The alley was dark, the flickering torches casting eerie, twisting shadows on the rough stone walls. The scent of smoke and ash clung to the air-just another reminder of the demon world's endless twilight. Eve Goken moved through the narrow passage without hesitation, her sharp eyes adjusting with ease.

Then, a chill slithered down her spine.

Her grip instinctively tightened around the hilt of Merciless, the weight of the sword a familiar comfort. Something was watching her.

She slowed her steps, every sense on high alert.

From the darkness, a figure emerged. Tall, imposing, and dangerously captivating. His silver hair cascaded down his back like a river of moonlight, its length brushing against his waist. But it was his eyes that held her captive-shifting and changing like shadows, revealing nothing. No emotion. No weakness. Just an abyss.

Eve's breath hitched. Her heart pounded, an unsettling mix of fear and fascination taking hold.

The stranger's gaze didn't waver. His eyes bore into hers with an intensity that made her feel like she was drowning. The world around her faded into nothing, time slowing to a near stop.

"What do you want from me?" Eve whispered, barely audible.

But before she could blink, the world distorted. The alley dissolved into a blur-melting away-until she was staring at the familiar ceiling of her bedroom.

Eve shot up, chest rising and falling rapidly.

A dream.

No. It felt too real.

The image of the stranger lingered in her mind. His shifting eyes. The way he watched her, as if he already knew her. A shiver crawled down her spine despite the warmth of her bed.

She barely had time to steady her breathing before her door creaked open.

Aunt Ymir stepped inside, her piercing ember eyes glinting in the dim light. Her curly brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, complementing her chiseled features-high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and an elegance that made her both intimidating and beautiful.

"Good evening, Eve," she greeted, her voice smooth as silk.

Eve exhaled, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes. "Evening, Aunt Ymir."

Her aunt gave her a knowing look. "I need you to fetch Azreal for dinner-if you don't mind." A small smile played on her lips. "Your uncle will be joining us tonight. Azreal's presence is required."

That caught Eve's attention. Her uncle?

She nodded in silent agreement, watching as Aunt Ymir turned to leave.

Before stepping out, Ymir glanced over her shoulder. "Be sure to get him before the moon reaches its peak."

Then, she was gone.

Eve sighed, running a hand through her hair. Finding Azreal wouldn't be hard. As usual, he's probably wasting his night at that damn club.

With a swift motion, she threw on a fitted black cloak, tying her hair into a bun. Securing Merciless at her waist, she stepped into the night.

---

The Club

The scent of sweat, liquor, and sin filled the air. Music pulsed through the crowded club, the dim lighting giving everything a smoky haze. Demons laughed, gambled, and lost themselves in indulgence.

Eve scanned the room.

There.

Azreal sat at a corner table, caught in the middle of a heated game. Strands of his long black hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. His ember eyes burned with sharp focus-not on the game, but on her.

Gina.

The most coveted courtesan in Kettuf Clan. A woman of lethal beauty, famous even beyond their borders.

She moved with slow, deliberate grace, her lace-trimmed corset accentuating every curve. Her dark hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of silk, eyes gleaming like polished onyx. When she danced, the room watched. No demon could look away.

Least of all, Azreal.

"Typical," Eve muttered under her breath, unimpressed. She grabbed a chair, dropping into it with a sigh. Might as well enjoy the show.

But just as everything seemed to be falling into place for Azreal, trouble arrived.

A tall, muscular demon stormed through the crowd, his presence commanding immediate attention. Thrain Blackwood-son of the infamous Karl Clan general. A brute with a short temper and a thirst for blood.

His sneer cut through the noise. "You think you can have Gina, little Goken? Some guts you have!"

Azreal barely spared him a glance. "What a pain in the ass," he muttered, brushing past him like he was nothing. His attention remained fixed on Gina, steps confident, casual.

That only enraged Thrain.

"GOKEN!!"

With a roar, he lunged-claws out, ready to tear Azreal apart.

Eve grinned. "Oh, this is about to get interesting."

Azreal moved like lightning.

In a blink, he spun, smoothly pulling Gina into his chest as he dodged Thrain's attack. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, "Be a good girl and wait for me."

Then, he let go.

The fight was on.

Azreal drew his sword in a flash, narrowly dodging another swipe of Thrain's claws. He fought effortlessly, his movements precise. But he was holding back-clearly choosing not to injure his opponent.

Thrain, however, had no such restraint.

The crowd roared, demons placing bets as the fight grew more intense. Gina and the other courtesans had long fled, but the bloodthirsty spectators remained.

Thrain's fury boiled over as he realized Gina was gone.

"You bastard!" he roared, eyes wild as he lunged again-this time, sending Azreal's sword flying from his grip.

A final strike, aimed straight for Azreal's throat.

Then-

SHIIINK!

A blade gleamed in the dim light, stopping Thrain cold.

A cold, commanding voice sliced through the chaos.

"That's enough."

---

Eve stood motionless, the tip of her sword pressed against Thrain's throat. Her eyes burned with unwavering intensity, a silent challenge hanging in the air. Thrain, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, glared at her with seething rage, his expression screaming mind your business. But Eve did not flinch. Instead, she angled her sword, the dim light catching on its polished edge.

A collective gasp echoed through the club as Thrain stumbled backward. Blood splattered onto the floor. His right hand-severed at the wrist-landed with a dull thud. A stunned silence followed.

"Another Goken," Thrain hissed through gritted teeth, his face twisted in agony. He clutched his bleeding wrist, his breath coming in uneven gasps. "What have you done to my hand?"

"Get lost, Blackwood," Eve growled, her voice laced with venom. Her sword remained raised, a single crimson droplet sliding down its blade.

Thrain staggered, his jaw tightening. He bared his teeth in a pained grin. "This isn't over, Gokens," he spat before stumbling toward the exit, his pride as wounded as his body.

Eve exhaled slowly, lowering her weapon.

A groan from the floor drew her attention. Azreal, sprawled on his back, propped himself up on his elbows and let out a breathy chuckle. "You sure know how to make an entrance, little cousin." His ember-colored eyes gleamed with amusement despite the scuffle he had just endured. "I had Blackwood under control, you know. He's a small fry."

Eve arched a brow, unimpressed. "Really? You looked like you were about to be his next meal a few seconds ago." She extended a hand toward him.

Azreal took it, allowing her to pull him up. He dusted off his clothes and smirked. "What brings you here, little cousin? This place isn't exactly fit for a proper lady." His smirk widened. "Or did you miss my beautiful face so badly?"

Eve scoffed, sheathing her sword. "Aunt Ymir sent me. You're expected at dinner."

Azreal feigned surprise. "Dinner? How thrilling." He leaned closer, his lips curling in that infuriatingly teasing way. "Tell me, Eve-did you miss me?"

Eve's hand struck his cheek before he could blink.

"Hey!" Azreal yelped, rubbing the spot where she'd slapped him.

"Watch your mouth," she warned. Then, her tone turned serious. "Uncle's coming home tonight. You know better than to cause trouble. Be at the main house before the moon reaches its peak."

At the mention of his father, Azreal's smirk faltered. The mischief in his eyes dulled, replaced by something colder, something darker. His jaw tensed, his fingers curling into fists.

Eve sighed. She knew better than to push the subject. "I'm leaving," she said, turning on her heel. "Don't be late."

She didn't look back. Azreal remained standing there, silent.

---

The Grand Dining Hall

The moment Eve stepped into the dining hall, the warm aroma of roasted meat and seasoned vegetables wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. The glow of golden candlelight flickered over the long, ornately carved table, where servants hurried to arrange silverware and fine china.

But despite the inviting spread of food, an unmistakable tension loomed in the air. The servants moved with careful precision, their eyes darting toward the grand doors as if expecting a storm to blow through at any moment.

Eve helped set the last few dishes, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension pressing down on her shoulders. Aunt Ymir moved gracefully among them, her warm smile an attempt to soften the mood, but even she couldn't erase the unease that clung to the room.

Then, the doors swung open.

Chief Broch entered, his towering frame exuding command. His piercing blue eyes swept across the room, missing nothing. His chiseled features-sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a proud widow's peak-made him look as if he had been sculpted from stone. His black and silver robe, embroidered with symbols of his status, gleamed under the candlelight, and a golden brooch sat heavily on his shoulder, marking his authority.

As he stepped forward, the servants immediately bowed. Eve followed suit, lowering her gaze.

Aunt Ymir approached him first, her voice smooth as silk. "Welcome, my love," she murmured, placing a hand on his arm. "We've missed you."

A flicker of softness passed through Chief Broch's features. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek-a brief, fleeting show of warmth before his sharp gaze resumed scanning the room.

Then he frowned.

Azreal was absent.

The tension thickened. Seconds stretched unbearably long. Just as Chief Broch was about to speak, a shadow moved near the entrance.

Azreal strode in.

His usual arrogance was subdued, his steps slower, his posture rigid. There was something distant about him, something off. He barely acknowledged anyone as he slid into his seat, picking at his food without interest.

The meal progressed in uneasy silence. Eve made a few attempts to speak to Azreal, but he answered in clipped, dull responses. Even Aunt Ymir's attempts to lighten the mood barely held the atmosphere together.

Finally, as the main course ended, Chief Broch pushed his chair back and stood. His gaze honed in on Azreal.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Azreal's grip on his fork tightened. Without looking up, he muttered, "I'm not hungry."

"Sit down," Chief Broch ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Azreal exhaled sharply, tossing his napkin onto the table. "I said I'm done." He stood abruptly.

Chief Broch's eyes darkened. "You will not walk away from me."

Azreal stilled, his back still facing his father. Then, slowly, he turned. His ember eyes burned with defiance.

"Respect?" Azreal's voice was low, dangerous. "You want my respect?" His lips curled bitterly. "You, who never listen? Who only demand?"

The servants exchanged wary glances, tension so thick it felt suffocating. Aunt Ymir placed a calming hand on Chief Broch's arm, but he ignored it, his jaw tightening.

"I am your father," Chief Broch growled. "And you will obey me."

Azreal let out a humorless chuckle. "Obey? I'm not a child. And I sure as hell won't be treated like one."

The air between them crackled with unspoken fury.

Then, without another word, Azreal turned on his heel and strode out.

"Azreal!" Aunt Ymir called after him, her voice laced with worry.

But he was already gone.

Aunt Ymir turned to Eve, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Eve, please-go after him. Make sure he's safe."

Eve hesitated.

Azreal had always been unpredictable when angry, but the raw emotion in Aunt Ymir's voice left her no room to refuse.

"I'll go," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Without wasting another second, she slipped out of the hall, quickening her steps as she followed the path he had taken.

The corridors stretched endlessly before her, the flickering torches casting restless shadows along the stone walls.

Finally, she found him.

Azreal stood at the edge of the lake, his shoulders tense, his gaze lost in the reflection of the full moon over the water.

Eve slowed her approach. Something about his posture-his slumped shoulders, the way his hands hung stiffly at his sides-made her hesitate.

Still, she stepped forward, gravel crunching beneath her boots.

He didn't turn.

But she knew he could sense her.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light over the vast, tranquil lake. Eve walked along the stone path that led down to its shore, her mind heavy with the conversation she had just witnessed in the dining hall. Her thoughts were clouded with the tension between Azreal and Chief Broch, the raw anger that had hung in the air, and the way Azreal had stormed out, his footsteps echoing in the silent halls.

Her heart was unsettled as she approached the water's edge, hoping to find him, hoping to understand what had driven him to such frustration. She needed to ask him what had happened with his father-what had caused this rift between them that seemed to grow deeper with every passing day.

And there he was.

Azreal stood with his back to her, staring out over the water, his silhouette bathed in the soft light of the moon. His posture was tense, as though every muscle in his body was coiled with barely contained energy. Eve could see the faintest flicker of his black hair in the breeze, and his usual smirk was nowhere to be found.

For a moment, she simply watched him, her breath caught in her throat. His face was unreadable, and despite the playful teasing that usually dripped from his words, there was something in his stance now that made her hesitate. Something... broken.

"Azreal?" she called softly, her voice almost a whisper against the stillness of the night.

He didn't turn around at first. His gaze remained fixed on the rippling water, the only movement in the quiet night. Eve's heart clenched as she took a step closer.

"Azreal, I need to talk to you," she said again, a little more forcefully this time, though her voice still carried that same note of concern.

Finally, he shifted, but only slightly, just enough for her to see the hardened set of his jaw. "You've got a lot of questions, Eve," he said, his voice quiet, almost resigned. "But I don't think I'm ready to answer them."

Eve frowned, taking another step closer. "I saw what happened in there. You and your father... What happened, Azreal? Why did you snap at him like that?"

Azreal turned to face her, his eyes burning with the same fury she'd seen in the dining hall. But there was more to it-something deeper. A vulnerability he rarely showed.

"Don't you get it, Eve?" he spat, his voice low but laced with anger. "He doesn't listen. Never listens. I've spent my whole life trying to make him see me, and he just... shuts me out. Everything I do, everything I try, it's never good enough. I'm not good enough." His hands balled into fists at his sides, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

Eve's heart twisted. She stepped forward again, closer to him. "Azreal, that's not true. I-"

"Don't," he cut her off sharply, his voice cracking for the first time. "You don't understand. No one does."

The air between them felt thick, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Eve wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but something held her back. Azreal had always been distant, had always been the one teasing and pushing people away, and yet now... now, it was as if he wanted to pull her in but couldn't quite bring himself to.

She sighed, feeling the weight of his pain seep into her chest. "You're not alone in this, Azreal," she said softly, her voice gentle. "You don't have to do it alone."

For a moment, there was silence, save for the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. Azreal looked at her then, his eyes dark and intense, as though searching for something in her gaze. But just as quickly, the mask slipped back into place, and his usual smirk returned, though it lacked the usual warmth.

"Tell me something, Eve," he said, his tone shifting, now playful, almost teasing. "Have you been avoiding me? It's not like you to be so serious. You've always loved my company." His voice dropped a little, leaning in as if to share a secret. "You miss me, don't you?"

Eve blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor. Her chest tightened, and she could feel her face flush, but she tried not to let him see her reaction.

"I'm not in the mood for your games, Azreal," she said, her tone firm, trying to push past the playful taunting. "This isn't about us, or me missing you. This is about you and your father. You can't keep avoiding it."

Azreal took a step closer, his eyes narrowing with a mischievous glint, his usual confidence returning in full force. "Avoiding me?" he teased again, a slight edge to his voice. "I don't think you can avoid me even if you tried."

Eve rolled her eyes and took a step back, but Azreal followed, his presence looming just a little too close for comfort. "You're insufferable," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

Azreal chuckled softly, his gaze flickering over her, but then, just as quickly as the moment had shifted, there was a change in the air. A faint whisper, almost imperceptible, seemed to swirl around them. Eve froze, her attention snapping back to the water, where the moonlight seemed to shimmer just a little too brightly.

"What's that?" Eve asked, her voice wary.

Azreal's playful demeanor faltered, and he stiffened, looking toward the water. "I don't know..." he murmured, his gaze narrowing. "But I don't like it."

Eve stepped back again, instinctively reaching for the hilt of her sword. There was something in the air now-a heaviness, a strange energy that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

The whispers grew louder, calling her name in a soft, lilting voice. "Eve... come closer..."

Azreal's eyes snapped to hers, his expression hardening. "Stay back," he commanded, his voice low and warning. But before he could do anything else, the water in front of them began to stir, a strange, shimmering light rising from its depths.

"Azreal," Eve whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "What is that?"

Azreal's lips curled into a tight, protective frown. "I told you... stay back."

But it was too late.

A figure, tall and ethereal, surfaced from the water. Its long, silver hair shimmered like strands of moonlight, and its eyes glowed with an unsettling intensity. Eve's breath caught in her throat as the figure's gaze locked onto hers, and she felt a pull deep in her chest, as if the figure was calling to her-beckoning her closer.

Azreal moved between her and the figure, his body tensing, a protective barrier between Eve and whatever this thing was. "Not tonight," he growled, his voice laced with something dark.

The silver-haired figure tilted its head, its gaze never leaving Eve, and for a split second, it felt like the entire world held its breath.

"Come closer, Eve..." the figure whispered, its voice like silk and shadows.

Eve's heart raced, and her hand instinctively went to her sword, but Azreal's voice cut through the tension. "Move back, Eve," he ordered again, his hand gripping her arm firmly.

But the figure in the water wasn't done. It was as if it had been drawn by the closeness between Azreal and Eve, its presence summoned by their connection-a force neither of them could ignore.

For a moment, there was a shift in the air. The water shimmered once more, and the figure began to recede, its presence slowly fading like mist on a breeze. The whispers grew quieter, then vanished entirely, leaving only the moonlight reflecting off the calm water.

Azreal did not relax. His grip on Eve's arm tightened as he kept his eyes trained on the water, watching the last ripples fade away.

"Stay close," he muttered, his voice strained.

Eve nodded, her pulse still racing, the tension between them palpable. Without another word, Azreal began to lead her away from the water's edge, his presence unwavering and protective.

As they walked away, the eerie stillness of the night settled back into place. The lake was calm once more, but the shadows lingered in the distance, leaving a question hanging in the air that neither of them could yet answer.

---