It had been six years since Lilia first opened her eyes in this new world. Six years of long days buried in towering stacks of books, silent nights lit only by candlelight, and countless volumes of ancient tomes worn by time surrounding her like a fortress of knowledge. With a mind far sharper than any child her age, she mastered the theories of dozens of magical disciplines, and among them, the magic of Shadow—feared by many—became her closest companion.
But no matter how much she read, no matter how deeply she understood, something was missing. Magic, if confined to ink and parchment, was nothing more than a dream never realized. She wanted to feel the darkness. She wanted to see her power etched into the world. And tonight—this moonless, starless night—was perfect for her first step.
Lilia stood before the mirror in her private chamber. On her bed lay a lifelike mannequin crafted with dark magic, mimicking her exact appearance—from the sheen of her hair to the gentle rise and fall of breath. It would fool any watchful eye, any standard detection spell. Fortuna wouldn't suspect. Lilith wouldn't suspect. No one would know she had left… not until dawn, at least.
She dressed herself in the battle outfit she'd been secretly assembling for three months—a sleek, pitch-black combat suit woven from anti-magic fibers, specially commissioned and crafted by Lilith in secret. Over it, she threw on a long, shadowy cloak with a hood that draped low, obscuring her features. A plain, expressionless black mask covered her face from forehead to chin, revealing only her glowing crimson eyes. A short sword, its pommel adorned with a small azure gem at the hilt of the sword, was strapped diagonally across her back for swift, silent access.
She whispered a short incantation—"Shadow Veil"—and her small figure melted into the darkness, vanishing from view. The window creaked open with no sound. Her bare feet landed softly on the rooftop. She moved.
The city at night was still. Rows of terracotta rooftops stretched endlessly, like the sleeping backs of beasts. Lanterns burned faintly in the distance, casting long shadows and making the surrounding darkness feel even deeper. Lilia glided silently, a shadow among shadows. It was her first time ever stepping outside the castle walls—a terrifying prospect for any six-year-old. But Lilia didn't feel fear. Only a fire in her chest—a hunger to explore, to test her power.
As she moved through the night, a thought kept circling her mind: Why, in all these years, had no one ever visited her family? Why, despite their overwhelming wealth and status—so high they advised the king himself—was her mansion so eerily isolated? Why had she only seen her father three times in six years?
There were no answers. But perhaps, the night would speak.
She landed softly in a narrow alley behind the closed night market. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, smoke, and something metallic—like iron. As she stepped forward, low voices drifted out from the shadows. She stopped.
Four figures loomed in the dark—three of them strangely beautiful and kindness, gently, look clearly different from a normal bandit anyone could imagine. The last, a woman with a long scar down her cheek, short-cropped hair, and a sharp, predatory gaze, clearly the leader.
The scarred one spoke first, voice raspy and rough, tinged with suspicion:
"Hey, kid. This ain't the place for you. Run along before you get hurt."
Perhaps it was the outfit. Perhaps it was her petite frame and the silence she held. They thought she was a boy who wandered off. Lilia tilted her head slightly. Then, without a word, she tossed a small leather pouch to the ground.
A few gold coins rolled free, gleaming under the dim light from a nearby abandoned inn. The air shifted. Tension crackled. Weapons were drawn. But before anyone could approach, Lilia spoke—her voice gentle, ethereal, and unmistakably feminine:
"If you win… all of it is yours."
The bandits chuckled, clearly unaware they had just signed their death warrants. The scarred woman unsheathed a sword, her eyes narrowing. "So, a little brat playing hero."
Lilia said nothing. She stood perfectly still. Her cloak fluttered in the breeze. The sword on her back remained untouched. Her mask showed no emotion. Her crimson eyes, however, gleamed—calm, sharp, unwavering. And the night… held its breath.
Beneath the thick shroud of night, with the moon veiled behind dark clouds, the scar-faced leader let out a beast-like roar. She swung her massive sword—nearly the length of her own body—its blade engulfed in blazing magical fire. The ground beneath her feet hissed and smoked from the heat, and without a moment's hesitation, she lunged straight at the cloaked girl standing still like a voiceless wraith.
The blazing tip of the sword was aimed directly at Lilia's chest, more than enough force to pierce through steel. But the moment it came close, a faint shimmer pulsed from Lilia's outfit—the special anti-magic cloak she wore—instantly nullifying the fire magic enveloping the blade. The flames fizzled out, smothered like a candle in the rain.
The clash of steel echoed sharply through the alleyway, but Lilia stood unscathed, unmoved. The leader's eyes widened, and before she could curse, Lilia's lips curled into a cold, fleeting smirk.
In a flash, Lilia raised her sword, the azure gem at its hilt glowing faintly. Magic surged through her like a tidal wave, not spilling over, but instead being compressed—forced into her limbs, her muscles, every sinew. Her physical strength magnified with terrifying precision.
"Stay still," she whispered. Then her blade came down.
The strike landed with a thunderclap, meeting the enemy's sword with such force that the earth beneath them cracked and sank. A shockwave rippled outward like a blast, sending gravel and dust flying. The scar-faced leader's sword cracked at the point of impact, fragments scattering as she was pushed back several paces, her boots carving deep grooves into the ground.
"Damn you!!" she howled, fury boiling in her crimson eyes. She gritted her teeth and lunged again, drawing every ounce of strength into a thrust aimed directly at Lilia's throat.
But just as the sword neared, something welled up behind Lilia—something shimmering, purple-tinged, flowing like black liquid caught in moonlight. It took the form of a edges tattered cloak, delicate and fluid like mist, yet clinging protectively to her frame. The sword struck it and halted, as if stabbing into heavy slime—completely stopped.
The leader's eyes widened in confusion, but before she could retreat, Lilia began to laugh. A sharp, high laugh—almost musical—cut through the darkness like the song of a devil. The other three thieves shivered, visibly unnerved.
"Don't you understand?" Lilia whispered, each word wrapping around their ears like silk laced with poison. "I've mastered magic to the point where I can change its very state of being—into gas, into solid… and just now, I transformed it into a non-Newtonian liquid." She leaned forward slightly. "The harder you strike it, the harder it resists. Good luck escaping now."
The darkness around her seemed to pulse, responding to her breath. Her crimson eyes glinted beneath the smooth, expressionless black mask. And the thieves—every one of them—began to feel a chill creep up their spines.
Under the silent veil of night, where the deserted alley heard nothing but the soft whistling of wind through old shingles, Lilia took a single step forward. Her petite figure was cloaked in pure violet, swallowing the moonlight whole. From the fluttering fabric that lingered behind her, the deep violet liquid began to shift—becoming dense, firm like stone. It coiled and twisted midair into a solid fist, heavy and large.
Without a word, the massive fist struck the scarred leader square in the face, sending her crashing to the ground, blood spurting from her lips as she couldn't even react in time.
Lilia didn't hesitate. With a silent motion, she approached the stunned woman like a wraith. Her right hand gripped the small sword adorned with a blue gem in the hilt. A thick, ominous black mana enveloped the blade—dense and oppressive like concentrated shaodw itself. She raised the weapon high, and without an ounce of hesitation, drove it into the bandit leader's neck.
The sound of flesh tearing echoed in the narrow alley. The blade pierced effortlessly, cleanly. Blood erupted in a crimson spray, splattering onto Lilia's smooth, emotionless black mask. The leader's body spasmed one last time, then went limp.
Without so much as a glance back, Lilia pulled the sword free, droplets of blood dripping steadily onto the dirt. She turned to face the remaining three bandits—each of them fairly attractive women with feminine curves and soft, trembling faces. They sat paralyzed with fear, trembling on the ground like startled rabbits before a silent predator.
A breeze swept through, lifting the edges of her cloak like black smoke curling in the wind. Suddenly, the air shimmered—like a drop of water touching a still pond. A transparent barrier shimmered into view around the alley, like a wall of flowing water.
"I've lifted the invisibility barrier," Lilia said softly, her voice gentle and strangely clear. "Now, no one will see or hear us. This is my own private space."
She stepped closer to the girls, her crimson eyes glinting beneath the black mask. "You want to live, don't you?" Her voice wasn't threatening or coercive—just calmly stating fact. "Then follow me. Join my organization."
The three women exchanged glances, their eyes wide with panic and confusion. But they knew… this was their only chance to survive. There was no deceit in Lilia's voice. They all nodded, almost at once, like helpless birds bowing before a storm.
Lilia said nothing further. She extended her hand, gently touching the cheek of the girl in the middle—a girl with soft brown eyes and messy blonde curls damp with fear. The cold of her fingers met warm skin for a heartbeat, then drew away like a phantom touch.
The ground trembled faintly. A massive magic circle formed beneath them, its borders etched in glowing arcane runes.
"This is a pact," Lilia said, her tone still as soft as ever. "It cannot be broken. It cannot be betrayed. There are many types… but I'll explain them later."
She infused them with mana, black mist swirling around each body. With each forehead she touched, she closed her eyes, as if reading their destinies. After a moment, she opened them again and pointed at the silver-haired girl and a white-haired girl.
"You—you'll be my right hand," she said calmly. "And you—my left."
"From now on, I recommend you all start using shadow magic. It will be the root of our power." She bent down, picking up the gold coins she had thrown earlier, handing them to the three girls. "Use this for now. I'll summon you soon."
Just before leaving, she paused, turning slightly to look at them. "What are your names?"
One by one, the girls stammered out their names. The right hand is Camilla Vermira. The left hand is Seraphina Duskveil. And the crimson-haired one is Mireille Crimson. Lilia nodded once, as if engraving them into memory. Without another word, she turned away. The cloak flowed behind her like a living shadow, her figure fading into the night.
The three women remained, sitting within the slowly dissipating barrier, their minds filled with questions and their hearts still racing.
But then—
A voice echoed gently within their heads, faint and distant yet unmistakable: "I will teach you everything. Wait for the time to come."
And the night returned to silence.