Fire, Memory, and Old Wounds
Lucien did exactly as Evelyn asked.
He turned on the furnace — adjusting the runes and the mana stone regulator so the flames wouldn't melt the metal too fast. Fortunately, this magical forge worked on formations, not the user's mana. All he had to do was watch the color of the fire and steady it.
The Superbia clan — his mother's birth family — carried a rare gift:
Metal affinity.
Not earth.
Not stone.
True metal.
They shaped ore as though it listened.
So it wasn't strange that Evelyn — once the young lady of Superbia — knew her way around blacksmithing far better than most nobles ever would.
While Lucien watched the furnace, Evelyn spread her hands over the broken, abandoned shrine around them — whispering a low incantation.
Terraforming.
A simple spell. Gentle. Subtle.
Not offensive — but powerful in patient hands.
The cracked stone floor began to smooth. Uneven walls straightened. Rubble shifted aside. She carved a shallow partition, then shaped a circular recess near it — a small basin that would later become a water tank.
Lucien glanced up, fascinated.
Even without mana affinity for earth, she still managed. Metal and earth were cousins. And demons — especially high-class ones — had strange, flexible talent.
When she finished checking the ingots, she handed Lucien the poison bottle.
"Spread a thin layer outside, darling. Not too much — just enough to warn the beasts."
He nodded and went.
When he returned, Evelyn took a deeper breath and whispered another spell.
Metal Bending.
Thin threads of shining metal crawled across the stone — coating the walls and ceiling — reinforcing cracks and turning the shrine into something more defensible than it looked.
Inside, she sighed softly.
Once, I could have done this with a gesture…
Now, she was back to being barely above a beginner.
Her magic core was whole — but nearly empty after rebirth.
She caught herself.
Cheer up. You're alive. And that boy still needs you.
Her expression softened — warm, proud.
"It's done, darling. Come back."
Lucien walked inside — and his eyes widened. The shrine no longer looked like ruins. It felt like a room. Like home — temporary, fragile, but real.
"I did what you asked… but why cover the ceiling and floor with metal?"
Evelyn smiled faintly.
"To stabilize the shrine — and because I'm a one-star mage again. If danger comes, I can use the metal like a shield. And," she hesitated, amused at herself, "I dislike dust."
She tapped the basin she'd coated with metal.
A water tank — not just a hole in the ground.
Outside, clouds gathered. Darkness spread. Rain whispered at the shrine's edge. Evelyn shaped a small stone lip at the door so water couldn't creep inside — then set lantern crystals around the shrine to bathe it in warm light.
Finally, with one last adjustment, she narrowed the entrance into a thin vertical slit. Air flowed through — but beasts would have trouble squeezing in.
Lucien saw the fatigue in her shoulders.
And guilt stirred.
He remembered the Griffin.
Remembered feeling useless.
Never again.
He straightened and met her eyes.
"Mom. I want to start training. I'll become strong enough to stand beside you. Strong enough that you won't suffer because of me anymore."
Evelyn's gaze deepened — pride flickering there like flame.
"That resolve… hold onto it, always. And I'll do everything I can to help you."
She ruffled his hair lightly.
"But first — we bathe. It's been an exhausting day."
Lucien agreed.
He undressed quietly — peeling away torn, bloodstained clothes — while Evelyn did the same and pulled spare garments from her ring.
With a flick of her wrist, she summoned water.
Nerou.
Humidity gathered — forming into crystal-clear streams — filling the basin and the tub she'd created earlier, shaping it with metal so no dirt touched.
They sank into warm water.
Evelyn gently brushed Lucien's hair, and for a while — the world slowed.
Her thoughts drifted back.
Who would have thought… that being forced into that marriage would still give me him…
The Demon Continent — Helheim — had always belonged to seven great clans.
Each represented a sin in an old tongue — but demons had made those sins into strengths.
Avaritia — greed made empire.
Superbia — metal and pride.
Ira — wrath tempered into war.
Invidia — illusions, silent knives.
Luxuria — charm, healing, desire.
Gula — devourers who turned hunger into power.
Acedia — the watchers, slow but frightening when they moved.
Most of their lineages passed through daughters — matriarchal traditions born from ancient pacts.
Only one clan broke the pattern:
Avaritia.
Damion Avaritia — male heir — sown from ambition too sharp to ignore.
And the elders wanted alliances. Bloodlines. Weapons made of children.
So they sought brides.
Many refused. The leaders of the clans were no fools, and Damion's reputation for ruthlessness — and cold hunger — preceded him.
But the Superbia patriarch…
He saw the offer differently.
Not war.
Not alliance.
A trade.
A Blood Lily — a treasure capable of reshaping cores — placed on the table. For the family. For status. For what he called "the future."
Evelyn had been his only daughter.
And that meant nothing.
So she was given away.
She never bowed.
Never offered blood.
Never accepted the marriage ritual demons shared — where partners exchanged blood willingly as vow and anchor.
She fought Damion openly. Defied him publicly.
And in the end, when the clan demanded an heir, they agreed to something colder than intimacy — a ritual using blood essence itself.
It damaged her.
Stunted her.
But it gave life.
Lucien.
Afterward, she severed her ties with both clans.
Damion turned away — chasing other women, children, power.
Until Lucien appeared.
And the weight of those decisions never stopped following them.
Evelyn brushed water from her lashes, looking at her son — alive, stubborn, determined.
And despite the scars behind them…
She felt grateful.