Marked by the Devil’s Touch.

Liana Evans stood before the Vault once more, its black stone door pulsing faintly beneath her fingertips. It called to her now—not in words, but in instinct. A vibration in her bones. The deeper her bond with chaos grew, the louder its whispers became.

But tonight, she wasn't here to unlock spells or summon shadows.

She was here to ask a question.

"Show me what I've become."

The runes along the Vault's frame flared with violet light. Smoke poured out, swirling into the shape of a mirror—twisting and unstable, but solidifying slowly.

When the smoke cleared, it wasn't her reflection she saw.

It was a version of her that burned with cruelty.

Eyes like obsidian. Skin veined with gold. A smile that looked like it had never known mercy.

The mirror-Liana reached out from within, placing her hand against the glass.

"I am who you were always meant to be," she said.

Liana stepped back.

"No. You're a warning."

The mirror cracked.

The voice inside hissed.

"You're weak."

"I'm still choosing."

The mirror exploded.

And Liana stood alone.

---

Lucivar watched her return from the Vault, hair wind-tossed and eyes still glowing from the magic that surrounded her. She walked differently now—like someone who carried fire under her skin.

"You went back," he said.

"I had to see something."

"And did you?"

She nodded. "Too much."

Lucivar stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You keep changing."

"So do you," she whispered.

He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "I change only for you."

She pulled back before she could drown in his heat.

"Not now. We have to focus."

He exhaled slowly. "Then come with me. There's something you need to see."

---

He led her beyond the mansion walls, past the fields where demons trained and shadow beasts paced behind magical barriers. Beyond the cliffs, past a forgotten chapel wrapped in thorns.

There, in the valley, stood a ruin she'd never seen before.

"The Oracle's Keep," he said. "Abandoned for centuries. But its mirrors still hold fragments of time."

Liana narrowed her eyes. "You want me to look into the past again?"

"No. I want you to look into the future."

---

The keep was silent as they entered, the air thick with memory. A single mirror stood at the far end—tall, warped, and covered in spiderweb cracks.

Lucivar lit the runes.

And the mirror came alive.

Liana stepped forward, watching as fire consumed kingdoms in the glass. A throne rose from ashes. A crown floated above a woman's head—her head.

She stood alone. No Lucivar. No Tharos. No allies.

Just power. Infinite and cruel.

"I hate this," she whispered.

"It hasn't happened yet," Lucivar said.

"Then why show me?"

"Because it might."

She turned to him, anger flaring. "Is this what you're training me for? To rule ruins?"

"No," he growled. "To survive them."

---

Back in the mansion, the tension hung like a stormcloud. The Lesser Lords were beginning to splinter. Some prepared for war. Others whispered of betrayal. And one had vanished entirely.

Lord Savrak, the shadowmancer, had not returned from the southern border.

When Lucivar sent scouts, they found only blood and silence.

Liana joined the council chamber that night, standing beside Lucivar as the remaining Lords debated.

"He was taken," said Lady Nyx. "Tharos is picking us off one by one."

"We should strike first," barked Lord Varek. "Take the war to the skies."

"We can't," Lucivar said. "Not until Liana's transformation is complete."

All eyes turned to her.

And she spoke for the first time.

"Then speed it up."

---

Her training resumed with merciless pace.

Days blurred into nights. Lucivar pushed her further than ever before—through labyrinths of illusion, battles with summoned wraiths, spellwork that nearly burned the veins from her hands.

One night, she collapsed mid-spell, blood trickling from her nose.

Lucivar caught her before she hit the stone floor.

"You're killing me," she gasped.

"No," he said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. "I'm forging you."

She looked up at him. "Will there be anything left when you're done?"

He didn't answer.

But the look in his eyes said everything.

---

That same night, as she lay in her chamber soaking her bruises, a shadow stepped from the corner.

It wasn't Lucivar.

It was her.

Or something that wore her skin.

The doppelgänger.

Liana bolted upright, reaching for her dagger, but the double raised a hand.

"Don't. I'm not here to fight."

"Then why are you here?"

The mirror-woman tilted her head. "To warn you."

"About what?"

"Lucivar."

Liana froze.

The doppelgänger walked slowly around the room, running her fingers over the tapestries, the cracked glass, the candle flame.

"He trains you. Protects you. Kisses you."

Her voice twisted with amusement.

"But he also plans to bind you."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a ritual," the double said. "One known only to devils and gods. A binding of power. It ties your chaos to his forever. It makes you his anchor—and his leash."

Liana's stomach dropped. "You're lying."

"Ask him," the double said, vanishing into smoke. "And watch his eyes."

---

She found Lucivar in the Hall of Seals, reading from a tome bound in red leather.

He didn't look up when she entered. "You felt it, didn't you? The shadow of yourself."

"She told me something."

Now he looked up. "What?"

"That you plan to bind me."

Silence.

Liana stepped closer, voice sharp. "Is it true?"

Lucivar closed the book.

"There is a ritual," he admitted. "And yes, I considered it. Before you passed the Vault. Before I knew who you truly were."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I chose not to use it."

"But you thought about it."

"Yes," he said. "Because if I didn't, you would've been taken by him. Or worse—your power would've killed you."

She turned away, fury knotting her chest.

"I don't want to be a weapon," she said. "Not for you. Not for anyone."

"You're not," he said. "Not anymore."

But the seed of doubt had already been planted.

---

The next day, the sky bled gold.

Tharos sent a gift.

A mirror.

Not magical. Not cursed.

Just polished glass wrapped in bone and silk.

Inside it was a message scrawled in her own handwriting.

"Choose. Soon."

Liana shattered the mirror with a scream.

But she couldn't shatter the meaning.

---

That night, she returned to the Oracle's Keep. Alone.

The mirror showed her nothing now.

Just her own reflection.

And she hated it.

Her eyes looked too sharp. Her posture too cold. Her heart too guarded.

But there was something behind her in the glass.

A crown.

She reached for it.

Lucivar's voice stopped her.

"Don't take it."

She spun.

He stood in the archway, cloaked in shadow, face unreadable.

"You said this mirror doesn't show the truth," she spat.

"It shows potential."

"Then maybe I'm tired of fighting mine."

He stepped into the light. "You don't have to take the throne to change the world."

"Then what do I take?" she asked, voice trembling. "Because all I've taken so far is pain."

Lucivar approached slowly.

"You take my hand," he said softly. "And we walk into the storm together."

Her heart nearly broke.

But she still whispered, "I don't trust you."

"I don't blame you," he replied.

Then he turned to leave.

And didn't look back.

---

Later, in her chamber, Liana found something left for her.

A ring.

Not black this time.

But silver. Engraved with both their marks.

No note.

Just a choice.

---

In the skies above, Tharos stood at the edge of his ship, watching the flames rise from Lucivar's valley.

"The girl is breaking," said his shadow-priest.

"No," Tharos said. "She's waking."

---