The Arcane Academy—the refuge of chaotic knowledge—was within her reach.
But the thought of entering the city made her stop abruptly, assessing her situation.
She looked herself over. The result was disastrous.
The dark cloak Elara had lent her did little to hide her state; if anything, it highlighted it. It was ruined—stained with the greenish sludge of toxin swamps and the brown mud of the Scarlands. The fabric reeked of sulfur and decayed organic matter, forcing her to breathe shallowly.
"What a lovely first impression," Lilith thought with an ironic smile. "The great fugitive of the Luminaries, covered in slime. What kind of impression would that make?"
She couldn't enter Ernas—the heart of trade—looking like an Aberrant fresh out of a Contamination Nexus.
Lilith let out a dry sigh. Walking into majestic Ernas with swamp slime dripping from her cloak and the stench of sulfur clinging to her would be social suicide—and worse, it would draw the attention of the city's authorities.
She changed her course. Instead of heading straight for the Main Gate, she followed the outer perimeter of the great blue basalt wall, seeking the city's more degraded outskirts.
It didn't take long to find what she was looking for. Like any mercantile capital, Ernas had a ring of illegal settlements and makeshift constructions clinging to its edge.
Lilith spotted a low, dark structure made of rough wood and canvas, nestled in a muddy alley. Above the door hung a crooked wooden plank with a barely legible sign that read: "The Weary Hunter's Corner."
She stepped inside. The interior of the inn was dark and smoky, lit only by a few tallow candles. The place was empty—no rowdy adventurers, just the stale smell of old ale and damp wood.
Behind a stained wooden counter stood a burly, bald man with an ugly scar running from his eye to his cheek, polishing what looked like an axe. He was clearly the keeper.
He stopped mid-motion, fixing her with hollow eyes that immediately took in the grime and the stench surrounding her.
"No permanent lodgings here, if that's what you're after," he grumbled, his voice deep and coarse.
Lilith stepped up to the counter. "I'm not looking for a room. I need a bath and clean clothes. I'll pay in advance."
She drew out the only coins that still held any value in Draconia—some silver pieces she had taken from a simple chest in the Sanctuary. She slid them across the counter. The keeper examined them slowly.
He grimaced, but the jingle of payment was convincing.
"The bath's… out back," he muttered. "Costs extra if you want the water heated. As for clothes…" He glanced at a wall hook where a few second-hand garments hung—plain linen and leather worn by hunters and travelers. "Whatever's left of you and that cloak can burn."
"Perfect," Lilith nodded.
The keeper accepted the payment. Lilith now had a guaranteed bath, the chance to rid herself of her compromising cloak, and a set of plain clothes to blend in.
Lilith gave the innkeeper a brief nod, and he returned to polishing his axe. She followed his directions, finding the bathing room in the back. It was a small, damp chamber with a wooden barrel filled with water, faintly warmed by dim, smoking runes.
She closed the door with a satisfying click. The first thing she did was get rid of the cloak. She tossed it onto the stone floor, and the wet, sticky thud it made turned her nose in disgust.
A crude mirror hung on the wall. Lilith stepped in front of it, studying her reflection. Dirt and sludge covered her skin and the underclothes she wore, but her posture—and her face—remained flawless.
"I'm filthy, but still beautiful and perfect, hehe," she said with a small smirk to the mirror—one of those rare moments of vanity in her otherwise isolated existence.
She reached to undress, but then hesitated. The thought of Malus, silent in her mind, was unbearable.
"Can that damned general inside me actually see me? I don't want some probably old, disgusting man watching my body."
Her reflection showed the disgust that ran through her thoughts.
Suddenly, a deep laugh echoed through her soul. Malus's voice, cold and rough as always, answered her fear.
"Old man? What do you take me for, girl? I am a woman. One of the most beautiful you'll ever find—much like yourself."
Lilith, now without her cloak and staring into the mirror, looked uncertain for the first time, her composure cracking.
"A woman? You really expect me to believe that?"
The silence in her mind was broken by a single word.
"Yes."
The voice that followed was instantly different—feminine, commanding, absurdly alluring. It flowed like rare, dangerous wine: royal, sensual, and steeped in quiet power. It wasn't the words that shocked Lilith—it was the way they were spoken, confirming Malus's identity in a tone that was both undeniable and intoxicating.