Marked by the Devil’s Touch.

The ring Lucivar left glimmered on her table all night.

Liana didn't touch it. Not because she didn't want to—but because she did. And that terrified her more than anything else.

A silver ring, carved with twin sigils—hers and his. Not a binding. Not a demand.

A choice.

But she didn't wear it.

She stared at it until dawn bled across the sky, red as warning.

When the sun finally rose, fire broke across the eastern valley.

A message arrived with it—written in ash across the sky.

"You hesitate. I do not." —T

Liana stormed into the war hall where Lucivar and the Lords had already gathered. Her fury walked ahead of her.

"Tharos attacked a border village last night," Lucivar announced. "No survivors. No message. Just that."

He nodded to the ash still curling through the clouds.

Lady Nyx muttered a curse. "He's taunting her."

"He's testing all of us," Lucivar said.

"No," Liana snapped. "He's reminding me I'm late."

They turned to her.

"I'm going to him."

"No," Lucivar said instantly.

"You don't control me."

"I'm not trying to," he said, stepping forward, lowering his voice. "But if you face him now, without full awakening, he'll take you."

"Then let him try," she hissed. "I'm not afraid."

"You should be."

A silence stretched.

Then Liana turned and walked away.

Lucivar didn't stop her.

But he followed.

---

Outside the war hall, thunder rolled. Storm clouds gathered unnaturally fast, blotting out the sun. The sky looked like it was mourning the future.

Liana stood at the edge of the mansion steps.

Lucivar joined her.

"You still don't wear it," he said, nodding to her bare hand.

"You didn't ask me to."

"I shouldn't have to."

She didn't look at him. "You lied."

"I didn't bind you."

"But you wanted to."

He didn't deny it.

"I want you safe," he said.

She turned to face him now, fire flickering in her eyes.

"Then teach me everything. No more shielding. No more half-truths. No more hesitation."

Lucivar nodded.

"Come to the Hall of Chains."

---

The Hall of Chains was buried deep beneath the mansion—far below the Vault, even. A prison once used to bind ancient beings. Souls too powerful to destroy, too dangerous to set free.

Chains of voidstone hung from the ceilings like cobwebs, pulsing with old, dead magic.

At the center of the chamber, a circle of unbroken glyphs waited.

Lucivar motioned for her to stand inside.

"This is forbidden," he said. "No apprentice has walked here. Not even your mother."

"Then I'll be the first."

He raised his hands, chanting in a language she didn't know—but her blood did.

The glyphs blazed to life.

Chains rose.

And they didn't bind her body.

They bound her chaos.

It screamed.

Her vision went white.

She felt everything—her pain, her fear, her fury—tugged at by invisible claws.

Lucivar stepped into the circle with her.

"This will hurt."

She smiled through her scream.

"Good."

Then the training began.

---

Lucivar conjured illusions—Tharos in every form. Her mother. Her shadow double. Even herself.

He broke her down—then forced her to rebuild.

When she faltered, he whispered truths no one else dared to speak.

"When you kill him, it won't be justice. It'll be survival."

"Your power comes from fear. Stop fearing it."

"You're not a savior. You're a storm."

Hours passed. Or days. Time no longer mattered.

Her limbs trembled. Her voice cracked. But her chaos flowed, faster and fiercer than ever.

And when she finally collapsed, the chains retreated.

Lucivar caught her.

"You're ready," he said.

"No," she whispered. "I'm beginning."

---

That night, she finally wore the ring.

Only for herself.

---

In Tharos's warship above the clouds, the mirror-glass throne reflected a new vision.

Liana, wrapped in fire, walking beside Lucivar.

"Her bond grows," said the shadow-priest.

Tharos nodded slowly. "Then we must cut it."

"How?"

He turned to the girl standing in the shadows—the one who wore Liana's face.

"Take her place."

The doppelgänger smiled.

---

The Devil's Mansion awoke screaming.

Liana jerked up from bed, the ring on her finger glowing.

Something was wrong.

She ran to the corridor.

Lucivar was already there, sword in hand.

A maid lay crumpled nearby, lifeless. Her body twisted—drained, not by blade, but by magic.

"She walked through the wards," Lucivar muttered.

"Who?" Liana asked.

But she knew.

The doppelgänger.

Lucivar opened a portal instantly.

They arrived at the eastern wing in seconds.

And there she stood.

In Liana's form.

Smiling.

"She looks better in this dress," the copy purred.

Liana summoned fire. "Get out of my skin."

The double laughed. "You're so possessive. So mortal."

Lucivar stepped forward. "She's not you. She's his puppet."

The doppelgänger tilted her head. "Maybe. But I've seen the future. And in it, she leaves you. You die alone."

Lucivar didn't flinch. "We all do."

Liana attacked.

---

They clashed with chaos and shadow. Every move Liana made, her double mirrored. But where Liana hesitated to strike true, the copy showed no mercy.

Lucivar tried to intervene—but the double snapped her fingers, creating a prison of glass that locked him in place.

"I want her to see what mercy costs," she told him through the glass.

Blood streaked Liana's cheek. Fire tore the corridor apart. Magic ripped the floorboards up.

And finally, Liana struck her doppelgänger's chest—straight through.

But no blood came.

Just mirror shards.

The double smiled as she cracked.

"I was never alive," she whispered. "Just a warning."

Then she shattered into dust.

Lucivar broke free from the prison, rushing to her side.

Liana leaned against him, breathing hard.

"She's getting smarter."

"No," he said. "She's getting desperate."

---

Later that night, as healers treated the damage, Liana stood alone in the courtyard.

The stars above felt too far away.

Lucivar joined her silently.

"Why me?" she asked.

He didn't answer right away.

Then he said, "Because you're not afraid to break."

She looked at him.

"I'm afraid of becoming something I can't come back from."

He reached into his coat and handed her a scroll.

"What is it?"

"Your mother's last prophecy."

Her heart paused.

She unrolled it with shaking hands.

A single line, written in fire-ink.

"She who carries both death and flame shall either end the world—or end its curse."

Liana looked up at him.

"So I burn… or heal."

"You were never meant to be one thing," he said. "That's why they fear you."

"And you?"

"I don't fear you," he whispered. "I fear losing what you could be."

She turned, heart cracking open.

"Then stay," she whispered.

He stepped forward.

"I never left."

---

In the skies above, Tharos stood at the edge of his ship, watching.

"She chose him," the priest said.

Tharos nodded.

"Then it's time," he said.

"Time for what?"

"For me to stop hiding behind ghosts."

---

The next morning brought no peace.

Rain fell in sheets over the Devil's mansion, washing blood into the soil from the shattered eastern wing. Soldiers patrolled the halls, demons sniffed for residual chaos, and healers scrambled to undo the echoes of dark mirror magic.

But nothing could erase the memory of Liana's doppelgänger collapsing into shards.

Nothing could erase the part of Liana that still saw herself in those broken pieces.

She sat in the Hall of Fire, alone before the blaze, watching the flames dance along the black marble hearth. Her fingertips hovered near the fire, but it no longer burned her. Not since the Vault. Not since she embraced what she was.

Lucivar entered quietly.

He said nothing at first. Just sat beside her on the steps before the flames, his presence as familiar now as breath.

"Why does she look so much like me?" Liana finally asked.

Lucivar didn't hesitate. "Because she is made of your discarded memories."

Liana turned, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"She's crafted from chaos," he explained. "But she draws shape from your doubts—your regrets, your fears. Every time you push away a part of yourself, she grows stronger."

Liana's heart dropped. "So the more I question myself…"

"The more power you give her."

She buried her face in her hands. "Then this war… it's not just outside."

Lucivar placed a hand gently on her back. "No. It never was."

The fire snapped suddenly, a high-pitched crackle like laughter.

Liana looked into it—and for the briefest second, she saw something else flickering in the flame.

A face.

Hers.

But twisted.

Smiling.

She blinked and it was gone.

"She's not done," Liana said.

Lucivar stood, his expression grim.

"She never will be. Not until you stop running from the woman you're becoming."

---

That evening, the council gathered for an emergency conclave. The rain hadn't stopped, and the air inside the great hall was damp with tension. The Lords sat around the obsidian table, their faces drawn, their tempers on edge.

Lady Nyx slammed her fist down. "One attack inside our walls. A mirrored assassin wearing our chosen's face. And you want us to do nothing?"

Lucivar didn't flinch. "I said we hold position. Not do nothing."

"The people are scared," said Lord Varek. "Not just your soldiers—our domains, our cities, our families."

Liana entered the chamber then, armored not in metal, but in certainty.

"If you're scared," she said calmly, "then good. Because fear means you have something to lose."

They turned to her, startled by the weight of her voice.

She walked slowly around the table.

"Tharos isn't coming for your lands. Or your thrones. He's coming for me. And he'll kill all of you to reach me."

Lucivar stood beside her now.

"But if we make me the trap…" she said, locking eyes with the Lords, "we end this war before it starts."

Silence.

Then Lady Nyx gave a small nod. "You have my blade."

Lord Varek followed. "And my beasts."

Others joined, one by one, until all had pledged their strength.

Liana didn't smile.

This wasn't victory.

It was inevitability.

---

Later, as she stood atop the highest tower overlooking the storm-lit horizon, Lucivar joined her once more.

"You turned them," he said softly.

"I didn't. He did."

"Still," he said, "you wear the storm well."

She looked at him, her voice quieter now.

"If I die in this war, I want you to remember something."

He tensed.

"I never wanted power. I only wanted peace. But fate doesn't care about desire."

"I care," he said fiercely.

She smiled, brushing her fingers across his cheek.

"Then let that be the thing that saves me."

And for the first time in a long while, she let him hold her—truly hold her, not as a weapon, not as a key.

But as the girl who still remembered how to want something softer than war.