Chapter2

It wasn’t that Vivian had suddenly grown a conscience; rather, the gravity in the entire basement was forcefully hijacked by a terrifying, alien power in that split second.

I retracted the silver light dancing in my pupils, waiting silently to see who was about to make an entrance. A second later, I caught it. A subtle scent drifting through the suffocating air. The crisp, clean smell of laundry detergent. It was the exact scent that lingered on the boy next door, the one in the white T-shirt chopping wood.

Boom!

A deafening explosion shattered the air directly above us. The ceiling violently caved in, sending a massive shockwave cascading downward, unleashing a merciless torrent of fragmented concrete and twisted rebar.

A blinding, brilliant golden light crashed into the room.

Before Vivian could even let out a shriek, the violent blast radius sent her flying helplessly across the room. The silver dagger slipped from her grip, clattering sharply against the stone floor.

Keeping my silver eyes open, I stared through the swirling, suffocating dust. The abyssal monstrosity that had just been drooling over me in the shadows—the very entity my father had sacrificed everything to worship—was now cowering in the corner. Whatever part of its colossal frame had emerged from the void was now pinned violently to the dirt, letting out pathetic, trembling whimpers of absolute submission.

A pair of heavy boots stepped through the settling debris. It was him.

He was still wearing the exact same white T-shirt and faded jeans from when he was chopping wood in his yard that afternoon. But the sunny, carefree expression that had flashed me that brilliant smile was entirely gone.

Violent arcs of golden lightning coiled down the tight lines of his forearms like deadly pythons, snapping and crackling furiously around his fingertips. He cast a disgusted, lethal glance at the trembling beast. The suffocating demonic stench that had leaked from this basement was what had drawn him here.

"Who... who are you?!" Father scrambled backward on the ground in pure terror, clawing on all fours toward the edge of the blood circle.

Seeing that the man ignored him entirely, my father whipped his head around and shrieked maniacally at the demon. "Tear him to shreds! My lord! I offer you every last cent of my wealth—rip his throat out! Right now!"

The demon didn't even dare to raise its head. Instead, it buried its snout deeper into the dirt, its massive body shaking uncontrollably.

Father snatched up a jagged piece of broken rebar from the ruins, recklessly brandishing it in front of himself. "Stay back! What do you want? Money? Offshore accounts? Or are you here for the girl's eyes too? I'll gouge them out for you! Just give me a fraction of your magic to extend my life—"

Caleb’s gaze never lingered on my father for even a split second. As he strode past him, Caleb effortlessly brought the heavy, black sole of his boot down, driving it squarely into my father's face.

Crunch.

"Mmph—!" The agonized scream was brutally choked off before it could even escape, pulverized back down his throat by the leather crushing his mouth. Only muffled, broken whimpers leaked out from underneath.

Over in the corner, Vivian cradled her shattered right arm. Trembling so violently her teeth chattered, she shrank against the wall. "Monster..." She couldn't even scream it; the pure terror had utterly robbed her of the strength to flee or speak smoothly.

Stepping right over my father's limp, mud-like body, the man finally stopped at the edge of the altar.

Just as he approached, an antique brass astrolabe hanging from his belt suddenly whirred to life. The intricate, celestial gears spun wildly before locking into place, emitting a breathtaking beam of starlight. The ethereal light pointed directly at me, perfectly resonating with the lingering silver glow in my left eye.

Caleb froze.

He looked down at the glowing astrolabe, then slowly raised his eyes to my face. The realization washed over him entirely. The foul demonic miasma in this house had masked my trace, but the compass confirmed it—I was the one. The destined Heir of the Oracle he had been waiting and searching for across endless time.

He lowered his head and reached his hand out to me. I smelled it again. That sun-drenched, crisp scent of laundry detergent, even stronger and more intoxicating than before.

Deep within those ruthless, storm-filled eyes, the icy killing intent instantly melted away. What surged in its place was an incredibly overwhelming wave of tenderness, profound relief, and aching sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he spoke quietly, his thumb gently brushing a streak of dirt from my cheek. "I’m Caleb. I arrived a little late."

Then, without even bothering to turn around to face the room, his voice plunged into absolute ice.

"Elara. How do you want these pieces of trash to die?"