CHAPTER 409: START WITH THE ASSOCIATION

The mansion’s night carried on as it always did, small noises filling the air. Somewhere in the distance, a laugh tried not to be too loud and failed.

In another room, someone turned in their sleep and pulled a blanket tighter. Life went on, unbothered by what had just passed in the void.

Lilith poured from the waiting pot. Steam rose from the cups in lazy curls, catching the lamplight.

Elowen sat with quiet grace, her long hair catching the glow as she reached for her glass.

The ward lines carved into the stone walls pulsed faintly, breathing in a slow, even rhythm, content now that the house had its people back.

Outside those safe walls, cults stirred in the dark, shuffling their feet and pretending their steps were part of a march that mattered.

In clean halls filled with the smell of polish and old paper, officers changed posts and told themselves it was only routine.

In a place far from either, a god smiled without lips and did not move. In a circle of quiet rooms inside the mansion, a boy slept the kind of sleep that has to be earned, while two girls dreamed the kind of dreams that belong to children who still believe morning is theirs by right.

The storm would come. The exam would open. That much was certain: The world would spend every ounce of peace it could steal from those who dared to claim it.

For now, they drank their tea while it was still hot. And somewhere out of sight, on a branch no eye could find, two elders sat with their own cups and watched the quiet like treasure, irritation held like a sharpened blade, patience like a vow.

They did not move. They did not speak. They waited, ready to remind the world how to listen again the next time it forgot.

When the last curl of steam faded, the jade token on the table gave a faint, spent glow and went still.

The quiet in the room settled deeper. Lilith tapped a finger against the porcelain once.

Elowen set her cup down and folded her hands over her knee. Neither spoke at first. They did not need to. Their breath and the house’s slow pulse said enough.

The space around them tipped, not in motion but in awareness, as if the rooms themselves remembered who had just used them.

A soft ripple went through the wards, and the fold they had walked through earlier opened again, not to pull them away, but to let company arrive. It was not dramatic.

It did not need to be. One blink and the two elders were there: the Succubus Matron with a small smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, the Elven Ancestress with her hands folded as if she had been mid-prayer and decided to finish later.

The Matron toyed with a tiny figure between her fingers—a living chess soldier from their old game. It lifted a miniature spear as if eagerly, then stilled at a touch.

She turned it, laughed under her breath, and let it vanish with a flick. "I see you two haven’t changed," she said, taking in the tidy room, the cups, the steady lines of light in the walls.

"Always testing who can make the world shiver more."

Elowen’s smile was there and gone. "We measured the seal," she answered. "The world was near enough to feel it."

The Ancestress moved to the window and drew one finger along the rim of the stone, like someone checking if dust had returned to a shelf.

"Enough sparring," she said, her tone calm and firm. "The world will want both of you soon, whether you like it or not."

Lilith leaned back, one ankle over the other, veil settling against her shoulders in an easy line. "We like it well enough," she said. "We prefer choosing the floor."

The Matron’s eyes gleamed. "Then let us choose the floor for the next piece of this conversation."

She glanced toward the door as if expecting a curious servant and found none. The house knew when to leave them alone.

"It is not about one god anymore. He woke and lit a spark. Now others are watching to see if the smoke will hide their hands.

Some will poke and pretend it was the wind. Some will push and call it fate."

Elowen’s posture shifted by a breath. Her voice sharpened, clear and simple. "Then we uproot them," she said.

"All of them. Every cult, every sleeper agent, every finger they have slid into our soil."

Lilith’s reply came cool and precise. "Yes. But not as a bonfire. We do it like a surgeon. Quiet halls. Clean tools.

One root at a time. We do not pull so hard that the fence posts creak and call more neighbors than we need."

The Ancestress nodded once, pleased by the shape of that thought. "The world does not need panic," she said.

"It needs to keep breathing. Let the gods peering from far places believe nothing has changed. Let them conclude the soil here is tired and dull. Meanwhile, you work."

The Matron’s mouth curved slyly. "And when the last of their weeds are pulled," she said, "we can show whoever’s still leaning on the fence what it means to provoke us.

In our time. On our ground."

Elowen accepted that with a dip of her head. "Agreed."

Lilith reached for the pot and refilled two cups. The soft sound of liquid on porcelain made the next silence feel normal, just four women sitting in a warded room while the world argued outside. It helped.

"Start with the Association," the Ancestress said after a moment. "Under the boards, not over them.

Their leaders will make noise if you show your hands too early. We need them calm. We need them convinced they are the ones turning on the lights."

"The Director will turn them on before we ask," Lilith said. "He already has. He is not polite with dust."

Elowen’s eyes softened a fraction. "Sera will not let go," she said. "She is already pulling the little threads in her head and will yank until they either come loose or cut her fingers."

"Then give her gloves," the Matron said. "Without letting her see you put them on."