Page 74 of Darkness and Deceit
Lilith puts a hand on her chest and closes her eyes. Her other hand twitches slightly at her side.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then, a faint purple light appears.
Her fox shows up first, ears twitching as it moves around the edge of the circle.
Her deer follows, moving gracefully. Its antlers are wide, and its eyes are gentle but watchful. It steps forward carefully and stops just behind her, standing still.
Lilith opens her eyes and turns slightly to see them both, gasping softly.
“I did it,” she says. “I didn’t expect them to come so easily.”
“I’d say they trust you now,” I reply, feeling a sense of awe. “You’ve earned it.”
Lilith blinks quickly, holding back tears, then takes a slow breath and nods.
Her fox playfully nips at my bear’s ankle. My bear huffs in amusement and pretends to snap back, but he doesn’t really try.
Lilith laughs suddenly, and I realize how much I’ve missed that sound. It’s the first time I’ve heard it in days, maybe longer. It feels light and freeing.
“They’re so different,” she says, still watching her Shadows.
“So are you,” I respond.
Her fox prowls closer, sleek and silent, weaving figure-eights around her legs. Her deer stands a pace behind—majestic and vigilant. Predator and Prey. Two halves of one impossible whole. Their presence hums through the air like a heartbeat—ancient, elemental, hers.
No one’s supposed to be both. But Lilith is. And it doesn’t feel wrong.
It feels inevitable.
I notice Lilith is standing a little straighter. Not like she’s bracing—but like she’s stepping into her own. Like her spine just remembered it could carry what the world said she couldn’t.
The air stirs with her magic, just powerful enough to raise the hairs on my arms. Like her magic is stretching its legs for the first time. Learning how far it can reach. How deep it can root. There’s something thrumming through her now—something sharp and hungry andalive.
I swallow, suddenly aware of how warm it’s gotten. Of how much quieter the clearing feels—like the whole place is holding its breath. Even my bear has gone still, watching her. Like even he knows something is shifting inside her.
“Now we teach you how to move with them,” I say, slowly. “To wield them like an extension of your own will.”
She’s so strong. Stronger than ever. But strength like this—unshaped, untempered—doesn’t always bend.
“Lilith…” I pause. “This bond between you, your Predator, and your Prey is powerful. But power like this? If you force it before it’s ready, it could bite back. Hard.”
She doesn’t bristle or argue. Instead, her gaze lifts to mine, shining with something that almost looks like wonder. Or maybe… relief.
“I know,” she says. “But I’m not afraid of it anymore.”
The words hit deep—like a promise she’s making to herself. And gods, the strength in her could crack mountains.
But this world?
It doesn’t care if she’s strong. Only if she obeys. Because ofwhatshe is.
I’m not afraid of her power.
I’m afraid of what they’ll do to her for daring to wield it.
We train until the sun slips below the horizon, until sweat slicks her temples and her shadows flicker and fade from effort. Her focus never breaks. But I see it in her eyes—every time her gaze strays toward the direction of the academy, toward Kai.
Finally, I step forward. “That’s enough for today.”
