CHAPTER 29: AYRA’S FATE

When Daphne told me she would take me to the Volkom family’s private hot springs, I never imagined we’d end up sharing the same bath.

It’s a small natural spring, hidden deep inside a cave as white as fresh snow.

The water is so hot it almost seems to boil on its own.

Though honestly, maybe I’m the one making it feel even hotter just by being here.

Daphne stepped in first, completely naked—leaving me no choice but to follow, weighed down by crushing embarrassment.

Our clothes now rest neatly on smooth, flat stones beside the steaming pool.

Her body... god, it’s breathtaking.

I always suspected, but with those heavy coats she always wears, I could never be sure.

Her hips are narrow—overall she’s slim—but her chest is the exception.

Or maybe it’s because her figure is so delicate that her breasts seem even larger. Honestly,

I swear they look even bigger than Sasha’s.

Her long golden curls float softly on the water’s surface, making her look like a vampiric Venus straight out of Botticelli’s brush.

The bath is so small that even the slightest movement makes our bodies touch.

Out of shame—and maybe a bit of awe, since she’s twice my age—I curl up as much as I can, hugging my knees.

That way, I can also stop my friend down below from making things even more awkward.

But she doesn’t do the same.

From time to time she shifts slightly, brushing against me with her feet or her thighs.

For her, this situation is probably nothing unusual.

Ayra reminded me countless times that nudity is taboo only in the human world, while among vampires it means nothing.

But staying indifferent before this naked goddess of beauty... not even Dorje could manage that.

I need to find something to talk about—anything—before Daphne’s unbelievable breasts drive me completely insane.

Even her nipples seem to stare right at me, like two wide eyes trying to hypnotize me.

«You and Clotilde talked for quite a while earlier,» I remark, biting into the meal Daphne kindly offered me—a slimy green sea creature that looks anything but appetizing, though she insists it’s a rare delicacy from Mildelar.

Its taste and texture vaguely remind me of shrimp, though with a sharp, acidic aftertaste.

«I’m guessing you were discussing what happened in Noxscura.»

She nods.

«Yes. Sadly, it was an incident of unprecedented severity. Those Nova Aetas bastards had never dared go so far before—usually they limit their attacks to the kingdom’s outskirts. Thankfully, ogres are tireless workers, and they’ve already begun laboring day and night to at least rebuild the historic center.»

Ogres? I assume they’re one of the enslaved races Vespera mentioned.

If they’re even half as massive and strong as I imagine, then the sheer might of the Scarlet Army must be inconceivable to have forced them into such relentless toil.

«As you can imagine, I’m not allowed to reveal more than you already know. But there’s something I must tell you... it concerns Ayra.»

Daphne’s expression darkens.

Once again, she shifts position.

She turns onto her stomach, her firm but modest buttocks breaking the water’s surface like small islets. Her legs stretch out fully toward me, slightly parted, with her ankles resting on my shoulders.

A pose that—inevitably—gives me an unobstructed view of the scene between her thighs.

I squeeze my eyes shut before I can think twice—not that I mind this kind of view, far from it, but if my gaze lingers even a moment longer, I’ll risk an obvious natural reaction.

To a vampire, that could look like a grievous insult punishable with who knows what unbearable torment.

Better not to risk more than I already am.

«Vespera and her henchmen are the main culprits behind yesterday’s disaster, but they’re not the only reason it happened...»

Her voice trembles, heavy with pain—she sounds on the verge of tears.

Maybe that’s why she turned her back to me.

«Much of the destruction was caused by Ayra. With no control over her Shadowshaper-form—the supreme manifestation of her Innatus—her powers went wild, leveling the entire historic district and far beyond, claiming countless lives.»

Yes, I remember it far too well.

Unfortunately. The terror Ayra unleashed in that form is etched in my mind, haunting even the nightmares I had last night.

If not for Daphne’s timely intervention, I’d have been reduced to dust by the shockwave from Vespera’s halberd clashing against my teacher’s sword.

A catastrophe that—apparently—could have been avoided if Ayra had more control over her power.

«Since she’s a princess, the truth was buried, and all the blame was thrown solely onto Vespera. The tragedy was barely contained, but it’s something my father cannot accept...»

Daphne’s voice grows even more sorrowful.

«That’s why, as soon as she wakes, Ayra must undergo brutal training under Clotilde. Our father, Viktor, gave Clotilde the strictest orders: she has one week to ensure Ayra fully masters her Innatus. And if she fails...»

Daphne’s pain can no longer be hidden.

«...If Ayra can’t control her powers in time... Clotilde has been ordered to kill her.»

«TO HAVE HIS OWN DAUGHTER KILLED BY HER SISTER?!» I explode, fury bursting out at Daphne’s shocking revelation. «WHAT KIND OF SANE FATHER WOULD EVER GIVE AN ORDER LIKE THAT?!»

«Never dare speak that way about my father again, or it’ll be the first time I harm a human!» Daphne snarls, her voice sharp with rage and tension—likely fueled by the tragic fate looming over her beloved little sister.

I freeze, not even breathing.

«He is a great king, the greatest Mildelar has ever known! And as such, he cannot allow his kingdom and his people to suffer because of my sister’s weakness, even if it means killing his own daughter. We cannot predict what might happen if Ayra loses control again... things could turn out even worse!»

Sacrificing a single innocent life to save many others?

The truth is, there’s no right answer—any choice would still be wrong.

The only hope is that Ayra can achieve the impossible and master her Innatus in such a short time.

I don’t know how much I can do to help her, but I’ll do everything in my power to support her.

«Kajetan’s duel will begin soon,» Daphne says as she rises from the water.

Droplets slide down her golden curls, tracing along her flawless curves, exposing every inch of her perfection to my eyes.

«I suggest you watch as well. I’m certain you’ll find it quite enlightening.»

♡♡♡

«The most anticipated battle of the day has finally arrived! And let’s hope it’s also the most thrilling!»

The announcer’s voice, amplified by magic, vibrates with excitement.

«Kajetan Volkom, the familiar of Princess Daphne Volkom and reigning champion for three years in a row, faces Rashid Narkov, the former number one, now ranked second. Will Rashid reclaim his throne after countless attempts, or will Kajetan once again prove he is the strongest? We’ll find out soon!»

I sit in the section of the stands reserved exclusively for the Volkom family—far more luxurious and comfortable than the areas for ordinary spectators.

It feels like a private balcony, lavishly furnished with fine food, exquisite drinks, and an unobstructed panoramic view of the battlefield.

A place no human should normally occupy.

There’s no explicit rule forbidding it, but an unspoken tradition remains: familiars are not supposed to watch battles between other familiars.

A tradition Daphne ignored without hesitation, backed by her authority as the king’s eldest daughter.

Still, Daphne isn’t here with me.

She’s sitting in the special section across the arena, where the masters of the combatants observe from seats of honor.

In other words, she left me here alone, at the mercy of Sasha and Priscilla.

Their eyes rest on me with thinly veiled disapproval—the silent judgment of those who see my presence as an insult.

Their scrutiny is suffocating, but my curiosity outweighs the discomfort.

This is a battle between the two strongest familiars—I can endure a few hostile stares to witness something like this.

At last, the two contenders step into the arena, greeted by a wave of applause and deafening cheers.

The anticipation is tangible.

Kajetan advances with steady steps, his posture flawless, his expression cold and unyielding as always.

His silver hair is styled to perfection, as if he were about to walk a runway rather than fight.

Yet I doubt he cares about it—that level of refinement must be someone else’s doing, an imposed touch meant to make the spectacle appear more elegant.

Then there’s Rashid.

About the same age as Kajetan, tall and lean, with tanned skin and short black hair that clearly show his Arab origins, just as his name suggests.

But his adopted surname... Narkov?

That name stirs something in my memory.

Where have I heard it before?

...Ah, right.

Tristan Narkov—the familiar defeated by Ginevra.

He must be from the same house.

From my privileged seat overlooking the arena, I notice something peculiar.

Among the vampire spectators—especially the younger ones—merchandise featuring Kajetan and Rashid is everywhere.

Flags waving, hats with their names, even shirts and banners with their faces.

It feels surreal.

Who would have thought vampires would proudly wear souvenirs with images of humans?

Maybe they see the strongest familiars the way humans idolize sports legends.

Now I understand why the Lunae Plenae dormitory, where the top fifty familiars live, is—according to Ayra—more like a luxury resort than a simple dorm.

It would be nice, someday, to see my own face printed on a shirt.

A ridiculous thought, maybe. But who knows...

«Let the battle begin!»