Beneath the purplish-gold hues of the setting sun, a tranquil garden lay bathed in soft, ethereal light. The air carried the distant scent of jasmine and chamomile, undisturbed—except for the rhythmic fluttering of butterfly wings. Their iridescent colors shimmered like living jewels as they encircled a lone figure sitting in perfect stillness.
Camilia Magus, poised in a meditative lotus position, exuded an aura of timeless grace. Her long, ombre-black-to-blonde hair cascaded down her back like liquid dusk turning into dawn. The strands caught the last remnants of sunlight, shifting between shadow and brilliance.
Even with her eyes closed, she radiated command. The world seemed to orbit around her—the breeze itself hesitant to disturb her.
Then, the peace shattered.
Hurried footsteps crushed the soft grass, disrupting the sacred balance. A middle-aged man clad in a guard's uniform approached, his breath uneven. "Mistress, I have urgent news!" he called out.
For a moment, there was no reaction. Camilia remained seated, a statue of calm. The only indication of her awareness was a subtle shift in the air. The butterflies, sensing the change, fled instantly.
The silence grew heavy. Unforgiving.
Then, finally, she opened her eyes.
Twin golden halos flared to life, their inner amber-red rings pulsating like smoldering embers. Under the dimming sky, her gaze didn't just pierce—it burned. In the daylight, her eyes would resemble the purest gold, but now, at dusk, the phoenix glow within intensified—as if time itself stirred within her irises.
The guard froze mid-step. His throat tightened. He had seen many things working for his mistress Camilia Magus, but this? This was something else.
Camilia finally spoke, her tone velvet-smooth yet laced with lethal precision.
"And pray tell, how urgent must it be for you to disturb me during cultivation?"
Her voice carried no anger—only disappointment. A far more terrifying thing.
The temperature around them seemed to drop.
The guard, suddenly aware of his audacity, instinctively bowed his head. "A-Apologies, Mistress," he stammered, struggling to steady his breathing under her scrutiny. Her golden-haloed eyes did not blink.
The tension strangled the air.
Then, as if granting mercy, she exhaled softly.
Breaking her meditation, Camilia rose with the grace of a sovereign queen. As she moved, the golden twilight wrapped around her, illuminating the curves of her infinity-shaped figure—fluid yet powerful, an unshakable presence. Her steps were soundless, effortless, as she approached a low wooden table, reaching for her cup of tea.
Only when she took a measured sip did she acknowledge the man again.
"Speak."
The guard swallowed hard but pressed on. "Your company, Star Enterprise, is rapidly gaining ground in Scarlet City. Victor Agrave has taken notice."
At the mention of the mafia kingpin's name, Camilia remained unshaken, merely lifting her porcelain teacup to her lips, savoring the aromatic brew.
Camilia continued sipping her tea, unfazed. Of course, it was.
"Thanks to Altria's handling of the assassination requests, my people know how to get the job done," she remarked, her gaze unrelenting. The guard, trapped beneath the weight of those golden-ringed eyes, fumbled over his next words.
He pressed forward. "Mistress, our informants in Perish City report that young master Astaroth has redirected some of his father's laborers to a classified project in the Forsaken Highland Peaks of Khar."
The mention of Astaroth stirred something colder in her.
Her fingers grazed the rim of her cup.
"Has the Astaroth family learned of our attack?" she asked, her voice lethal in its softness.
"No—No, Mistress. They remain unaware."
Camilia set her cup down. A faint clink.
A calculated pause.
"Good."
Then, with effortless poise, she lifted her golden gaze, peering at the guard as if already seeing three steps ahead.
"Keep Marcos on his current assignment," she ordered coolly. "But tell him to accelerate his position within the family."
The guard hesitated. "Mistress, should we define a limit to his approach?"
Her expression remained neutral. "No."
The answer hung in the air like a guillotine's blade.
The guard's fingers twitched at his side. He didn't need to ask what that meant.
He suddenly became aware of the suffocating silence. His own heartbeat felt too loud in contrast. He shifted, unconsciously tugging at his collar. For the briefest moment, he swore he felt phantom fingers trailing against his throat.
Camilia, completely at ease, traced the rim of her teacup with her thumb.
"I don't care what methods he employs. I want those blueprints before the month ends."
The guard shuddered.
His very existence depended on pleasing this woman.
The guard, still cautious under Camilia's golden-haloed gaze, continued his report, voice carefully measured. "Additionally, Mistress, Kya of Nova's Beauty Emporium has secured a deal with Jared Sathe, an instructor at Solarskis University."
At the mention of Solarskis University, something shifted.
The air itself seemed to tighten, as though space recoiled at the unspoken weight of that name. The temperature did not drop—no, this was different. It was a suffocating, pressurized stillness, a sensation akin to being trapped in a frozen hourglass where time refused to flow.
For the first time in the conversation, Camilia Magus faltered.
It was slight. A mere flicker of something behind her gilded irises—but it was there.
The golden glow of her haloed eyes dimmed, as if a shadow had passed over a celestial body. The amber-red rings at their center pulsed once, then twice, before burning brighter than before.
Her fingers—always elegant, always poised—paused at the rim of her tea cup.
Solarskis.
Camilia loathed that place.
The guard, keenly aware of the momentary silence, dared not breathe too loudly. He wasn't sure what he had expected—a flash of anger? A sharp command? No, Camilia was too composed for that. Her rage, when it came, was always controlled. Measured. More lethal than any outburst.
Still, he had struck something.
She was no longer looking at him. Instead, her gaze had drifted past him, past the garden, past the sky itself.
For a single, haunting second, she was somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere in the past.
Somewhere within the suffocating walls of Solarskis University.
The memories threatened to drag her back, but she forced them into submission. She was no longer that girl—no longer that fool.
Slowly, methodically, Camilia exhaled.
The grip on her tea cup relaxed. The glow in her eyes returned to normal. And with the grace of a queen reestablishing her dominion, she tilted her head and smirked.
"Jared Sathe?" she repeated, rolling the name on her tongue as if testing its weight.
The way she said it—mocking, almost amused—sent a cold dread curling down the guard's spine.
She had not forgotten.
Her smirk didn't quite reach her golden eyes, but something cruel flashed within them.
It wasn't anger.
No, this was something far worse.
Recognition.
Like a predator recalling the scent of old prey.
She took another sip of tea, masking whatever thought crossed her mind. When she finally spoke, her voice was silk wrapped around a dagger.
"Interesting, repeat what you just said."
A smirk of disdain crossed Camilia's face at the mention of the teacher and university. "The sewer of corruption and deceit? What's their latest crime?"
"Jared Sathe has secured a deal with Kya of Nova's Beauty Emporium. The terms remain undisclosed, but we suspect it involves an exchange of resources—perhaps even students. Additionally, Victor Agrave's mafia presence has expanded. He's not just dealing in relics anymore; our spies indicate he's testing new mana-infused smuggling routes."
Camilia placed her teacup down with deliberate care. "So, the academy continues to rot from within," she mused, her voice laced with something darker than contempt. "And the Scarlet Fangs grow bolder by the day."
The guard's Adam's apple bobbed nervously. "Yes, Mistress. And regarding Victor Agrave…?"
Camilia tapped her manicured fingers against the table, lost in thought. "Not yet. Let him believe he's expanding unchecked. The moment we act, we ensure he doesn't get back up."
The guard had nothing to add. He didn't dare.
Something about the way she said that word made it clear.
But he wouldn't know it yet.
No, not until it was far too late.
Just as he mustered the courage to continue his updates, another voice cut in.
"Young Mistress, you should consider the responsibilities Master Enzo expects of you."
A new presence.
The voice belonged to Macho—Enzo's second-in-command. He had appeared without warning.
Camilia did not even flinch.
Instead, she turned towards him with a slow, deliberate tilt of her head. The last of the dying sunlight caught her ombre hair, making her look like a celestial warden.
Then, she smirked.
"Ah, Macho, what a surprise."
The way she said his name dripped with sarcasm.
Her gold-haloed eyes gleamed, shifting to a shade more amber-red than gold as she assessed him.
"How did your encounter with that young lady mage from Star City go?"
Macho's face remained impassive.
But his fingers tensed.
Camilia's smirk deepened. She knew she had struck a nerve.
"Ah. No fun, Macho." She sighed dramatically, throwing her arms up in an exaggerated motion. "Oh well. I suppose that means break time is over."
A final sip of tea.
Then, she turned her attention back to the trembling guard.
"Send our spies to the main branches of the Sacred Mage Families."
The guard stiffened.
"…Mistress?"
Camilia's gaze flicked back to him, bored.
"You heard me."
The butterflies that had once fluttered so freely in the garden? They never returned.
The golden hues of dusk bathed the garden in a soft, deceptive warmth. The scent of burnt flesh lingered in the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of jasmine.
Camilia Magus, ever poised, ever untouchable, adjusted the folds of her robe, preparing to depart.
Then, Macho's voice cut through the silence.
"And what about this?"
His tone was measured, but the weight behind it was clear. He gestured to the grotesque pile of corpses—the remnants of a slaughter, a massacre carried out with chilling efficiency.
Camilia barely glanced at the carnage, unimpressed. "What about it?" she asked, voice as smooth as silk over steel.
Then, without an ounce of hesitation—without a shred of care—she said,
"Take out the garbage."
And just like that, she vanished, her presence dissipating like an afterimage in time itself.
Macho exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.
Gods.
The bodies—burnt, sliced, obliterated beyond recognition—were barely identifiable. He saw limbs severed at unnatural angles, faces frozen in the agony of their last moments, and at the center of it all—two massive stone spears impaling what used to be men.
His expression darkened. Those pillars weren't just decoration.
"…David Rogos and his son Caleb?" he muttered, already knowing the answer.
The guard nodded stiffly."The young master… offended our lady."
Macho sighed, bracing for the rest. "…How bad was it?"
The guard's fingers twitched as he recalled the scene. "She said 'NO.'"
A simple word. A mere syllable.
And yet, that single utterance had detonated like a sonic blast, shredding the bodyguards into nothing but scattered limbs and blood mist.
Macho stared at the devastation, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"She wasn't caught on video, was she?"
A second of silence.
The guard nodded.
Macho closed his eyes.
"…Fucking kill me."
"I can arrange that"
His breath hitched.
Camilia's voice.
She was back.
Macho turned slowly, pulse kicking up before he saw her grinning—head tilted, golden-haloed eyes glimmering with amusement.
His stomach dropped.
"I wasn't serious, you know?" He forced out a weak chuckle.
Camilia just smiled.
"Neither was I."
Silence.
A full beat of palpable tension.
Then, as if granting mercy, she flicked a wrist, dismissing him.
"Macho, please." The way she said it was almost teasing. "You're stressing yourself out over nothing."
And with that, she vanished once more.
Macho stayed rooted in place, waiting a full minute before exhaling sharply.
"I don't see what Master Enzo sees in her," he muttered under his breath.
Shaking off the last remnants of unease, he turned back to the shaken guard.
"What else?" His voice was gruff, exhausted.
The guard stiffened. "Sir… there's one more thing that needs reporting."
Macho braced himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If this is another headache—"
"It concerns the Magus bloodline."
Macho's irritation faded instantly. His entire body went rigid.
"…What did you just say?"
The guard shifted uncomfortably before continuing. "A young man—he has Mistress Camilia's hair. Not just the color, but the exact distinct tone. And his last name—"
A pause.
"…His last name?" Macho's voice was low.
The guard swallowed.
"Percy Atlas Magus."
Macho stopped breathing.
A sharp inhale.
A flicker of disbelief.
Then—complete and utter rejection.
"That's not possible."
His voice was sharper than intended.
"The report must be unreliable," he insisted, gripping his coat as if to steady himself.
"But sir—"
"ENOUGH."
His voice boomed through the garden, cutting through the air like a blade.
The guard flinched.
Macho's chest rose and fell unevenly. His composure—always intact, always unwavering—was cracking.
Percy Atlas Magus.
That name was supposed to be erased from history.
That boy was supposed to be dead.
"We madesure of that."
He couldn't possibly be alive.
Macho clenched his jaw, pulse hammering in his ears.
Macho's breath came ragged and uneven as the memory crashed into him like a tidal wave.
(No.)
(It couldn't be.)
But the echoes of the past refused to be ignored.
If Percy Magus was alive...
☽ A Few Months Ago – Perish City Hospital ☾
The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, battling against the stench of burnt flesh.
Macho stood by the bedside, his sharp eyes skimming over the charred, unmoving body of Percy Atlas Magus.
"Lightning strike," the reports had said.
"Fatal damage minimal. Recovery possible."
That was a lie.
Macho could see the truth.
The once-vibrant young man lay in ruins—his ashen skin devoid of warmth, his jet-black hair dulled into lifeless strands, and his golden-blue eyes, the very signature of the Magus bloodline, reduced to vacant, unfocused voids.
Dead eyes.
This boy was as good as gone.
But Camilia?
She didn't move.
She didn't react to Macho's report—didn't even acknowledge his voice.
Her entire world had shrunk down to this hospital bed—to the broken form of her little brother.
Slowly, as if time itself resisted the motion, she reached out.
Her delicate fingers grazed Percy's cheek.
The air shifted.
The room darkened.
Something was coming.
"Mistress," Macho tried again, voice low with warning. "Leaving him like this will draw Master Enzo's attention. You know what that means. If you don't do it—"
"I know," Camilia whispered.
Then, she raised her hand.
And Macho felt it—a pulse of mana so dense, so suffocating, that his very bones ached.
Dark-red light engulfed her palm, tendrils of chaotic energy licking at the air.
The monitor flatlined.
Percy's pulse disappeared.
His body stilled.
And yet—
The air did not quiet.
Something was wrong.
Before Macho could step forward, a force beyond comprehension erupted from Percy's corpse.
A violent spiral of energy—powerful, ancient, uncontrollable—flooded the room.
Macho staggered backward, shielding his face as the very fabric of reality buckled under the surge.
Camilia was unmoving, but her fingers curled into a fist.
She knew.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't natural.
This was a resurrection.
And as the energy slowly settled…
The monitor beeped.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
A steady, unshakable heartbeat.
Percy Magus was alive.
And Camilia Magus was crying.
☽ The Present – Lombardi City ☾
Macho's lungs screamed for air as he stumbled back into reality, his mind racing at a thousand miles an hour.
Percy wasn't dead.
Percy had never been dead.
Camilia had lied.
He turned sharply, every instinct screaming at him to run, report this, do something—
But his blood froze solid.
Because standing right there, bathed in moonlight, was Camilia Magus.
And in her hands…
Two severed heads.
Macho's stomach lurched.
The guard.
The spy.
Both of them—dead.
Their lifeless faces were twisted in horror, their expressions frozen in the last moments of brutal agony.
A chill ripped through Macho's spine.
He was the last one left.
The only loose end.
"Mistress!" Macho gasped, his voice cracking from sheer terror.
Camilia's golden-haloed eyes burned like dying stars.
She stepped forward.
"I can't let you leave with that memory, Macho."
"No—Stop!"
His own body betrayed him, locking in place as her presence engulfed him.
She reached out.
One single finger.
Pressed gently against his forehead.
And in an instant—
Everything went dark.
As Camilia withdrew her hand from Macho's forehead, the eerie silence that followed was almost suffocating. To him, everything felt… normal. The weight of forgotten urgency lifted, replaced by a dull acceptance.
He blinked, glancing down at the severed heads still cradled in her hands. A sigh of resignation escaped him. "What did these two do?" His tone was neutral, detached, but not surprised.
Camilia tilted her head, studying the lifeless expressions frozen in terror. Then, with a slow, unsettling smile, she said, "Oh, nothing really. I was just bored."
The casual way she said it sent a shiver down Macho's spine. For all the horrors he'd seen in his lifetime, something about Camilia's detached amusement—her ability to balance cold rationality with casual cruelty—was far more terrifying than any battlefield he had ever stood upon.
Determined to shift away from the grisly scene, Macho took a steadying breath and relayed his actual reason for seeking her out. "Mistress, the master requests your presence for dinner in the grand hall at six," he informed her, maintaining his composure.
Camilia didn't even pretend to care. "Okay," she murmured dismissively, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone.
Macho remained, standing amidst blood and bodies, shoulders tense. He ran a hand through his hair and let out an exasperated breath. "That woman's going to be the death of me," he muttered, rubbing his temple.
He turned his gaze toward the remains, already running through the protocol for a cleanup crew. Then, a thought stirred in the back of his mind—something important. Something he had just been thinking about.
His brow furrowed.
(What was it?)
The nagging sense of missing something gnawed at him, but no matter how much he tried to grasp at the memory, it slipped through his fingers like sand.
With a tired shake of his head, he exhaled. "If it's really significant, it'll come back to me," he reasoned, forcing himself to move on.
Elsewhere…
The city stretched endlessly below, a mosaic of flickering lights against the ink-black night. Wind howled at the dizzying heights, but Camilia stood motionless atop a grand cathedral spire, gazing down upon the world with silent detachment.
In her hand, a small photograph fluttered slightly in the breeze—two young children, a boy and a girl, grinning with faces smeared in birthday cake. Their laughter, forever frozen in time, felt like a ghost whispering from the past.
Her fingers, usually so steady, trembled as they traced the edges of the worn paper.
A memory surfaced unbidden.
Years Ago…
"Promise we'll always be best friends!" A young Percy grinned, his bright golden-blue eyes shimmering with excitement.
Camilia, only a few hours older yet already embodying the wisdom of an eldest, smirked at her little brother's insistence. "Best friends?" she teased, arching a delicate brow.
"Not just siblings," Percy declared, extending his pinky finger toward her. "You always say people break promises unless they mean them, so this one has to be extra strong!"
Camilia chuckled at his serious expression but humored him. "Alright, little starlight," she agreed, linking her pinky with his. "Not just siblings, but best friends—forever."
But Percy wasn't done. He pulled their hands apart and placed his palm against hers. "We need a secret twin handshake," he decided, scrunching his face in thought before clapping their hands together, twisting their fingers in an odd yet intricate sequence.
When they finished, he grinned proudly. "Now, it's unbreakable!"
Camilia rolled her eyes playfully. "You really believe that, huh?"
"Of course!" Percy beamed. "It's twin law!"
She hadn't believed in 'twin law' then. She hadn't realized how much that tiny moment would matter.
How much she would yearn for it.
Present Day…
Camilia's lips parted slightly, as if to whisper something—perhaps to reach across time, to answer the little brother who had been taken from her.
Instead, she clutched the photograph tighter, holding it close to her chest, as though pressing it hard enough might fuse the past and present together.
"Always, brother," she whispered into the night, her voice carrying an aching tenderness rarely heard. "Always."
A golden glow flickered in her haloed irises, a fragile warmth amid the storm raging within her soul.
The night stretched vast and endless before her, the sky veiled in a deep indigo, speckled with dying stars. The waning crescent moon hung in the heavens, its silvered arc dimly illuminating the cityscape below.
The cold wind howled through the towering spires, weaving through the latticework of the high-rise she stood atop. It whispered against her skin, lifting the strands of her ombre-black/purple-to-blonde hair, making it dance like twilight unraveling into dawn.
The very air seemed to revere her, swirling in reverence around her infinity-shaped form—a woman who had bloomed into something divine in contrast to a little girl that had been soft, and full of love.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze toward the southwest, the direction of the one thread still tying her to her past—though she did not utter his name. She didn't need to.
The wind keened, cold and restless, carrying her unspoken words across the night.
Below her, the city pulsed, blind and indifferent to the silent promise being rekindled above.