Page 9 of Her Guardian Demon

As I weave the fabric of this dark reality, my mind drifts to my own past. Centuries ago, I too stood on the precipice of power, a young man with potential that terrified and excited those around me. The trials I endured... I push the memories aside. This isn't about me. Not entirely.

Yet I can't help but see echoes of myself in Aria. The same fire in her eyes, the same hunger for knowledge and power. Could it be more than coincidence? I've long suspected that her bloodline and mine are intertwined, separated by generations but linked by something deeper than mere genetics.

"My lord," a voice interrupts my musings. It's Shadowmere, one of my chief advisors. "I must again express concern about your personal involvement with the girl's training. It's... unprecedented."

I turn, fixing him with a cold stare that makes him flinch. "Your concerns are noted, Shadowmere. And dismissed. Aria isnot just another student. Her potential could reshape the very foundations of our realm."

"But sire," he persists, though his voice wavers, "becoming too attached to a mortal, even a hexeblood, could be seen as a weakness by the court."

For a moment, I consider reminding him what happens to those who question me too boldly. But he's been a loyal servant, and his concerns, while misplaced, come from a place of genuine loyalty.

"I appreciate your candor," I say instead, my voice softening a fraction. "But trust that I know what I'm doing. Aria is a weapon I'm forging for the battles to come. Nothing more."

Even as I say the words, a part of me wonders if I'm trying to convince Shadowmere or myself.

Dismissing him with a wave, I put the finishing touches on the nightmare realm. It's a masterpiece of terror, if I do say so myself. Landscapes that shift like quicksand, shadows that hunger, and at its heart, a manifestation of Aria's deepest fears given form.

Satisfied with my work, I go to my subject. The teacher, a usually composed phantasm, flickers like a candle in a storm. "Lord Kieran," the teacher manages to stammer, "we are honored by your presence. How may we serve you?"

I smile, a gesture I know strikes fear into the hearts of most. "I'm here to conduct a special lesson," I announce, my eyes never leaving Aria. "A demonstration of advanced dreamweaving techniques."

The relief in the room is palpable as the students realize they're not the target of my attention. All except Aria, whose apprehension is tinged with... is that excitement?

"Aria," I say, extending my hand. "You'll be assisting me today."

She hesitates for just a moment before stepping forward, her chin held high. "I'm ready, Lord Kieran."

Without warning, I pull her into the nightmare realm I've created. The classroom disappears, replaced by a landscape of writhing shadows and impossible geometry. Aria staggers, momentarily disoriented.

"Welcome," I say, my voice echoing strangely in this realm, "to your pop quiz."

Aria's eyes widen as the realm around us transforms. The ground beneath her feet becomes a writhing mass of shadows, each movement revealing glimpses of grasping hands and pleading faces.

"Your task is simple," I continue, my form dispersing into a fine mist that envelops her. "Survive with your sanity intact...if you can."

I am everywhere and nowhere, watching, waiting to see how deep into the abyss she's willing to go. The first trial begins without warning.

I watch as she stands before a mirror, mind-wiped and perfectly unaware of the trial at hand. She goes about her morning routine, stopping to notice her reflection is wrong. It smiles at her with too many teeth, eyes bulging unnaturally. As she watches in horror, her reflection's jaw unhinges, and a torrent of spiders pours out.

Aria screams, stumbling backward, only to feel something crawling up her throat. She retches, and to her terror, spiders begin spilling from her own mouth, an endless stream of skittering legs and gleaming eyes.

Just as panic threatens to overwhelm her, the spiders vanish. But there's no relief, for now she's falling, plummeting through the darkness. She lands with a sickening splash in the middle of a vast, black swamp.

Her second worst fear.

Deep, dark water.

She gasps, surely immediately regretting it as the putrid air fills her lungs. The "water" around her is lightless, more like tar than liquid, and seems to pull at her, trying to drag her down. She can see that the surface stretches endlessly in all directions. There is no shore, no salvation – only an infinite expanse of black, bubbling ooze.

She tries to swim, screaming, pure delicious terror and panic emanating, but her movements are sluggish, as if the very medium around her is resisting her efforts. Each stroke sends ripples across the surface, disturbing things better left undisturbed.

The stench of rot and decay fills her nostrils as she struggles to keep her head above the viscous muck. Each movement only seems to drag her deeper. In the distance, pale lights flicker – will-o'-the-wisps promising salvation, but leading only to deeper waters.

"Help!" she cries out, her voice swallowed by the oppressive darkness. "Please, someone help me!"

But no help comes. Instead, cold, clammy hands grasp at her legs, slowly pulling her down.

The black water rises to her chin, then her nose.

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