A withering flower at devil's mercy

Cornelius bore the weight of an unfamiliar burden, tasked with overseeing a domain he had never intended to rule. His arrival at Stygian had been marked by months of recovery—four long months spent regaining his strength after the ordeal that had brought him here. Yet, with no lord to govern the fortress in Erebus's absence, Blake had implored him to assume temporary stewardship. A necessity, if only until the rightful ruler returned—if he ever did.

But the prospect of Erebus's return seemed increasingly bleak.

Cornelius himself could not say when, or even if, that day would come. He longed for home, for the warmth of his mother's embrace, to press a kiss to her forehead in filial devotion. More than anything, he yearned to take Aria's hand in his and pledge to her an eternal vow. Yet such desires came at an impossible cost. Helios's blood contract bound him still, an unrelenting chain around his fate.

He had failed.

Luciana was lost to him, her fate uncertain. The question of Octavius's survival gnawed at the edges of his mind, and the unthinkable—the possibility that Luciana had perished—hung over him like a sword poised to fall. He had risked everything to bring her back, and now, there was no path forward, no escape from the consequences of his failure.

A knock at the door pulled him from his brooding thoughts.

"Sir Cornelius, I have come to report," Blake's voice called from the other side.

"Enter," Cornelius permitted, his voice heavy with exhaustion. Three nights without sleep had left their mark.

Blake stepped inside, quickly noting the dark circles beneath Cornelius's eyes, the tension in his shoulders—a silent testament to his weariness.

"What news?" Cornelius asked, his focus still on the documents before him.

"More refugees have arrived seeking sanctuary, my lord," Blake reported.

Cornelius exhaled slowly, a sigh that carried the weight of inevitability.

"This never ends," he muttered.

Stygian was the last untouched bastion of Wahrheit, a miracle owed not to politics or diplomacy, but to geography. The fortress stood shielded by an unyielding landscape—treacherous mountain ranges to the north and south, impassable to all but the most determined. To the west, a storm-wracked sea stretched far beyond the reach of human ambition, a route so perilous that even the boldest merchants hesitated to brave its waters. And to the east, the cursed forest loomed, its twisted canopy devouring any who dared to enter. Those unaware of its sinister nature quickly learned the truth—too late to escape.

Yet despite these barriers, refugees continued to arrive in growing numbers, their desperation driving them to brave the fortress's deadly borders. Some succeeded, emerging from the trials of the journey battered but alive. Others were not so fortunate.

"How many this time?" Cornelius inquired.

"Three caravans made it through. Eight more attempted entry but were lost to the mountains."

Cornelius closed his eyes briefly, his expression hardening. "The losses increase each day," he murmured. Rising from the seat that had once belonged to Erebus, he moved to the window, gazing down at the fortress below.

Stygian had been forced to open its gates, compelled by necessity rather than choice.

"How shameless," he muttered, his voice laced with scorn.

"It is the nature of all beings to seek safety in times of peril," Blake observed evenly.

Cornelius scoffed. "Safety from the dangers their own kind have wrought."

Blake said nothing. Though the words stung, they were undeniably true. Wahrheit had brought this calamity upon itself.

After a moment of silence, Cornelius shifted the conversation. "How progresses the laboratory?"

"It nears completion," Blake answered. He had yet to understand why Cornelius had insisted on investing resources into such an endeavor in the midst of war. He had opposed the decision outright, arguing against its timing, but Cornelius had refused to yield or even entertain further debate.

"Once the Megalink is operational…" Cornelius murmured, almost to himself. "I will find them. And if fortune favors me, I will connect this place to Amanécer before long."

Blake did not ask who he meant by them. He already knew.

"Come." Cornelius commanded.

"I'll go look at the situation myself."

"Understood, Sir." Blake obeyed without hesitation.

Cornelius had proved himself far more capable of running a domain than Erebus had in the past.

But all the difference what mattered was that both of them belonged to opposite worlds.

Erebus was meant for war. Cornelius was meant to lead by wisdom. That was one thing Blake admitted by observing both masters.