Zanac’s voice was calm, measured—too measured. It was the way he always spoke when explaining something horrific as if it were merely a matter of logistics.
As he spoke, Eliza realized something achingly familiar
Zanac stood before the suspended pool, his mechanical fingers lightly tracing the glowing sigils in the air. His voice, when he spoke, was calm, yet there was something almost heavy beneath it, as though every word carried the weight of a failure not his own, but one he still bore.
“The Young Master wanted to resurrect the entire village,” Zanac began, his tone methodical, yet edged with something just shy of regret.
Eliza’s breath caught, already knowing where this story would end.
“He had more than enough mana to do so,” Zanac continued. “For someone of his level, it would have been effortless. Normally, the Young Prince could perform true resurrections on a dozen or more people without ever needing to consider the cost.”
Eliza swallowed hard.
But something had gone wrong.
“But when he cast his summon,” Zanac went on, “he noticed his mana was not recovering.”
Eliza felt a pit form in her stomach.
“At first, he thought it was simply the strain of the spell. But then he realized—”
Zanac turned slightly, looking at her now.
“His passives were still draining mana. Even outside of casting, his natural existence as a Lich should have been refueling him. And yet… his reserves continued to drop.”
Eliza’s fingers curled into fists.
A horrible feeling began to settle over her, one that made her sick to her core.
“The Young Prince had been capped.”
Zanac said it simply, but the weight of those words made her legs feel unsteady.
“The Crown had placed a mana restriction on him. A punishment.”
Eliza took a slow, sharp breath.
“This is also how I found out it was removed,” Zanac continued, voice steady.
Then, his glowing eye dimmed slightly, and he turned his gaze toward her.
“By your people.”
Eliza’s throat tightened.
It was not an accusation.
Just a fact.
One that cut deep.
She didn’t even realize she had spoken aloud when she murmured:
“And you didn’t treat me any differently?”
Zanac tilted his head slightly, as if mildly surprised by the question.
Then, smoothly, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, he replied:
“Of course not, my lady. You did not torture him. Only your people did.”
His voice was even, almost gentle.
“So do not blame yourself.”
Eliza’s breath hitched.
Zanac turned back toward the glowing pool, speaking once more as if recounting a simple, inevitable conclusion.
“But because of the mana cap… in the end, the Young Prince didn’t have enough for a true resurrection.”
His voice dipped lower.
“All he could manage was an untrue one. A single act of necromancy.”
His mechanical fingers lightly touched the edge of the suspended water.
“An undead resurrection.”
Zanac sighed, fingers interlacing behind his back as he regarded Una-Parn with the patience of a man used to being challenged.
“Undead beings have undead benefits… and undead curses,” he stated plainly. “For most, the trade is a balance. But for beings such as Undines—”
His mechanical eye dimmed slightly.
“These curses are worse than death itself.”
Una-Parn’s gills flared, her dark green and black scales bristling as she bared her teeth.
Zanac barely reacted, continuing his explanation as if she weren’t seething before him.
“However,” he went on, “the Young Master went to great lengths to ensure that this particular undead Undine—”
“Am I supposed to thank and worship your monster of a master for turning me into a monster?!”
Her voice cracked like a whip, venom lacing every syllable.
Eliza winced, but Zanac remained unbothered.
“I am not.” Her voice shook, rage and sorrow intertwining. “Do you think I should be grateful for this?”
Zanac’s glowing eye flickered, and for the first time, his tone sharpened just slightly.
“I believe your case could have been much worse.”
Una’s jaw clenched, but Zanac pressed on.
“The Young Master risked great danger ensuring that you were turned into an undead through Never_.”
But Una didn’t care.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
She didn’t care what kind of undead she was.
She didn’t care what efforts had been taken.
Her voice rose into a furious torrent, the sigils around the water pool flickering violently as her power surged in protest.
“I don’t care about any of that! I don’t care if I’m some superior undead, or if he went through some terrible price to make me this way!”
Her golden eyes burned as she snarled.
“I JUST WANT MY DAUGHTER BACK!”
The entire chamber shook with the force of her cry, the suspended pool of water churning violently as the sigils struggled to contain her power.
Eliza stepped forward.
“Una—”
The Undine turned sharply, her fury now directed at Eliza as well.
“Don’t speak like you understand my pain, human!”
Eliza flinched, but held her ground.
Eliza took a slow, measured breath as she looked at Una-Parn.
She could still feel the tension radiating from the Undine woman, the sharp bite of anger that had yet to fully subside.
But anger, Eliza knew, was not always righteous.
She had spent her entire childhood under the weight of her own mother’s anger—a woman who taught her less about love and more about discipline. A woman who saw failure before she saw effort, who sought perfection before acceptance.
No, Una-Parn was not like her own mother.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t become something cold and distant in undeath.
And now, Eliza had to ask herself—
Is this how Opal should see her mother?
Do I even have the right to keep them apart?
She was lost in thought for a long moment, watching as Una’s fingers tightened into fists, the controlled fury in her expression mirroring something Eliza had seen in herself once.
Eliza exhaled.
“I will bring you to her.”
Una’s sharp gaze lifted.
“But you will calm down. Because while I cannot pretend to understand your pain, I do sympathize with it.”
She let the words settle for a moment.
Then, her voice dipped lower, firmer.
“But I have lost enough people. And I have lived my whole life seeing what an angry mother, drunk on power, can do to a frightened daughter.”
She met Una’s eyes, unwavering.
“I will leave you trapped here if I must.”
The Undine mother’s breath hitched, and for a brief moment, her expression wavered—not in rage, but in something far more painful.
But before she could speak—
A sharp buzz cut through the air.
Zanac’s entire frame stiffened.
His glowing eye flickered sharply as a thin blue rune suddenly appeared in front of him, glowing with an urgent pulsing light.
A call.
From Lady Aura.
Eliza saw his entire demeanor shift, his usual smooth elegance replaced by something tense, something cold.
Zanac frowned as he read over the incoming message.
His hand tightened slightly before he spoke.
“Not good.”
And then, before Eliza could ask—
He grabbed hold of her wrist.
“We must put a hold on this.”
She barely had time to react before a sigil ignited beneath their feet, pulsing once before a sharp flash of light consumed them both.
Eliza’s stomach lurched as they reappeared in a different chamber—a massive meeting room, the air thick with tension and magic.
The walls were carved from blackened marble, runes flickering along the edges like watchful sentinels, reacting to the incoming transmission hovering above the table.
At the center stood Lady Aura.
Her hooved feet stomped against the stone floors, her scorpion tail lashing irritably behind her as her arms were crossed.
She was not happy.
Eliza took in the massive meeting table, the floating glyph of an incoming call, and the way Aura’s tail slammed down at intervals—a sign of restraint, not rage.
Her voice was clipped. “It’s Hailing Spell Sir.”
Zanac’s expression remained neutral, but Eliza could feel the shift in the air.
He didn’t need to ask.
Aura answered anyway.
“It’s a hail from the Succbus kingdom.”
Eliza’s stomach twisted.
Even the mention of her name felt wrong in the air, as if speaking it too loudly would invite something unseen into the room.
Zanac, however, merely nodded.
“One of her minions, or has she decided to dirty her own hands?”
Aura’s tail slammed down again, her expression twisting in frustration.
“No, Sir. It’s her.”
A pause.
Then, lower—“I have yet to accept the hail. It could be laced with an attachment spell. A delayed summoning trap.”
Zanac hummed, rubbing his chin. “Yes, before we answer, we should reinforce security.”
Eliza, who had been standing silently, finally spoke up.
“Umm… Why is she calling?”
The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them.
Because neither Zanac nor Aura answered immediately.
Because the way they both looked at her—not in condescension, but in calculation—told her exactly what she had been trying to ignore.
They were keeping things from her.
Because in reality—
She wasn’t strong enough.
She wasn’t knowledgeable enough.
She wasn’t anything yet.
Eliza clenched her jaw, heat rising in her chest as she crossed her arms.
She was getting tired of being treated like some fragile, ignorant outsider.
And deep down—
She knew she was one.
The truth stung more than she wanted to admit.
Ever since she arrived, she had depended on Ten. On his power. His knowledge. His decisions.
Now, without him—what was she?
Who was she without his shadow?
Zanac’s voice was even, but his movements were precise, calculated.
“Lady Aura, while I reinforce the barriers, reinforce our image.”
Lady Aura nodded sharply, already anticipating his meaning.
Eliza, however, was less sure.
“Our image?”
She barely had a moment to process before a soft pulse of magic radiated around her. She felt the shift in fabric, the subtle change in weight as something elegant and flowing draped over her body.
A gown—deep midnight in color, with subtle silver embroidery, like constellations stitched into the fabric. It was regal, undeniably so.
But there was no crown.
Eliza touched the gown lightly, her fingers brushing the fine material.
Her eyes lifted to Aura, suspicion flickering across her face.
“What… is this?”
Aura smirked slightly. “Perception, my dear. Lilith is about to lay her eyes upon you for the first time, and we need to control what she sees.”
Eliza frowned, her stomach twisting. “You mean, control what she thinks of me.”
Aura’s expression did not falter.
“Exactly.”
The magic centaur woman adjusted the layered fabric, her own presence commanding yet effortless.
Eliza glanced at Zanac, who was still reinforcing the barriers, runes flashing around his hands as he worked.
Then she looked back at Aura.
“Who is she really?” Eliza asked, her tone softer now.
Lady Aura adjusted the fabric of Eliza’s gown with careful precision, her golden eyes sharp with focus. But beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of something heavier—contempt. Resentment. Old wounds that had never truly healed.
Eliza noticed it immediately.
“She was supposed to marry him,” Aura began, her voice steady, but not without bite.
Eliza’s fingers tensed.
Lilith wasn’t just his ex.
She was supposed to be his wife.
Aura continued, her tail flicking irritably as she spoke.
“She was meant to become Queen of this realm. That was the arrangement. The natural order of things. But Lilith… she never truly wanted the title of Queen.”
Eliza tilted her head slightly. “Then what did she want?”
Aura’s eyes narrowed, her expression turning sharp.
“She didn’t just want to be a queen. She wanted to be the Queen.”
Eliza felt her stomach twist.
Aura’s lip curled slightly. “Marriage wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to share power—she wanted to claim all of it.”
Eliza exhaled slowly. “So she arranged to have him removed."
Aura nodded. “She ensured that the Young Master was banished. She thought that without him, the crown would remain here—that it would be waiting for her.”
Zanac, who had been silently reinforcing the barrier sigils, let out a quiet hum.
His mechanical eye flickered.
“I am sure she believed that,” he commented dryly. “It would have been a flawless plan. Had she not been so... shortsighted."
Aura smirked slightly.
“She was arrogant. And she was wrong.”
She turned to face Eliza fully now, her gaze piercing.
“The crown did not stay in this realm.”
She paused.
Then, simply—
“It went with him as it has for the second time it seems.”
Zanac took a final step back, the sigils along the walls pulsing as the final security reinforcements locked into place.
Lady Aura straightened her posture, adjusting the fine details of Eliza’s gown one last time.
Eliza exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders to release the tension.
She did not wear a crown.
She was not Queen.
Not yet.
But she was about to face a woman who had once tried to be.
Zanac flicked his wrist, and a final humming pulse of magic activated the holographic display.
The sigils around the meeting table shimmered, forming a protective layer, preventing any potential binding spells or illusionary tricks.
Aura gave Eliza one final glance, her expression serious.
“Do not let her rattle you,” she murmured. “She is a succubus. She will try.”
Eliza nodded.
She wouldn’t give Lilith that satisfaction.
Zanac turned, his mechanical eye flickering as he raised a single hand over the glowing glyph.
“Accepting the hail.”
The air shifted.
The floating rune flickered once, twice—
And then—
A smooth, almost playful voice poured into the room, dripping with a honeyed edge.
“Hello there.”
