in being cast out like trash.
Did I ever matter to them? Even a little?
Her thoughts slowed, then sharpened.
If I had been born with magic, they would have loved me. If I had power, they would've smiled. Called me their daughter. Their pride.
She clenched her jaw.
So was love something you earned? Was it conditional? Transactional?
I was born wrong. That was my crime.
She blinked hard, trying to push down the tightness in her throat. Not tears. Not anymore. She had wasted those already. They had gotten her nothing.
She turned her gaze back outside, watching the road twist through canyons and low ridges. Ashen Hollow wasn't just distant. It was isolated. Forgotten. The kind of place devils didn't speak about unless they needed to punish someone.
Will they even remember me after today? Will anyone?
She laughed under her breath, but it was a hollow, bitter sound.
Maybe it's better if they don't.
A memory came to her, sudden and unwanted: Sirzechs holding her as a baby, smiling softly. Whispering something she was too young to understand. That warmth had been real. She was sure of it.
Did he forget, too?
She closed her eyes. Let her head rest fully against the glass.
If I die out here... will anyone even know?
Will anyone care?
The horses slowed.
She lifted her head, heart skipping. Something was off. The rhythm of the hooves had changed—now uneven. The silence that followed was too complete. Even the low wind through the rocks seemed to pause.
Liliana sat up straight.
She looked ahead through the small slit in the carriage wall.
One of the guards had raised his hand.
A flare of red light pulsed from beneath the road.
A magic circle, buried under the path, igniting with layered sigils.
She barely had time to move before the blast hit.
The explosion ripped through the front axle, sending the entire carriage into the air before crashing back down on its side. Liliana's scream was swallowed by the roar of splintering wood and twisting metal. She slammed into the wall, her head snapping forward, her shoulder crunching against the frame.
Her vision blurred. Pain screamed through her limbs. Dust and debris filled the air—thick, choking, burned.
She gasped, coughed, tried to move. Something heavy pinned her legs. A wooden beam, split and blackened, held her fast like a dead weight. Her fingers clawed at the upholstery, shaking.
She could barely hear over the ringing in her skull. Just the crackle of fading flames and the creak of warped wood.
Then—a new sound.
Boots.
Measured, deliberate.
The carriage door groaned open, then collapsed off its hinges with a dull thud.
A figure stepped through the smoke like a ghost.
Cloaked. Masked. Runes crawled along his arms like living parasites, shifting with every breath he took. His aura was wrong. Not like a devil's. Not clean. Tainted. Controlled.
Liliana's mouth trembled open, "Wh-who are you...?"
No answer.
She tried again, louder, "Why are you doing this?!"
The man stared for a moment longer before stepping fully into the wreckage. The dim runes across his sleeves glowed brighter, reacting to something in the air—her, maybe.
"I expected a corpse," he said, voice low and grainy, distorted like it passed through static. "Didn't think you'd still be breathing."
Liliana pushed herself up with shaking arms. "I'm not a threat," she whispered. "I'm not even—I'm not even anything."
He tilted his head at that. Like a curious animal. Or a scientist watching a failed experiment twitch before it died.
"That's exactly what makes you dangerous."
A curved blade hissed to life in his hand, black energy curling around its edge like smoke dragged from the abyss.
"A powerless daughter of Gremory, cast out in the dead of night? No announcements. No guards. No political theater. Just... exile." He took a step closer, slow and steady. "Tell me, girl—do you know how nervous that makes people?"
Liliana tried to push back, but her legs were still trapped. Her hands searched blindly for anything—anything—to hold, to use, to fight.
The man didn't care.
"Some say you're cursed. Others say you're a cover-up. A loose end. I don't care which. What matters is this: the people who hired me don't want you making it to Ashen Hollow."
He raised the blade.
"So I'm here to erase a question mark."
Her voice cracked, "You don't even know what I am."
The assassin's eyes narrowed behind the mask.
"Exactly. And that's what scares them."
He stepped closer.
Liliana closed her eyes.
And something inside her shattered.
A scream tore itself from her lungs—not soft, not frightened, but raw, furious, primal. The sound was deeper than her voice should have reached, and it cracked through the air like thunder.
The ground shook.
A pulse of unseen force erupted from her, flinging the assassin backward into the broken wall of the carriage. Wood snapped. Dust exploded outward. The rune on his arm sputtered and died.
Liliana rose—no, was pulled up—by some invisible gravity around her.
Her eyes burned. Her fingertips buzzed. The world twisted at the edges.
She couldn't breathe.
She didn't need to.
Power coursed through her veins like fire and ice, foreign and familiar all at once.
Five voices whispered in the back of her mind. Not loud. Not demanding. Just there.
Finally awake...She cries for herself, and we hear. This is what they feared. Let it break. Let it burn.
The assassin scrambled up, wild-eyed.
"You—What are you—?!"
Liliana raised her hand, instinct more than intent.
The air split open.
A rift. A slice of reality pulled apart like paper.
And something reached through.
Not a hand. Not a weapon. Just... pressure. Raw, infinite pressure.
The assassin vanished in an instant—no scream, no flash, no resistance. One moment he existed. The next, he didn't.
Silence.
Liliana collapsed to her knees, trembling, breath rasping.
The carriage burned behind her. The ground smoked. Her body ached—but her chest felt... hollow. Like something had left her. Or like something had finally taken root.
She stared at her hands.
They were glowing faintly. Not with magic.
With something else.
What am I becoming?
There was no answer.
Only the quiet.
And the ash.