From the Elven Homeland to the Holy Capital, Belial took merely a day.
By the time she arrived, night had long since fallen. She found a modest inn near the academy and settled in, planning to head to the school the following morning.
That night, she dreamed.
The sky in her dream was a dull, oppressive gray, the air thick with humidity, pressing down on everything like an unseen weight. Even the colors around her were muted, as if drained of life.
She knew this placea cemetery.
She also recognized the black mourning dress she wore, the same one from her adoptive mothers funeral. It must have been the day the ceremony ended, when everyone else had long since departed, leaving her alone before the grave, yearning for just a little more time to speak with the woman who had raised her.
She could no longer recall the exact words she had spoken that day. Only that, at some point, her voice had simply faded, swallowed by silence as she stared at the picture on the tombstone.
The woman in the photograph had a gentle, loving face, her golden-brown curls cascading down her shoulders. If not for the name engraved beneath, no one would have imagined that someone so serene and kind could bear the name Liliththe same name as the legendary Dark Witch of old.
Perhaps it was fate that she and Belial shared a similar burden, both having suffered the weight of their names since childhood. Persecuted. Reviled. Always the subject of whispered condemnation. And perhaps that was why Lilith had always been so endlessly patient and kind to her.
Belial sat in silence, lost in thought, until the sound of approaching footsteps disrupted the stillness.
The funeral had ended hours ago. She assumed it was just another visitor paying respects to their own departed, so she paid it no minduntil the footsteps halted directly behind her.
Her senses, keener than her reflexes, had already identified the intruders before she even turned around. The motion to rise stalled in her limbs, her gaze dropping from Liliths photograph to the ground.
One of the figures stepped forward, kneeling before the tombstone to place a large bouquet of daisies at its base.
The gloved hand that arranged the flowers was covered in black lace, adorned with pearls. When it withdrew, a cold, cutting voice shattered the silence.
"Lilith was a kind woman. Her greatest mistake was taking you in."
The voice continued, laden with bitterness and quiet sorrow.
"Now, you understand, dont you? You are a calamity. Everyone around you dies. You never should have been born."
Belial turned her head and met the eyes of the speaker.
A woman in an elegant black gown stood before her, her face partially veiled in dark silk, her posture impeccable, her presence immaculate.
Belials mother.
Behind her, standing in rigid silence, was a golden-haired elf clad in mourning attire.
Her father.
They were a perfect couplebeloved, respected, admired. Everyone who spoke of them praised their devotion to each other.
And yet, this devoted couple had brought Belial into the world without love, regarding her very existence as nothing but a grave mistake.
How utterly absurd.
Belial stared at them, and something long buried within her finally broke free. A rage so vast and all-consuming that it shattered its own restraints.
A murderous intent roared through her veins, howling like a tempest, sending startled birds scattering from the trees.
Before another breath could pass, she lunged.
Her mother, standing closest, was her first target. The air warped in her wake, her crimson slit-pupils burning through the darkness as she struck.
Had it not been for her fathers swift intervention, her mother would have been torn apart in an instant. But as he pulled his wife from harms way, Belial effortlessly redirected her assault
And drove her hand straight through his abdomen.
Then, the battle truly began.
Belials strength could not be measured against her peers.
She was too different. Too unnatural.
So much so that, years ago, an imperial general had once attempted to conscript her into the army, declaring that it was her destiny to serve as a living weapon for the Empire. It was only Liliths fierce refusaland her fathers quiet interferencethat had buried the proposal before it could take root.
And now, here she was, pitted against her own flesh and blood in a battle so fierce that it nearly razed the entire graveyard to the ground.
Only the arrival of bystanders and law enforcement forced them apart, dragging the three of them back to a tenuous ceasefire.
Belial cared little for their horrified stares. She simply turned away, ignoring the wounds riddling her body, and walked back toward Liliths grave.
Miraculously, despite the devastation around them, the tombstone stood unscathedprotected by her instinctive control. That was all that mattered.
She bent down, picked up the daisies, and, with undisguised disdain, tossed them over her shoulderlanding them squarely at her fathers feet, where he lay receiving treatment.
The act was an open provocation, and her father responded in kind, spitting out the same words she had heard a thousand times before:
"I should have killed you."
Not when she had grown strong enough to resist.
But when she was young. Weak. Defenseless.
Belial had often wondered about this. Their hatred for her had existed for as long as she could remember.
If they had truly wanted her dead, why hadn't they acted during her childhood?
Among humans, childhood lasted from ages two to twelve. But elves were long-lived, and as a half-blood, her development had been uncertain. In the end, her childhood had stretched from ten years old to sixtyfifty whole years in which they could have erased her existence.
So why hadn't they?
"You look just like the Duchess."
The voice of Gu Lian whispered through the fragments of her dream.
And that was the answer.
Belial awoke.
The window had been left open the night before, and the morning breeze had stirred the curtains. Sunlight streamed in, blindingly bright against her sleep-laden eyes.
So began another wretched day.
Grumbling, she rolled out of bed, quickly dressed, and took the carriage she had reserved the night before, arriving at the gates of the First Arcane Academy.
The towering iron gates loomed before her, barring her path. Beyond them lay sprawling fields of grass, leading toward the castle at the heart of the academy.
And, unexpectedly, a new additionone she did not recognize from her school days.
A stone sentinel, standing two meters tall, regarded her with an eerily sentient gaze.
"Name and purpose?" it inquired.
Belial answered, presenting the headmasters letter of invitation as proof.
The statue scrutinized the document, then tilted its head.
"Oh yes, I see your name on the list, and the handwriting does appear to belong to the headmaster. But tell me, is this truly your name? Forgive my impertinence, but I see two names upon you, and one is not so pleasant. Could it be that you have stolen someones identity? Heaven forbid! I cannot allow you entry if that is the caseI must safeguard the students within!"
Belial gave the statue a long, deadpan stare.
"With all due respect," she drawled, "you should be writing detective novels, not standing guard at a gate."
The throbbing pain in her bones made her irritable. Had she not come here for a purpose, she would have sought out a tavern instead, drowned herself in liquor, and waited for the ache to subside. Instead, she was stuck listening to a sentient rock.
[Shatter it. Silence it.]
A whisper curled in her ears.
She took a slow breath. No. Not yet.
She needed the academys resources first. She would complete her work, borrow the books she required, and thenthenshe could obliterate the statue at her leisure.
Just as her patience began to wear thin, a professor arrived.
A woman named Miller, severe in both demeanor and dress. Belial had never seen her beforelikely because the woman had already passed away by her time.
Unlike the statue, Miller did not waste words. She confirmed the authenticity of the letter, cast Belial a wary glance, and led her inside.
Had Miller been aware of what was to come, perhaps she would have hesitated.
But she had only seen a newly-adult half-elf, and how dangerous could that possibly be?