The spring festival comes, and the entire city is decorated.
A festive atmosphere wraps around everything like a warm blanket.
Valerie steps out with her friends just as the sun dips below the horizon.
They walk toward the university, taking in the lanterns, ribbons, and glowing flowers strung across the streets.
For the first time, they truly enjoy this festival.
Where they used to live, it was always winter.
Now they feel the sun's warmth on their skin, the light drizzle on their hair.
Valerie had once known other seasons—but that was before she turned five.
The memories come back faintly, like the edge of a forgotten dream.
They enter the university to the thump of music beating through the air.
The open field ahead is alive—lights flashing, bodies dancing, laughter rising.
Valerie subtly sniffs the air, searching for her mate's scent.
But the crowd is massive—thousands of bodies moving, sweating, perfumed—masking everything.
So she walks with her friends, eyes alert, senses stretched.
Then a boy approaches—someone who came with them to this city.
He isn't alone.
He's with a group of weretigers.
Even among supernaturals, weretigers are legends.
They're known as the strongest in the world—rare, wild, and powerful.
Too few exist to form a kingdom, but individually, they are nearly unstoppable.
Fewer than five hundred exist worldwide.
Most live in the Star Republic.
So she isn't surprised to see them here—but she is wary.
Her friend introduces them casually, like they're old companions.
Three weretigers—two gold-striped, and one rare white.
The white-haired, blue-eyed boy is named Turan.
He turns into a white tiger—rarer than rare.
Another of the weretigers, the one with golden-black hair, Jonas, steps forward and asks, "Do you want to dance with me?"
Valerie shakes her head, eyes still scanning the field.
Her thoughts are fixed on Adam—where he is, whether he's here, if he'll notice her tonight.
Jonas tilts his head, his tone lighter, "Are you waiting for your mate?"
Valerie shakes her head again. "I'm not in the mood."
Her friends try to fill the silence, boasting on her behalf.
"Valerie is the strongest supernatural at her age."
"Then her mate must be someone equally strong."
"Yes, only then could their child reshape the world."
Valerie lowers her eyes.
They don't know.
They don't know her mate is just an ordinary human.
She imagines the shock on their faces—mouths gaping, pride crumbling.
A small smile touches her lips at the thought.
But the smile fades when she hears a snarl cut through the music:
"Beasts."
She turns.
A group approaches, dressed in black jackets and pants, eyes cold and mocking.
They wear the hunter insignia on their chests—two gryphons, upper bodies touching, heads turned opposite.
Children of hunters.
Lydia narrows her eyes and steps forward. "Do you all want to get beaten up?"
One of the hunter girls smirks and replies, "If we weren't in the Republic, I'd skin your wolf hide and wear it as a coat."
Lydia scoffs. "When was the last time a hunter ever killed a supernatural?"
Melissa adds, "Only when it's a defenceless baby. Otherwise, the opposite happens."
Turan folds his arms and says evenly, "In Palus, a vampire killed a whole hunter squad. Alone."
Their group laughs, the sound sharp, unbothered.
The hunters' faces twist, fury smouldering in their eyes.
One steps forward, voice low and angry, "If you've got guts, meet us after midnight at the mango grove. Let's see who's strong."
They look at each other, and Turan smirks, "Yes, but don't act like a coward and show up with your parents."
One of the hunters glares back. "We won't."
Then they walk away, leaving behind a trail of cold hostility.
Time passes.
Valerie drifts away from the group, her eyes searching the crowd.
She's looking for Adam.
Unbeknownst to her, Merin has already seen her—he noticed the moment she stepped into the university.
He watches her now from a distance, unreadable.
The upcoming fight doesn't bother him.
His guards are stationed nearby, and Valerie will be safe.
So instead, he turns to a nearby woman with striking green eyes and asks, "Would you like to dance?"
She smiles and says, "Yes."
He takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor.
They move with rhythm, and even as he guides her through the steps, he feels it—
A stare, sharp and constant, burning into his back.
He pulls the woman closer.
A faint groan cuts through the music.
Valerie.
Merin hears it clearly despite the crowd.
He wonders—what now?
Will she keep her distance as always?
Or will she finally step toward him?
The song ends, and a breath of silence follows before the next begins.
Merin steps off the dance floor with the woman, escorting her gently aside.
He turns just in time to see Valerie walking toward him with purpose.
A slow grin touches his lips.
Let's see what she does.
Before she reaches him, he moves first—asks another woman for a dance.
This one hesitates even less.
Merin's near-perfect face, his subtle presence that draws attention despite its quietness, make refusal unthinkable.
He dances again, graceful and fluid, while Valerie stops in her tracks.
When the music ends, he leaves the floor with the second woman—this time, a few meters from where he was earlier.
He looks back.
Valerie is now walking faster.
Before she arrives, he takes yet another woman by the hand.
And it goes on—
A third dance.
A fourth.
Each time, Valerie gets closer.
Each time, Merin stays one step ahead.
Until finally—
He stops.
He turns to her.
No more teasing.
This time, he offers his hand to Valerie and leads her to the dance floor.
But just as their fingers touch, Merin's expression sharpens.
He senses it—
The port explodes into a massive ball of fire.
Moments later, the sound catches up, followed by a thunderous shockwave that rocks the university.
Music halts.
Lights flicker.
People stop mid-step, confused.
Then a second explosion.
A third.
Screams erupt.
Chaos spreads like wildfire.
Figures clad in black descend on the city, striking civilians with brutal precision.
Panic takes over the party.
Guests scream and push, trampling each other in their frantic rush toward the gates—
Just as the university's entrance explodes into flames.
More figures charge in, dressed in black, clashing against the guards with lethal force.
Merin turns to Valerie and says calmly, "Stay safe."
Then he walks away, leaving the chaos behind.
He exits the university grounds in moments, heading straight toward the edge of the city—
Toward the pressure zone where the strongest of the black-clad attackers is holding back the military.
If that one falls, the army will reclaim the streets.
If captured, he'll give answers.
How did they bypass Merin's senses?
How did they get this close?
Military commanders see Merin approach and immediately order their soldiers to stop attacking.
The black figure senses the change.
It turns, eyes narrowing, then charges toward Merin without hesitation.
But Merin is in no mood to entertain.
He manipulates the field.
The figure rises—suspended helplessly in the air.
Nearby vehicles shudder and tear apart as their metal pieces streak through the air, reforming into new shapes.
They wrap around the figure like moulded iron ropes, sealing his arms, legs, torso—
Only his head was left exposed.
Still floating.
The generals nod.
The military charges into the city, retaking control sector by sector.
And hours later—
Deep underground, in a high-security jail—
The captured black-clad figure opens his eyes to find Merin already waiting in the dark.
Merin stands with Selena, leader of the witch coven in the city, trying to identify the corpse.
The figure—unbroken under repeated torture—refused to speak and then, without any visible method, committed suicide.
Merin still can't figure out how.
Worse, the rest of the black-clad intruders followed the same pattern.
Their appearances mimic humans—no horns, no scales, no anomalies—
But every test confirms they are not human.
And they don't belong to any known race in this dimension.
Robert, eyes lingering on Selena's face twisted with shock, asks, "Madam Selena, can you tell me what they are?"
Selena's voice trembles.
"I thought… all of them were sealed. How did they escape?"
Her words pull every head toward her.
A general step forward. "What do you mean?"
Selena breathes deeply, steadying her voice.
"In ancient times, there was another dominant race. The devourers."
She glances at the corpse on the table.
"They fed on magic. Not just spells—essence, aura, enchantments. Anything that glowed with arcane force, they consumed. Naturally, they targeted every race that held magic in their blood."
"But their numbers were few. Less than a hundred. Births among them were rare."
She pauses.
"That changed when a devourer mated with a human. And a hybrid child was born. Stronger. Faster. Able to blend among magic races undetected."
"The devourers saw hope in that child. They began mating with humans in secret. Each child is another step toward their goal."
Robert mutters, "Which was?"
Selena replies coldly, "The erasure of all magic from the world."
"They wanted a silent world. A world of null. Where no light, no flame, no enchantment could exist. Only them—feeding endlessly."
She tightens her fists.
"The magic races discovered it too late. Entire bloodlines were already lost. So, the devourers were hunted. Slain. And those too dangerous to kill—sealed alive, left to rot in unbreakable prisons."
She looks at the corpse again.
"They should all be dead."
Merin narrows his eyes.