I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 317: The Flame That Grew Too Fast

Only a month had passed since Lilith's birth.

Thirty days.

And yet the child now walking barefoot through the luminous gardens of Emberlight had the body of a ten-year-old, the posture of nobility, and a presence that no one—not beast, mortal, or god—could ignore. Her black hair fell in silky waves down her back, faintly threaded with flickers of ember-gold, and her eyes… her eyes were the exact hue of royal amethyst. Deep, knowing, luminous.

But it wasn't just her appearance that astonished the people of Emberlight.

It was her mind.

Her thoughts flowed with clarity and depth beyond comprehension. She corrected magical theories with grace, simplified celestial math for younger beastkin students, and had once rewritten the fundamentals of energy conservation within spirit-touched ecosystems because, in her words, "I thought it could be gentler."

She was smarter than any eighteen-year-old—perhaps even any scholar alive.

And yet…

She was still Isaac's daughter.

Lilith's bond with her father was unshakable.

It wasn't simply affection.

It was something soul-deep.

Wherever Isaac went, Lilith followed—not out of necessity, but desire. She didn't trail behind him like a lost child. She walked beside him like a constant star—silent when he needed focus, talkative when he needed grounding.

When Isaac vanished for a few minutes into his Vault to inspect something, she would quietly sit by the door, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes distant but calm—until he returned.

The moment he did, her expression would brighten with that rare, glowing smile that even Asmodeus said was "for him alone."

One morning, Isaac was holding a quiet meeting with Lilyshade's architects about reinforcing the outer settlements with soulward trees. Halfway through a diagram about leyline threading, he heard light footsteps—and paused, mid-sentence.

Lilith stood at the door.

Not interrupting.

Just watching.

When his eyes met hers, she said quietly, "I didn't see you at sunrise."

"I left early," Isaac replied, voice gentle. "Did I miss something?"

Lilith didn't answer.

Instead, she walked across the room in silence, climbed into his lap in front of three stunned advisors, and curled up against his chest like a cat finding her favorite place in the world.

She closed her eyes and murmured, "You missed me."

The room went dead silent.

Isaac—master of flame, breaker of gods—did not hesitate.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

"I'll stay longer next time," he whispered.

She nodded, already halfway asleep.

Not a single advisor dared interrupt.

They adjusted the meeting format without a word and carried on—with Lilith softly breathing against her father's heart.

It was moments like these—simple, human, unguarded—that reminded Emberlight that despite her brilliance, Lilith was still a child.

A daughter.

Isaac's daughter.

And for her, no throne, no library, no scroll tower could ever match the feeling of her father's arms.

Even as her powers continued to unfold—sparks dancing beneath her footsteps, Spirit Beasts flocking to her presence, and forgotten relics subtly awakening when she passed—Lilith remained tethered to one truth:

She belonged beside her father.

In his presence, she did not have to be the "Sovereign Flame," or the "Child Beyond Rank."

She could just be Lilith.

The little girl who whispered, "You're the safest place."

And Isaac—who had built cities, rewritten fate, and faced down divine judgment—would always answer:

"You're my brightest light."

Chapter 318: The Child Who Walked the World

Only a month had passed since Lilith's birth.

Thirty-two days.

And yet she had the body of a ten-year-old, the mind of an immortal scholar, and a presence that made Spirit Beasts bow and archangels pause. She was wonder wrapped in soft black hair and glowing amethyst eyes—the flameborn daughter of Isaac and Asmodeus.

But for all her terrifying intelligence, all her radiant power, one truth burned brighter than the rest:

Lilith was hopelessly, shamelessly, unapologetically clingy with her father.

At dawn, if Isaac stirred even slightly in bed, she would immediately scramble onto his chest with an accusing pout.

"You were going to leave," she would mumble, burying her face in his shoulder. "Without hugging me for a full twenty seconds. I counted."

At meetings, she didn't walk beside him—she sat in his lap.

When he teleported somewhere, she instinctively teleported after him.

If he tried to slip away for training?

"Papa—!" Her voice would ring through the halls of Lilyshade, indignant and echoing.

Asmodeus once joked, "You'd think you were her gravity."

Isaac didn't argue.

Because he was.

When she asked to see Emberlight beyond Lilyshade, Isaac agreed—but only after she solemnly promised not to hang onto his arm the entire time.

She broke that promise within five minutes.

"Teleporting's scary," she whispered, even though she teleported flawlessly. "I might phase out of existence if you're not holding my wrist."

Isaac sighed.

She wrapped both arms around his, head resting against his shoulder. "See? Now the world feels correct."

First came the Lunaris Forest.

They walked between glowing trees and starlit roots, stalked only by curious Starfang Wolves. Lilith kept her hand looped through Isaac's belt sash the entire time.

When a pack of Spirit Beasts approached in quiet reverence, she didn't release him.

She just leaned against his leg and said softly, "They know I'm yours."

Isaac looked down. "You're your own person, Lilith."

"I know." She looked up at him with a bright smile. "I just like being yours anyway."

In the Glimmering Plains, the grass bent toward her steps. Pulseflowers bloomed in her wake, tracing shapes even Isaac didn't understand.

She was in awe—briefly.

Then she climbed up on Isaac's shoulders.

"They glow better from this angle," she said, planting her chin on top of his head.

"You're ten," he muttered.

"I'm one month," she countered proudly. "Let me have this."

By the Azure Sea, the sky turned soft blue and coral-light bathed the cliffs. Spirit Rays circled above like gliding lanterns. Isaac knelt to examine a reef-engraved sigil—but the moment he looked away, Lilith plopped herself in his lap.

He blinked. "What are you doing?"

"I sensed... you were too far from me."

"I was three feet away."

"Exactly," she whispered, arms around his neck. "Disaster range."

He didn't try to argue.

And when they returned to Lilyshade, and Asmodeus greeted them with open arms and gentle laughter, Lilith ran straight to Isaac's side and grabbed his coat.

Asmodeus raised an amused brow. "I thought you missed me?"

"I did," Lilith replied, hugging Isaac's leg like it was her lifeline. "But I missed Papa being next to me even more."

That night, nestled in their garden under a silver-leaf canopy, Lilith fell asleep curled on Isaac's chest like a kitten—arms wrapped around him, cheek pressed to his heartbeat.

"You're mine," she whispered in a sleepy breath. "Forever and ever."

And Isaac, brushing her hair with slow fingers, whispered back,

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

In all the vast world of Emberlight, no artifact shone brighter, no beast roared louder, no prophecy held more weight than a single truth:

Lilith loved her father.

Utterly. Fervently. Clingily.

And the world, which had watched gods fall and kingdoms rise, found itself at peace.

Because the Sovereign Flame slept not in a throne—

—but in her father's arms.

Chapter 319: This Is… Not Just Daddy Issues

Isaac sat quietly in the main chamber of the crystalflower veranda, sipping a steaming cup of starblossom tea and trying—genuinely trying—to enjoy a rare moment of peace. The air was warm, filled with the gentle hum of ambient magic and the soft chimes of wind drifting through enchanted lanterns. Lilith, of course, was not far. In fact, she was directly in his lap, curled like a clingy, purring foxcub, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and her head resting firmly against his chest. She hadn't moved for half an hour. Not even once.

She was humming, faintly, a tune he didn't recognize. Possibly something she made up on the spot. Her tail twitched lazily across his legs. The occasional pulse of her soul aura—calm and content—was almost enough to lull him into thinking this was perfectly normal.

He should have known peace never lasted.

Footsteps echoed softly through the corridor, and Asmodeus entered the chamber with the grace of a goddess who knew she owned every breath of air in the room. She was radiant as always—her golden hair braided with lilybuds and her form wrapped in a flowing violet silk gown that shimmered with every step. She walked with a kind of unhurried confidence that only someone completely at ease with herself could possess. Her gaze fell instantly on her daughter… and then slowly, deliberately, to Isaac.

She tilted her head and gave a slow, theatrical sigh.

"You know, Isaac," she began, plucking a plump grape from the nearby fruit bowl and inspecting it with a casual flick of her wrist, "I think it's time we had a little talk."

Isaac looked up, confused but wary. "About what?"

Asmodeus gestured vaguely at the child still latched onto him like an affectionate leech. "About her."

Lilith, without lifting her head, replied softly, "Still here."

"Yes, darling," Asmodeus said sweetly, settling onto the crystal armrest beside them. "And still clinging to your father like a wyvern guarding a treasure hoard."

"I am," Lilith confirmed without shame, squeezing Isaac's waist with the force of a creature determined to never be separated from her chosen anchor.

Isaac blinked between the two of them. "She's just affectionate."

"No," Asmodeus said, now smiling with the serene confidence of a woman about to drop a meteor into the conversation. "She's in love with you."

The silence that followed was the kind that sucked every sound out of the room like a void spell. Isaac stared at Asmodeus. Then at Lilith. Then at his tea as if hoping it would offer advice.

Lilith opened one glowing eye and looked up. "Obviously."

Isaac choked.

Tea erupted from his mouth in a spectacular spray, splattering the parchment notes on the nearby table. He coughed, sputtered, and pointed an accusatory finger downward. "WHAT?!"

Asmodeus, ever composed, handed him a napkin with the elegance of someone passing a treaty during wartime.

"She told me last week," she said lightly, "that she plans to marry you when she grows up. Or sooner. Depending on when you 'stop being stubborn.' Her words."

"I did say that," Lilith said proudly, now resting her chin on Isaac's stomach. "Mama thought it was cute."

"Lilith, I'm your father!" Isaac cried, looking as if someone had just thrown him into an arena with no armor and too much emotion.

Lilith tilted her head slightly, confusion flickering in her amethyst eyes. "And my favorite person. Why would I want someone worse than you?"

Asmodeus, now plucking another grape, nodded in approval. "See? Perfectly rational."

"It's not rational! It's not even legal in some kingdoms!"

"I'm one month old," Lilith replied calmly. "Most kingdoms don't even know how to categorize me."

Isaac buried his face in his hands and groaned. "This is a nightmare."

"It's not," Asmodeus said, her tone now soothing but still entirely unhelpful. "It's just the natural result of being a powerful, nurturing, morally upright, absurdly handsome man. You're bound to attract admirers."

"I don't want admirers under four feet tall!" he snapped.

"I'm ten," Lilith muttered. "Visibly."

"I'm going to collapse," Isaac said.

Asmodeus leaned in closer, voice velvet-soft. "You know… I wouldn't mind. If she did grow up with those feelings. I've told you before, Isaac—jealousy doesn't live in my heart. You're too divine to belong to just one woman. I'm always willing to share."

Isaac looked up at her slowly, eyes bloodshot with disbelief. "You're not helping."

She grinned. "I'm not trying to."

And from behind the silk curtain nearby, Lilith's cheerful voice chimed in, "I can hear everything you two are saying."

Isaac turned, pale and defeated. "Of course you can."

Later that evening, Isaac sat on the edge of a moonlit balcony overlooking the glowing rivers of Emberlight. The wind was cool, the stars clear, and the existential dread palpable. He stared into the sky as if praying the gods might offer clarification, or at least a manual on raising prodigies with poor romantic boundaries.

Asmodeus joined him, quietly settling beside him with a bottle of chilled nectar wine and two glasses.

"She'll understand one day," she said gently. "What's appropriate. What's fantasy. What's truly love. But for now… let her love you. In her own strange way."

Isaac sighed, taking the glass.

"Just maybe… don't let her start writing wedding vows."

Asmodeus chuckled.

"No promises."

Chapter 321: Paths We Draw in Silence

Isaac stood before the portal platform on the outskirts of Lilyshade Vale, arms crossed, staring at the calibrated rune array tuned to Arx Aurelia. It had been too long since he last walked the halls of the academy—too long since he last saw the students he'd helped shape, the ones who carried fragments of his legacy in their magic, their choices, their hearts.

"I'll be back before evening," he murmured.

From behind, a pair of slender arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

"No, you won't," Lilith said flatly, resting her chin on his back. "You say that, but the last time you went somewhere alone, you almost missed dinner."

"That was one time."

"And I cried until Mama had to make a second dinner just so I'd calm down."

He sighed. "You're not going to let me go alone, are you?"

Lilith pulled back and gave him the same stare Asmodeus used whenever she was about to win something. "Papa. Wherever you go, I go. I have needs."

"You're one month old."

"Exactly. That's when attachment is strongest."

Isaac groaned in defeat and signaled the portal to open. "Just… behave yourself."

"No promises."

The portal opened.

They stepped into the lower gardens of Arx Aurelia, where spirit fountains hummed with leyline resonance and mana-touched vines curled across the marble archways. Students paused mid-discussion, some gasped, others stared wide-eyed as whispers rippled through the academy grounds.

"Is that Professor Isaac?!"

"Wait… he brought a kid?!"

"Isn't she glowing?!"

Lilith strutted beside her father like she owned the place.

She probably thought she did.

The first familiar presence to appear was Relia, calm and graceful as ever. Her long purple hair shimmered faintly in the sunlight, and her robes whispered along the stone path as she walked. Her round glasses framed sharp green eyes that filled with warmth the moment they found Isaac.

"You came back," she said softly, a smile forming. "You look… stronger."

Isaac smiled. "So do you."

Relia stepped close, hesitating as her eyes moved to Lilith. "And this is…?"

"Lilith," the child answered for herself, giving a respectful half-bow. "His daughter."

Relia's eyes widened. "Daughter?"

Lilith beamed. "Born from love, shaped by divinity, and impossibly clingy."

Isaac coughed. "She's not exaggerating."

Tamari arrived next, crimson-trimmed robes fluttering as she stormed into the courtyard with her usual fire.

"I knew the rumors were fake. You didn't explode or vanish. You got hotter."

Isaac arched an eyebrow. "That's one way to greet your instructor."

"Wait—" Tamari blinked at Lilith. "Is that your kid?!"

"Confirmed," Lilith replied. "And you're loud."

Tamari grinned. "And you're terrifying. I like it."

But it was Lisette who arrived last.

And it was Lisette whose gaze lingered the longest.

She stepped through the ivy-covered arch with quiet grace, white fox ears twitching slightly as her silver ink sketchbook floated beside her, suspended mid-drawing. Her pale hair caught the breeze, and her tail flicked once as her eyes—those clever, watching eyes—locked onto Isaac.

And then onto Lilith.

And for a moment, everything inside her went still.

Lisette had always kept her feelings quiet.

Not hidden, not denied—just… quiet.

She was a Lisenthel, the daughter of the great cartographers of Thalren and Maire. She knew how to read paths, trace destinies, chart hidden routes even in the most tangled places. And ever since Isaac had stepped into her world, she had followed his presence like a glimmering line only she could see.

she had loved him

Silently.

Always silently.

And now here he was.

Smiling.

Gentle.

Holding the hand of a child—his child—with such warmth and natural ease that Lisette felt her heart ache.

Lilith looked up at her with sharp, violet eyes. "You're the fox-eared one," she said. "You seem quiet. I like you."

Lisette blinked, recovering. "I… like you too."

She glanced at Isaac—his strong posture, his kind gaze—and something bloomed in her chest. A dream. A longing she hadn't dared name until this moment.

'He would make a wonderful father,' she thought.

And for the first time, she allowed herself to wonder—Could I be a mother? Could I… bear his child?

The thought shocked her.

But it didn't leave.

Later, as the group gathered under the sun-drenched pergola and Lilith evaluated the students with quiet scrutiny, Lisette sat with her sketchbook open, pretending to draw.

Instead, she watched Isaac.

And smiled softly to herself.

The map in her heart had just gained a new path.

And though she wasn't ready to walk it yet…

She hoped one day he might walk it with her.

Chapter 322: Threads Unspoken

—Lisette POV—

The world was quiet tonight.

Not silent—Arx Aurelia was never truly still. Mana currents shimmered beneath the earth, and the spires of the academy hummed softly with ethereal resonance. But here, at the edge of the rooftop garden above the Aetherglass Library, where the night wind kissed her cheek and the stars drew silver veins across the sky, Lisette found the kind of stillness she rarely allowed herself.

She sat alone, her silver-inked sketchbook resting on her lap, legs curled beneath her, tail draped softly around her side. The garden had long since emptied; even the last wandering students had returned to their quarters. But Lisette stayed. She always stayed, when her thoughts were too loud.

Her fingers moved slowly across the page—shading the curve of a strong hand, drawing lines of flame that swirled with precision and protection. She didn't have to name the figure. Every line knew who he was.

Isaac.

The man who had saved her. The man who had believed in her when her own family condemned her as cursed.

She remembered the moment still—the first time he saw the spiral brand on her back, glowing like a divine wound, and how her voice had trembled when she confessed its origin. OriAX. Her uncle. The betrayal. The exile. The memories that bled away every time she used her ink.

She'd expected pity.

Or worse—fear.

But Isaac had said only four words.

"Then let me help."

And he had.

With hands that reshaped reality, he purified the curse—unraveled the god's mark from her soul with the same care she used to trace spell lines. When the spiral broke, it wasn't just her skin that healed. Something deeper had been restored. Something she hadn't realized she'd lost:

The right to dream.

Her pencil paused.

She turned to a blank page and began to draw again—but this time, not Isaac.

Not directly.

A child.

A little girl. With silver hair like hers, but streaked faintly with ember-gold. Eyes wide and curious. She held a miniature sketchbook in one hand and reached upward with the other—toward a hand that extended just off-frame. Protective. Familiar.

Lisette stared at it.

Her heart ached with the realization that had been growing for weeks.

She didn't just love Isaac.

She wanted to create something with him. Something meaningful. Something lasting. Not because she wanted to claim him… but because she wanted to share in the light he gave to others. To raise a child born not of obligation or accident, but of deep, enduring affection.

She wanted to bear his child.

The thought should have embarrassed her.

Instead, it made her breath catch—and her soul whisper: Maybe I could… if he ever saw me that way.

She closed the sketchbook softly and drew her knees to her chest. Her fox ears twitched faintly as wind brushed past. In the distance, she could hear Lilith's laughter echo from another tower balcony, high and bright and so full of life.

Lisette didn't envy her.

Not exactly.

But there was something about the way Isaac looked at Lilith—tender, proud, unguarded—that stirred something fragile and yearning inside her.

Could he ever look at me like that?

Not as a student.

Not as someone he saved.

But as someone he trusted enough to love back.

Lisette pressed her face against her arms.

She didn't cry.

But she whispered—so softly that even the wind had to pause to hear it.

"I want to give you something beautiful… even if it's just a piece of my heart."

Above her, the stars continued their ancient arc.

Below, the spiral lines of magic in the earth pulsed steadily—like threads waiting to be traced.

And Lisette, fox-eared and gentle, sat between them—holding love she hadn't spoken.

Yet.

Chapter 323: The Fox and the Flame

—Lilith POV—

Lilith didn't sleep often.

Not because she couldn't—but because the world had too many sounds, too many threads of feeling, too many thoughts curled under the surface like whispered songs. Emberlight's heartbeat followed her everywhere, even here at Arx Aurelia. It pulsed beneath her bare feet as she padded softly through the upper garden, her long black hair glinting faintly with soft golden flickers, her amethyst eyes glowing gently in the moonlight.

She had come here searching for her father.

Instead, she found Lisette.

The fox-eared girl was curled on a stone bench, still as a statue, her sketchbook resting against her knees. The pages fluttered faintly in the breeze, one half-turned and shimmering with silver ink.

Lilith tilted her head, stepping quietly closer.

She could feel it.

The warmth.

The ache.

The love.

It wrapped around Lisette's presence like invisible threads—tangled, quiet, not shameful but held back. There was no jealousy in it. No possessiveness. Only something tender and shy, pressed so deep into her heart that it pulsed like a hidden star beneath her ribs.

Lilith didn't speak at first.

She just sat down beside her.

Quiet.

Present.

It took Lisette a moment to realize she wasn't alone. Her ears twitched, and she blinked, turning with a gentle, startled glance. "...Lilith?"

"You're in love with Papa," Lilith said simply.

Lisette froze.

There was no teasing in Lilith's voice. No scorn. Only… a kind of ancient stillness, far too deep for someone who had only walked the world for a month.

Lisette's fingers curled tightly over the sketchbook. "I… It doesn't matter. It's just—"

"It does matter," Lilith interrupted. "Because it's real."

Lisette looked down. "You're his daughter."

"I'm also someone who knows what it's like to be seen," Lilith said. "To be chosen. And I can feel it when others are afraid of being seen the same way."

She paused.

Then added, softly, "You're not trying to take him. You just want… to be close to where it's warm."

Lisette didn't answer.

But her silence was loud.

And Lilith smiled.

"I think you'd be a good mother," she said at last.

Lisette's head snapped up, startled. "What?"

"You're gentle," Lilith continued. "You understand maps. You don't get lost easily. And your love is quiet, but it holds shape—like ink that never smudges."

"I—" Lisette's voice trembled. "I never meant to—"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Lilith said firmly. "And I don't hate you."

Lisette stared at her.

Lilith looked away, a flicker of red brushing her cheeks. "I used to think I wanted Papa all to myself. That if anyone else loved him, they were trying to steal him."

"And now?"

"I realized… I want him to be surrounded by people who love him. Because he gives so much. If he's only mine, he'll wear himself out trying to be enough."

Lisette swallowed hard, voice breaking into a whisper. "So… what now?"

Lilith stood.

Walked a few paces toward the edge of the garden.

Then looked back.

"When you're ready to say it out loud," she said, "I'll stand with you."

Lisette blinked rapidly.

Lilith smiled—not the smirk of a clever child, but the soft, sad smile of someone who knew what it meant to let go and still love fiercely.

"I'm not giving him away," she added. "But I'm not keeping him in a cage either."

And with that, she vanished into the shadows—leaving behind a stunned fox-girl clutching her sketchbook… and realizing that sometimes, the wisest person in the room was also the youngest.

Chapter 324: Lines Not Meant to Be Seen

—Isaac POV—

The rooftop garden above the Aetherglass Library was empty when Isaac arrived.

Or so he thought.

Moonlight filtered through the trellised vines overhead, casting quiet patterns on the stone. The air smelled of silverlilies and residual aether, gentle and clean. He had come here looking for a moment of peace—a breath of solitude before the chaos of student reunions resumed.

But as he stepped past the carved stone bench near the eastern ledge, his eyes caught something out of place.

A small book.

Leatherbound. Familiar silver trim. A fox-paw charm on the spine.

Lisette's sketchbook.

He paused.

She was rarely without it.

Isaac knelt, glancing around once to make sure she wasn't nearby. No scent trail, no footsteps in the grass. He considered leaving it untouched.

He should have.

But as he reached to set it aside for her return, the wind stirred the top page—turning it open.

What he saw stopped him.

It wasn't a spell map.

Not a beast anatomy, not a terrain thread diagram.

It was a drawing of a child.

Small, with long silver hair, streaked faintly with flickers of emberlight. She stood barefoot, holding a miniature sketchbook, staring upward toward a hand that extended just off the edge of the frame.

A man's hand.

His hand.

The lines were unmistakable. The posture. The aura. The tenderness in the shading of the figure's fingers—how they curled just slightly, inviting warmth without needing to grasp.

Isaac's breath caught.

He turned the page.

Another sketch—this time Lisette herself, seated on a field of spirals. A child curled up against her side. Her expression… serene. Protective. Radiant.

He turned one more page.

And there was one he hadn't expected:

A silent moment. He and Lisette, standing under starlight, not touching, not speaking—just looking at the same sky. Her hand was outstretched, barely brushing the edge of his sleeve.

The caption was one small phrase in the corner:

"Even if you never see me… I still walk beside you."

Isaac closed the book slowly.

He didn't move for a long time.

The weight in his chest wasn't heavy. It was warm. Real.

Lisette had always been quiet. Observant. Loyal. She never sought praise, never demanded attention. And he had known, on some level, that she had clung to him after the curse was broken. That the bond they'd formed wasn't shallow.

But this…

This was deeper than admiration.

It was love.

Not the burning kind that screamed to be answered.

But the kind that waited, year after year, because it believed in what it felt.

Isaac stood and exhaled slowly. He placed the sketchbook gently on the bench, exactly where she had left it.

He didn't smile.

But something in him softened.

Something noticed.

Something changed.

Far below, on the lowest terrace of Arx Aurelia, Lisette felt a strange pulse run through her threads—a quiet echo, like someone had finally seen a map she never dared to share.

And for the first time in days, she felt a silent thread of hope tie itself gently around her heart.

Chapter 325: "You Don't Have to Hide Anymore"

Isaac had faced many things.

Spiral gods. Curses older than time. The sins of demons and the wrath of divine judges. But nothing made his heartbeat echo like this quiet walk through the moonlit halls of Arx Aurelia, the silver-roofed corridors now hushed with night silence.

He held no weapons. Wore no armor. Yet still, it felt like he was stepping into a moment that could never be undone.

He was going to find Lisette.

And he was going to speak.

Because he had seen her sketches. Her truth, drawn in soft lines and captured shadows. Not demands. Not claims. But longing.

And he couldn't—wouldn't—pretend he didn't understand.

Lisette was in the observatory alcove, seated beneath a curved window of crystal and runic glass. Her sketchbook rested beside her unopened. Her hands were clasped, fingers twitching nervously for the first time in weeks.

She had felt it.

The moment he saw her drawings. That delicate shift in resonance. Like her soul had been touched—gently, but seen. And since then, her emotions had swirled in silence. Fear. Hope. Dread. Longing.

She wasn't sure what she would say. Whether she would apologize. Whether she should lie. But she couldn't hide it anymore.

Not from him.

Not after he looked.

She heard the footsteps before she saw him.

Isaac stopped a few steps away.

He didn't speak at first. Neither did she.

Then, softly, he said, "You draw beautifully."

Lisette flinched, then slowly looked up. Her green eyes met his, wide and vulnerable. "You saw."

"I did," he nodded. "And I didn't close the book because of curiosity. I closed it… because my heart couldn't take more."

Her breath hitched.

"I never meant for you to—"

"Lisette," he interrupted gently, kneeling in front of her, "you never meant for me to know. I understand. But I do know now. And I'm not afraid of what you feel."

Her hands trembled. "Then what do I do with it?"

"You don't have to do anything," he said. "You've carried it alone for long enough. Let me carry some of it now."

Lisette stared at him, tears rising in her eyes—not from sadness, but from release.

And then, quietly, a voice from the doorway said, "Told you he wouldn't run."

They both turned.

Lilith stood there, arms folded, wearing a rare, sincere smile.

She didn't interrupt beyond that. Just gave Lisette a wink and slipped away down the corridor.

Back in the alcove, Lisette gave a watery laugh. "She's smarter than us."

Isaac nodded. "Definitely more emotionally efficient."

Lisette looked down. "Isaac… I don't expect you to love me back."

"I know," he said gently. "But I already do. Just not in the way you hope. Not yet."

Her heart skipped. "Yet?"

He reached up and placed a hand lightly over hers.

"I don't know what the future holds. But I know this—you're one of the bravest souls I've ever known. You've shaped your path, survived betrayal, and still chose to love."

He paused.

"And if that love remains—when time has had its say—then maybe I'll walk the rest of that path with you."

Lisette looked at him, eyes shining.

And this time, when she smiled, it wasn't filled with longing.

It was filled with hope.

Real, living hope.

Far down the hallway, Lilith leaned against the wall, whispering to herself:

"One step closer, fox girl. Just don't mess it up."