The last Cursewright

The manor of Ricardo Vladimir was as gaudy as the man himself—flashing gold trimmings on every pillar, velvet drapes embroidered with his family crest, and marble statues of past ancestors lining the hallway like silent judges. Azel followed a servant in silence, his boots tapping softly on the polished floor until he was led to an expansive drawing room where the noble awaited.

Ricardo sat on a long, cushioned couch, legs crossed, sipping a glass of crimson wine. His blond hair was slicked back to perfection. Two guards flanked the room, standing at attention with hollow stares.

"Take a seat."

Ricardo said swirling his wine.

Azel didn't move.

"Let's get to the point. What's the job, and what's the pay?"

Ricardo's jaw tightened.

"Hmph. Straight to business. Fine. You'll be paid three hundred gold coins."

Azel raised an eyebrow.

"That's a lot of coin. What's the job?"

Ricardo leaned forward, swirling the wine in his glass.

"There's a woman I want you to humble."

Azel's eye twitched. He shifted slightly, already rising from the chair.

"If this is about some love affair or rejection—"

"Sit."

Ricardo snapped.

Azel narrowed his eyes but remained still, arms crossed.

Ricardo took a slow breath.

"She's not just any woman. She's a dancer. Famous. Popular. Beautiful beyond compare. And a commoner."

He gritted his teeth at that last word.

"Last week, I tried to dance with her during her performance. Do you know what she did? She laughed at me. Called me trash in front of everyone. Mocked me—a noble."

"Sounds like you had it coming." 

Ricardo ignored the comment.

"That night, I confronted her. I took a few of my men. We planned to… intimidate her."

Azel already didn't like where this was going.

"But she wasn't afraid. She used some kind of power. Killed all my guards like they were nothing. It wasn't holy magic. And it wasn't cursed magic either."

Now that got Azel's attention.

"What kind of power?"

Ricardo's eyes flicked up to him.

"I don't know. But it was unnatural. She told me to never come near her again. Then she vanished."

Azel stood in silence for a long moment, letting the weight of the story settle. At first, it sounded like the usual noble's tantrum—hurt pride, petty revenge. But mysterious power that didn't fit into any known magic category? That was worth investigating.

"Forbanna, what do you think?"

"She's no Cursewright. But what he described… it's possible. She could be a demon."

"A demon?"

"Or a descendant. Maybe even something worse. Demons used to walk openly in ancient times, but now? They've gone underground. Hidden among mortals. Remember Otto? They blend in. Coexist."

Azel looked back at Ricardo.

"This power… was it visible?"

Ricardo nodded.

"Dark violet energy. Like shadows, but… alive."

That confirmed it. This girl wasn't ordinary. And as much as he hated the noble's motive, Azel needed gold. And even more than that, he needed answers.

"Her name?"

"Anna, she performs at a bar called The Velvet Veil. On the east side of the city. You'll find her easily. She's the star."

Azel turned to leave but stopped at the door.

"I'll get her on her knees. Just wait a few days."

Ricardo smirked.

"Good. I'll be waiting."

The sun was setting as Azel stepped out of the mansion, the sky painted with streaks of orange and purple. The city's lights began to flicker to life.

"Three hundred gold. For humiliating a girl who probably did the right thing by defending herself."

"I'm not planning to hurt her."

"Then why accept the job?"

"I need coin. And I want to know what she is. That power… it doesn't belong in any of the magic systems."

"You're playing a dangerous game."

"I'll act according to the situation."

Forbanna didn't say anything after that. She knew him well enough to trust that he wouldn't blindly follow orders.

The two of them headed east, weaving through the crowded streets. The night had drawn out the city's more colorful side—gamblers, drunkards, lovers, and performers flooding the main roads. Laughter echoed from taverns. Street vendors roasted meat on open flames. Thieves moved like shadows between distracted tourists.

Finally, they reached the place.

The Velvet Veil.

A glowing sign above a polished wooden door displayed the name in ornate lettering. The building stood out, elegant but not pretentious. A long line had formed outside. Most of the men were well-dressed nobles or wealthy merchants. Others just seemed like lustful degenerates.

Azel stepped past the line, ignoring the glares.

The bouncer at the door crossed his arms.

"No skipping."

Azel raised his hand, and a ripple of powerful energy buzzed the air. The bouncer blinked, then stepped aside without a word.

Azel wasn't exactly impressed when he entered The Velvet Veil. The music was loud, the place was cramped, and the air reeked of cheap perfume and expensive wine. A circular stage sat at the center of the hall, surrounded on all sides by a packed audience of sweaty, drunk men and a few women who looked like they'd lost interest in the performance long ago. The setup wasn't anything special—just another bar with a flair for overpriced drinks and half-decent dancers.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Songs played, performers took the stage, some danced, others sang, but Azel barely paid attention. None of it interested him.

That changed when she appeared.

She stepped onto the stage, black hair cascading down to her waist, dressed in traditional silk garments that shimmered slightly under the low lights. A shawl covered her face, revealing only her sharp black eyes—elegant, distant, and mesmerizing. Her outfit was thin, clinging to her tall figure, exposing long legs and curves that could start wars.

"Stunning! Still not as beautiful as me, of course, but close."

Azel didn't respond. He was speechless. Now he understood why Ricardo had lost his mind. The girl had a presence. It wasn't just her looks—it was how she moved.

Her dance began.

Smooth, fluid, graceful. Every movement seemed effortless yet precise. The way her limbs bent and flowed—like water, like wind. Her rhythm was perfect. Not a single twitch or stumble. It was like watching art in motion.

Then, a drunk man from the crowd leapt onto the stage, trying to match her movements—an attempt to dance with her. Azel watched closely.

She didn't panic. In a blink, she sidestepped his clumsy lunge, spun around him with a twist of her body, and the man fell flat on his back, unable to keep up with her pace or balance.

"Another one fell today."

Someone muttered behind Azel.

So that's how it worked here. Anyone could challenge the dancer, but few could keep up. Anna wasn't just a performer—she was a silent challenger on a stage of fools.

"Going to challenge her?" 

Azel shook his head.

"Not yet. I don't know shit about dancing. Besides, she's strong. I'd get crushed."

"Then what now?"

"I'll watch her. A few more days. Try to figure her out."

Forbanna didn't reply, but he could feel her confusion.

Azel didn't care. He had time. And he needed to understand exactly what—or who—this girl really was.