The Adventures of Sorceress Miya

Chapter 1. Night

Miya Lancaster.

The Kingdom of Veindor. The Human Academy of Magic. This was the quarter where less affluent mages and students who could not afford private lodgings usually lived. Magic was a constant presence here—someone was always practicing illusions, while someone else was trying to brew potions on a windowsill. But what was happening in one of those attic rooms today went far beyond any ordinary bit of student mischief.

Warm, almost tangible gold from the candlelight lazily spread into the corners of the dim room, picking out the spines of ancient grimoires and the heavy, looming shadows cast by the furniture. On the floor, drawn in ritual charcoal and sealed with the fresh blood of a five-toed mountain starling, a flawless summoning circle pulsed with power. The geometry of its lines hummed with the magic woven into them, straining beneath some colossal pressure from beyond.

Incredible. She had actually done it.

Miya stood frozen, scarcely daring to breathe. Her eyes widened with a wild, intoxicating mixture of ecstasy and soul-chilling terror as darkness began to gather at the center of the circle, violently tearing through the very fabric of space. The spell had worked without a single flaw. She—a mere low-ranking student who had dared to steal a forbidden high-level summoning scroll right out from under the masters' noses—had accomplished the impossible.

When she was a child, her father, a mage of no great strength who had never risen beyond the rank of apprentice, took her every year to the Academy's founding festival. Amid the noisy crowds and brilliant displays of magic, mages and sorcerers, as well as the Academy's students, performed all manner of wonders, turning water into wine, the living into the inanimate and back again, and summoning terrifying demons.

Holding her father's hand tightly, Miya would watch with breathless fascination and just a hint of fear, dreaming that one day she would stand there herself and command the true, living darkness of the Abyss! Later, as she grew older, she learned that most of those demons were nothing more than expertly crafted phantoms, but the childhood dream had already sunk its roots too deeply into her. She swore that one day she would summon a real demon and become the greatest sorceress of her age. And now, at last, it seemed that her childhood ambitions were taking physical form before her very eyes.

The darkness within the circle dispersed, and the demon fully materialized.

At first glance, he could have been mistaken for a human—an extraordinarily handsome, wicked-looking man with sharp, predatory, aristocratic features. He appeared no older than twenty-seven. Graceful as a panther poised to spring and nearly two meters tall, he stood completely barefoot within the pentagram. His only clothing was a simple black silk shirt with the collar left open and a pair of dark, close-fitting trousers cropped above the ankles. Miya also noticed a neat slit in the fabric at the back, through which a long tail, black as midnight, was visible. It moved of its own accord, slowly and fluidly, like a cat's tail, almost as though it belonged to a creature separate from the rest of his body—not nervously, not threateningly, but with the same lazy grace that defined his entire appearance.

The demon's hair was black as the Abyss itself, from which he had been summoned. It fell untidily across his forehead, but two unmistakable details instantly shattered the illusion of human elegance. His eyes burned with molten, poisonous gold, their pupils narrow vertical slits, while his fingers were tipped with claws black as pitch and sharp enough to make anyone think twice about getting close.

Such a primal, concentrated sense of danger radiated from him that everything inside Miya contracted into an icy knot, while the soul she had never given much thought to before seemed to flee straight to her feet. As the demon completed his manifestation, the air in the room instantly grew heavy, thick with the smell of ozone and dry, scorched earth. She tried to reassure herself mentally.

If I put an illusion over his eyes, hide the claws... and the tail... he could walk through any city without attracting the slightest attention. He'd make the perfect bodyguard. All that remained was to recite the formula of absolute obedience and fasten the mental collar around the demon's neck.

Gathering every last drop of her rapidly evaporating courage, the girl drew a deep breath, raised her chin defiantly, and parted her lips, ready to unleash the thunderous weave of the spell. But before she could utter a single sound, a lazy, mocking, endlessly weary velvet voice tore through the silence of the room.

“So?”

Miya choked on the first word, breaking into a fit of coughing and doubling over, instantly losing all the majestic grandeur of a dark sorceress queen.

Kron.

A High Demon known simply as Kron was not merely annoyed. He was furious—a fury he concealed masterfully behind a mask of lazy, feline indifference.

He had not been dragged away from some tedious task, nor interrupted in the middle of the usual, exhausting routine of the Infernal Realm, such as torturing sinners or sorting infernal paperwork. The summoning magic had rudely yanked him away at the single worst possible moment. For the past two hours, Kron had been conducting a flawless, subtle seduction of a devilishly delectable demoness.

The conversation had flowed like wine, things had been steadily progressing toward the bedroom, and the little minx had already been biting her plump lips, stretching provocatively, and arching her back with a promise of an unforgettable night. Kron had been just about to make his move when—snap. A sudden rupture in reality, a flash of someone else's magic, and here he was. His evening had been ruined, completely and irrevocably. Even if he dealt with this mortal in a matter of seconds, there would be no way to return to that exact moment and recapture the same mood. Which meant that this insolent summoner owed him compensation. Of the most depraved kind.

The laws of creation were absolute, so Kron obeyed the summons. Even during the transition, the experienced predator tested his restraints. Much to his profound annoyance, the binding circle imprisoning him had been drawn flawlessly. There was not a single mistake in the runes, and the geometry vibrated with raw power.

Kron took his time looking around, assessing the situation. A small, rather cozy attic room: a chest of drawers, a table, a couple of chairs, a wide bed against the wall, a rolled-up rug... and a thoroughly terrified girl standing frozen in the center of the room, outside the summoning circle. Kron's tail flicked behind him, slow and thoughtful, like a cat whose interest had suddenly been piqued.

Demons of the Abyss, seriously? Kron had genuinely expected to find a shrewd archmage, deeply entangled in court intrigues, with whom he could negotiate a few profitable deals. Instead, standing before him was a walking disaster dressed in a stiff corset, tight trousers, and a long cloak trailing across the floor.

The girl was paralyzed with fear. Kron could clearly see her knees trembling beneath the folds of her cloak, her fingers gripping the fabric so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. And yet she was doing her absolute best to play the role of a fierce queen—shoulders squared, face frozen in an expression of haughty superiority. But her wide, terrified pupils gave her away completely.

With a mental sigh, Kron decided to prod the poor thing into action before she fainted from sheer terror.

“So?” he repeated, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head slightly.

The mortal swallowed convulsively, struggling to catch her breath, and finally managed to force out her first words. Proud, loud, and almost shrill:

“State your name, demon!”

Kron could not restrain himself. He let out an openly contemptuous laugh, followed by a yawn that exposed pearly white fangs sharper than anything a human could possess.

Has she lost her mind? Summon a High Demon through a generic key without even knowing whom she's calling or why? Judging by that warlike yet panicked tone, she isn't bluffing. Which means only one thing: this little fool found an ancient text, memorized the pronunciation, and read it aloud without bothering to translate the text or learn the terms of the bargain.

Kron slowly and fluidly paced along the edge of the circle, like an enormous, well-fed cat studying a mouse. His tail went still behind him—then, with one sudden, swift, soundless motion, sliced through the air as though drawing a line beneath some private conclusion. His gaze, heavy and lingering, openly undressed her, sliding over her figure before coming to rest on the curve of her hips and the breasts pushed upward by her corset. Under that gaze, the girl faltered at once, her face flooding with a deep, burning blush, and she took a timid step backward, earning another mocking smile from Kron.

He studied her aura, expecting to find the familiar filth that usually drove mortals to summon creatures of the Abyss. But to his surprise, the girl's mental field was remarkably clean. There was no rot in her, no trace of betrayal, cowardly informer's instincts, petty spite, or vile deeds. She was proud, ambitious, foolish, and desperate—but she was not corrupt.

This one will be fun to play with.

“Kron,” he introduced himself, letting his voice rumble low and seductive, like the whisper of gold slipping through one's fingers.

Miya Lancaster.

A triumphant spark instantly lit up in the sorceress's eyes. He gave me his name! He is submitting, and he can't cross the line! The terror inside her retreated for a fraction of a second, giving way to pure, intoxicating triumph. If this monster had acknowledged her power, then it was time to put him to work.

Gathering all the mental energy she could muster, she rattled off the formula of absolute enslavement in a rapid, ringing stream of words. Miya poured every ounce of her will and the last remnants of her mana into the spell, expecting the circle to flare a furious crimson as it forged an unbreakable bond inside his mind...

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The protective runes on the floor did not even flicker. No connection formed. The demon merely narrowed his impossible yellow eyes, sparks of open, mocking amusement dancing deep within them. Meanwhile, his tail slowly stretched straight out behind him, almost ceremonially, and came to a stop pointing directly at her forehead. For a moment, Miya could have sworn even the tail was laughing at her.

“How old are you, girl?” he asked. The High Demon's icy tone was now heavily seasoned with an irony that made the sorceress want nothing more than to stamp her foot in frustration.

“I am not a girl!” she snapped, feeling the heat of shame and anger flood her cheeks. “And that's none of your business!”

Why didn't the spell work? She had checked the structure three times! The demonology textbooks said it in black and white... wait. What exactly had they said about High Demons?

“Oh, not a girl anymore, are you?” Kron smirked, and that predatory smile made her shrink inwardly once again. He was simply playing with her like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse. “And yet? I need a number for the records, my precious.”

“Twenty-three,” she muttered reluctantly, steadying her breathing and doing everything in her power not to look at his bare chest. Or his tail. Especially his tail, which was now swaying lazily from side to side—completely independent, completely smug.

Chapter 2: The Bargain

Kron.

Kron raised an eyebrow mentally—strictly mentally; his face remained an impeccable mask of haughty superiority.

Only twenty-three years old, and the density of her magical core was comparable to that of an experienced adept on the verge of becoming a master. Humans usually spent years laboring away in their academies, often well into their thirties, just to accumulate that much pure energy. The girl's potential was astronomical. She was clearly running through several more domination spells in her head—he could feel her aura repeatedly and furiously battering against his barrier. Useless, little fool. The very circle that bound him also protected him from any attempt on her part to enslave him. As did the contract itself, for that matter.

Realizing that her magic was simply crashing against a wall of stone, the girl finally stopped wasting her strength and glared at him from beneath her brows like a battered but terrifyingly proud kitten.

“All right, ‘not a girl anymore,’” Kron purred, lazily examining his black claws. “Tell me, if you don't mind... all those years of diligent instruction, and the great mages never bothered to teach you such basic things as reading and writing? How long ago did you actually finish your education, by the way? Did you run away a couple of days ago?”

The girl's face flared so fiercely red that she might as well have been doused in fire.

“Of course I can read!” she shouted, desperately trying to recover what little remained of her lost bravado. “And I only started my training two years ago! And I didn't run away from anywhere!”

Only two years? Kron was genuinely stunned, though not a single muscle in his face betrayed it. With an aura like that, the girl possessed phenomenal talent. It was probably best that she didn't know it yet, or her ego would completely eclipse the rest of her judgment. Still, raw power was one thing, while basic knowledge was another—and she was catastrophically lacking in the latter. Well, Kron would be more than happy to enlighten the young lady. For a suitable price, of course.

The demon smiled slyly and gave her a light, elegant half-bow.

“You see, my precious, the spell you used to summon me isn't some simple call for a household pet. It automatically activates a contract known as the Voluntary Agreement. It was invented by ancient mages who, unlike you, simply couldn't be bothered with all the tedious business of suppressing a demon's will and fastening slave collars around their necks. The concept is simple: you summon me, state your objective, and name your price. I stand here, listen, and decide whether I am gracious enough to work for such a paltry offering. If I disagree, you name another price. And so on until we reach a consensus. Once we do, I perform the task, you pay, and I disappear. And here is the most exquisite part—all of it must be entirely voluntary. The magical circles make sure of that. So forget about slavery, little witch. You can start erasing the charcoal.”

“Liar!” she shot back haughtily, although her voice betrayed her with a tremor at the end, and her knees began trembling again.

Kron could see every cell in her body screaming that this terrifying, unbearably attractive monster was telling the truth. But admitting it meant admitting complete defeat. She clearly hadn't prepared for negotiations. She had planned to snap her fingers and acquire a loyal dog.

Kron merely snorted, shifting his weight and taking half a step forward.

“Sadly, no. The contract is already active, and you won't be able to terminate it without offering terms—the magic of the circle will drain your mana to the last drop. So, what is it you want from a High Demon?”

“What... what are demons usually summoned for?” she asked, desperately trying to buy herself as much time as possible, frantically searching for a way out of the situation without losing face.

Kron snapped his claws, producing a brief blood-red spark that dissolved into the air with a dry crack.

“Oh, the range of services is quite broad. But there are two things I excel at above all others: eliminating another mage cleanly... or stealing whatever they guard most fiercely. In those areas, I am absolutely flawless.”

Miya Lancaster.

The demon's words hung in the air, heavy as a storm cloud just before lightning flashed and the rain came pouring down.

Kill or steal. Two offers. Two paths. One word, and the High Demon she had summoned without even knowing what she was doing would carry out whatever she asked of him. Provided she could afford his price. What could she possibly offer him? And what would it cost?

Kill. Faces surfaced in her memory. People who—no, who had not actually harmed her, but whose actions had irritated her. Roderick Darrow, for instance. That greasy smirk of his and the filthy look in his eyes. The son of a duke from a neighboring kingdom, whose magical power was inferior to hers but whose arrogance and audacity rivaled even this demon's. If not exceeded it. She remembered how, just last week, he had cornered her against a wall in the library corridor and, patting the bulging purse at his belt, offered to “pay her in one evening what, according to him, neither she nor her father would ever earn in a lifetime.” Only the sudden appearance of one of the teaching mages had allowed her to escape Roderick, but his words had lingered in her mind for a long time, along with the burning tears that had sprung to her eyes. It had been insulting. Very. And humiliating.

Then there were the Graves twins. Yes, they were handsome. Yes, they were magically gifted. But they were completely incapable of keeping their mouths shut. Their whispers behind her back were never loud, but always calculated so that she would hear every word, making her blush and lower her eyes to her notebooks. “Penniless commoner.” “Daughter of a failure.” “What does she even think she's doing at the Academy?” They didn't care in the slightest that she had completed three years of coursework in just two. She was beneath them socially, and that gave them every excuse they needed to look down on her. They were not dukes like Darrow, but they were barons. Then there was Countess Morian. She simply looked at anyone beneath her station as though they were servants.

Miya clenched her teeth. It had always been like this. Social status never seemed to remember that the Academy charter contained a law guaranteeing equal treatment to every student. But kill them? She imagined Roderick Darrow lying on the stone floor, his eyes staring blankly into nothing. She imagined the twins—two cheerful, empty-headed, but very much alive young men. And to her own surprise, she shuddered. Brrr. No. Even thinking about killing someone for something like that left a cold, slippery feeling in the pit of her stomach. Yes, she despised their propositions, their actions, and their words. But not enough to take their lives. She was not a murderer.

But steal? Something like... books.

Miya's heart began to beat faster.

Several forbidden tomes from that very section where only Magisters were permitted—those who had advanced beyond the tenth year of study and formally earned the title of Mage. Those who had completed the entire course of study. Access to that section was completely forbidden to Miya, a third-year student.

Her father had spent almost fifteen years at the rank of Apprentice. Sixth year, seventh, eighth, ninth... He had honestly tried to pass the examinations to become a Mage again and again—and failed every single time. A lack of knowledge and a lack of power had made every attempt futile. Miya remembered how he used to return home after the examinations: exhausted, but still smiling gently as he ruffled her hair and told her that next year would surely be the year he succeeded. Next year. And the next. And the next. Until one day, when she was five years old, he simply stopped trying.

And now here she stood in the middle of the attic—a third-year student who had already stolen a forbidden scroll and summoned a High Demon in violation of every law of the Academy... If she obtained those books, she could leap over several ranks at once. Become an Apprentice at twenty-three instead of twenty-five. Well, twenty-three, perhaps. She would still need time to study whatever the demon brought her. She could surpass her father by more than ten years and walk the road where he had stumbled...

“What would you demand in return?” she murmured, barely loud enough to be heard, hoping the demon wouldn't notice.

She raised her eyes. Kron stood leaning against the edge of the binding circle as though it were a wall, arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted slightly. Sparks of lazy, well-fed curiosity danced in his yellow eyes. He had not taken his gaze off her for a second while she thought. He was simply waiting for her answer—or her next move. The demon's tail lazily tapped its tip against the stone floor, measured and methodical, as though counting down the seconds. Kron looked like a cat who already knew perfectly well that the mouse wasn't going anywhere. And Miya understood that with painful clarity. The mouse was her. But there was no other way. Or, at least, she couldn't think of one.

Gathering the last remnants of her dwindling courage, she straightened her shoulders and began to speak.

“I need you to...” she began, her voice almost firm. But something broke on the very next word. “...I need you to get into the vault. The Forbidden Section. There are tomes there that...”

She faltered. The very words—get into the vault—cut painfully against her ears. This was theft. Actual, criminal theft. If she were caught, they wouldn't merely expel her. They would burn out her magical core and throw her through the Academy gates in disgrace, her name a scandal throughout Veindor. Her father would learn that his daughter was a thief. The Magisters, who had barely noticed her existence until now, would finally notice her—only to crush her.

“...that I don't have access to,” she finished almost in a whisper, lowering her eyes to her own boots. The tips of her ears were burning.

Kron did not move, silently waiting for her to continue. And she forced herself onward, telling him about the seven seals, the clearance granted only to Magisters, the protective enchantments, and the silver runes carved into the ironwood door. And then—Miya herself wasn't sure how the words escaped her—she made the last, and probably the stupidest, mistake of the entire evening.

“What do you want for it?” she asked, looking up. “What is your price?”

She stopped herself immediately, but it was too late. The words had already been spoken. Somewhere deep inside, in the corner of her mind that fear had not yet completely paralyzed, she heard the voice of one of her instructors, Magister Laurent, teaching their demonology course.

“Remember this! When summoning a demon—even the simplest janitor—never, under any circumstances, ask what the summoned creature wants in return! Name your price first. Otherwise, you give it the right to demand anything it likes. And this is especially important when summoning a succubus or an incubus! Stop giggling! As though I don't know whose summoning every student learns first. Or who spends the most time recovering in the healing ward afterward!”

The demon smiled.

It was not the mocking smirk he had worn before. Nor was it the casual yawn with which he had displayed his fangs. This was the predatory, almost tender smile of a creature that had just heard exactly what it had been waiting—and hoping—to hear. Miya could almost physically hear the click of a mousetrap snapping shut inside her head. Except this time, she was the one caught in it.

The demon let the silence linger—just long enough for the quiet of the attic to become unbearable. By then, she had already imagined every possible punishment and execution. Then he finally spoke, quietly and almost lazily, as though discussing something utterly ordinary.

“The standard price for a service like that is a soul...”

“No!” Miya cried.

Kron did not even raise an eyebrow. Only his tail swayed behind him, slow and fluid as a pendulum.

“...but that isn't what I'm after,” he continued in the same tone one might use to discuss the weather. “Your soul is too... pure. Too stubborn. You'd fight me over it, and I don't care for unnecessary trouble. Besides...”

He pushed away from the far edge of the circle and came closer, leisurely surveying the room as he did so. His gaze moved over the chest of drawers, the stack of textbooks on the table, the empty potion bottles. Then it stopped on her.

“You have nothing, little witch,” he concluded. “No gold, no rare mana gems, no respectable jewelry. You're not offering me your soul, and otherwise... there doesn't seem to be much left to offer.”

He paused for the briefest moment—and smiled. This time, something new flickered in his yellow eyes. Not mockery. Not a threat. Curiosity. Sharp, almost scientific curiosity.

“So I suggest we replace your soul with your body. For one night. That payment would suit me perfectly.”

Miya blinked.

My body? For one night? What does that even mean?

Fragments of books she had read rushed through her mind. Demonology lectures sometimes mentioned trials in which a student had to remain awake until dawn beside a summoned entity to prove their endurance. Or the “Night of Knowledge”—an ancient ritual in which a demon shared forbidden knowledge with a mage until exhaustion finally rendered them unconscious. Perhaps that was what he meant? Maybe Kron wanted to perform some kind of ritual. Transfer a portion of his power to her? Or test her will?

“Well, that's acceptable,” she murmured, and something resembling relief even crept into her voice. “I think I can—”

She raised her eyes—and the words died on her lips.

Kron was looking at her. And that gaze was nothing like the ones she had caught from men before. It was not the assessing squint of a Magister, nor Roderick Darrow's greasy grin, nor Countess Morian's contemptuous indifference. It was not even the demon's usual mocking stare. This gaze was different.

Slow. Heavy. Enveloping.

His eyes traveled across her face, lingering on her lips. Then they moved lower—along her throat, her shoulders, the line of her corset, pulled tight around her breasts. They traced the curve of her waist and followed her hips, tightly encased in her narrow trousers. There was not a trace of mockery in that gaze. Only frank, teasing, naked curiosity—a gaze so blatantly hungry that the air in the room suddenly seemed hotter.

He looked at her as though she were no longer standing in the middle of the attic fully dressed. As though the corset, trousers, and cloak had already ceased to exist.

Miya forgot how to breathe. Images rushed into her mind—inconvenient, uninvited, unbearable. Snippets of conversations she had overheard from older girls in the library. A half-erased page from an anatomy reference book that she had once flipped through far too quickly, her face burning scarlet. Someone's laughter in the corridor—“And he pushed her right against the wall, and she was like—oh!” Little fragments that had once seemed distant and utterly irrelevant to her suddenly assembled themselves into one sharp, blinding picture.

She understood. She finally understood exactly what the demon meant. Not a ritual. Not a trial. Not the transfer of knowledge.

Her body.

Herself.

In bed.

With him.

A thick, scorching blush—deeper than anything she had ever felt in her life—spread over her entire face. Her cheeks, forehead, neck, even the tips of her ears burned as though she were standing before an open furnace. A shiver ran down her spine, and her knees turned weak.

“Wait,” she breathed, her voice thin and plaintive, nothing like the voice she wanted to use. “What... what do you mean?”

“Exactly what you're thinking,” Kron replied. He did not move. Even his tail had gone still. Only his eyes continued to regard her with the same impossible, unabashed expression, the sheer openness of it making something inside her twist. “You will give me this night. All of it. The whole night, until dawn. You will be mine—in that very bed,” he added, nodding toward the bed. “Those are my terms, ‘not a girl anymore.’”

Miya opened her mouth—and found herself completely unable to speak.

Every word, every curse, every insult she had learned during her two years at the Academy caught somewhere in her throat. She could only stand there and stare at him like a rabbit caught before a snake, utterly incapable of deciding what to say to his proposition.

Kron.

He watched the girl and was openly amused.

It was almost indecently easy to read her. A twenty-three-year-old innocent little fool who had been memorizing formulas and worrying about being late for lectures that very morning was now standing before him with a face the color of a ripe cherry, desperately trying to understand exactly what she had just gotten herself into. Kron could see every thought as it crossed her face, as clearly as lines in an open book. There—she blinked. Realization. Her pupils widened as she finally understood what exactly he meant. Her lips trembled as she tried to say something, only for the words to catch in her throat. The intense blush gradually began to fade, only to return a moment later when another realization struck her, and Kron found the entire process immensely entertaining. She was cursing the day she had ever stolen that scroll, he was certain of it.

He could read her with the same ease with which he had once read seasoned intriguers in the courts of fallen kings. The difference was that those people required him to unravel elaborate puzzles made of lies, hints, and double meanings. Here... everything was written in enormous letters. Larger than the summoning runes beneath her feet.

Was she ashamed? Demons and shame were supposed to be incompatible concepts. And yet something vaguely resembling embarrassment stirred at the edge of his consciousness. No. She had called herself “not a girl anymore.” She had said it herself, without coercion, with her chin held high and her eyes blazing with defiance. Well, then. Let her stand by her words.

“You... you can't,” she whispered incredulously.

“I can,” he replied.

He said it softly, almost tenderly, but with absolute firmness. Somehow, that tone made her tremble more violently than a barked command ever could. Kron noticed the shiver running down her spine. He noticed her fingers tightening around the edge of her cloak. He noticed everything.

“And you know I can, little one,” he continued without raising his voice. “The contract is already active. You asked me what my price was, and I gave it to you.”

He allowed a tiny pause, just long enough for her to draw a breath instead of suffocating from terror. Then he lowered his voice slightly, letting it rumble somewhere just above a whisper, like distant thunder.

“Either you accept my terms and get your books.” He fell silent, giving her a moment to comprehend her situation. “Or the deal is void, and the magic of the circle will drain you dry. Slowly. Painfully. Until there isn't a drop left.”

She said nothing.

Kron watched her, continuing to read her emotions. Now she's thinking about her parents. He could tell by the way her lips softened for a moment, tenderness flashing in her eyes—the particular kind of tenderness reserved only for them. And now she's remembered someone else. The tightening of her jaw suggested that this time her thoughts were about someone who had humiliated her. Perhaps more than once. Perhaps for years.

And now she was thinking about what would happen if the deal fell apart.

She went pale.

Kron waited. He knew how to wait. Centuries had honed that skill to perfection. His tail went perfectly still behind him, not moving an inch. Even it seemed to understand that this was a moment when stillness was preferable. Let her decide. Let her make her choice. A choice he had carefully arranged so that there was only one answer.

And yet she surprised him, if only slightly.

“I...” Her voice broke. She swallowed and tried again. “I want to clarify something.”

Kron raised an eyebrow.

Was she negotiating? After all this? After he had stated his price and the contract had already registered her agreement to the bargain? That was unexpected. And, perhaps, worthy of a tiny measure of respect.

“If I... if I agree,” every word seemed to cost her an enormous effort, and Kron could see exactly how much courage it took simply to say them aloud, “you'll bring me the books. The ones I named. From the Forbidden Section. And after that I will...” She faltered, and another wave of crimson flooded her cheeks so fiercely that Kron almost smiled to himself. The poor thing could not even bring herself to say belong to you. “...I will spend the night with you. Until dawn. And everything will be strictly voluntary?”

“Strictly voluntary,” Kron confirmed.

Then he decided to make the choice a little sweeter for her.

“Once the task has been completed and the agreed payment made, the contract is fulfilled. Neither party will owe the other anything.”

He answered without his usual mockery. Without the game. Seriously.

Because for all her naivety, all her fear, and all her foolish bravado, she had just done something that not every Magister who had summoned him before her had been capable of doing. She had not broken. She had not begged. She had not tried to deceive him. She had accepted his terms, but she wanted the boundaries clearly defined.

The girl closed her eyes. She counted to five—Kron could see her lips moving. Then she opened them again.

“All right.” She said it loudly and clearly. “You bring me the books from the Forbidden Section, and in return I give you my bo... I give myself for the rest of the night.”

“Agreed.”

The words fell into the silence of the room like a stone dropped into still water. The boundary of the magical circle flashed and then faded, releasing Kron. The contract had been accepted.

Kron smiled and took a step toward her, and she immediately took a step backward.

He stopped.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now tell me more about the vault. Where exactly are your precious tomes kept? And what protections guard them?”

She exhaled, unaware that he already knew the answers to those questions. Unaware that he knew the Academy library better than any Magister currently alive. Unaware that he had already decided she would get the books.

Just not the ones she had asked for.

Better ones. Different ones. Books that would actually help her reach the next stage of her development.

But that would come later.

For now, she stood before him—flushed, frightened, but still unbroken—and prepared to tell him about the vault as though he had not stolen tomes from it back when her father had barely been tall enough to see over a table.

Kron settled in to listen.

And perhaps, for the first time in a very long while, he was genuinely interested.

Chapter 3: The Vault

Kron.

Kron listened to the girl's explanation with only half an ear.

Not because he was bored. Quite the opposite: watching her—flushed and breathless, rattling off the protective spells as though she had personally installed every one of them—was almost entertaining. But her information was laughably incomplete. Which was understandable, of course. She didn't know even half of the defensive system currently operating throughout the library. She knew nothing about the false doors on the fifth tier, nothing about the mirror trap in the gallery with its mental verification spell, and certainly nothing about the fact that the runes on the ironwood door changed configuration every six hours. Which meant that whatever she had painstakingly memorized from a three-year-old textbook—or perhaps merely glimpsed while studying in the common hall—was hopelessly outdated and not worth a damn.

He didn't correct her. Why bother? Let her take pride in her supposed knowledge. It didn't inconvenience him in the slightest.

When her stream of words finally ran dry, Kron pushed himself away from the wall and headed toward the window, moving with the unhurried grace of a predator that knew its prey had nowhere to go.

“All clear. Stay here, little witch. Don't leave the room, and don't touch the charcoal. Let's see what this so-called ‘Library of Knowledge’ of yours is all about. Abyss! When will you people learn to give things names without all the unnecessary grandeur? And don't close the window, little one!”

He didn't turn around, but he could practically feel the girl scowling at his back. She said nothing. Smart. Neither of them needed another pointless argument, and there was, after all, a grain of truth in what Kron had said.

In one swift, fluid movement, he caught hold of the window frame. One casual flick of his tail, and the iron latch snapped cleanly in two with a soft, plaintive chime. Kron slipped outside, held the shutter open for a fraction of a second, and jumped.

The darkness beyond swallowed him without a trace—no sound, no rustle, not even a disturbance in the air. He reached the central library tower within minutes, neither hurrying nor dawdling. Moving through shadows was second nature to him; there was no lock in this world capable of keeping out a High Demon. Especially not one who knew exactly where he was going.

And Kron knew.

He knew the layout of every section better than any living Magister. Centuries ago, he had worked alongside the current head of the Academy—back when Kalleas had still been a young, ambitious Magister who had yet to reach the peak of his power—on the very project that had created the Forbidden Section. They had placed seals. Woven spells into stone. Argued themselves hoarse over precisely which kinds of knowledge should be locked away from the outside world and which should remain accessible. It was then, more out of stubbornness than necessity, though necessity had certainly played its part, that the two of them had created a secret chamber. A chamber so well hidden that only a handful of living mages even knew it existed.

Kron hadn't thought about it in years. But tonight, while listening to the girl's halting explanation, he had decided to pay it a visit. First, however, there was the formal part of their bargain to fulfill.

Slipping through the protective wards surrounding the Forbidden Section, he entered the chamber like water flowing through a door that had not been properly shut. Not a single rune flared. Not a single guardian stirred. The centuries-old magic woven by the finest minds of the Academy recognized him—for part of that very magic had once been his own.

The books Miya had requested were easy enough to find. Four heavy leather-bound volumes that smelled of dust and age: Fundamentals of Elemental Flow Transmutation, A Treatise on the Subjugation of Will, Keys to the Gates of Perception, and Compendium of Forbidden Third-Circle Rituals.

Ambitious. Dangerous. And, as it happened, completely useless to a third-year student.

The first volume alone would burn through her mana channels before she made it to the second chapter. The second would break her will and enslave her mind. The book possessed the rudiments of a consciousness of its own. The third would simply drive her insane, while the last would kill her outright.

Kron smirked as he placed the four tomes into a shadow-woven satchel. The girl had asked for them, so the girl would get them. And if she broke her own neck in the process, that would be her problem. Still, to keep her from doing exactly that too quickly, he would place restrictions on the books. A small mark that would prevent the text on their pages from appearing unless she was capable of actually comprehending it.

Before leaving the library, however, he stopped and turned into a side passage, gliding past dusty shelves bearing the warning DANGEROUS ARTIFACTS — NO ENTRY WITHOUT MAGISTERIAL CLEARANCE, until he reached a blank stone wall.

The place where they had sealed away that secret chamber.

There was no door here. No runes. No sign. Only an old, faded tapestry depicting a dragon biting its own tail.

Kron touched the dragon's eye with the tip of one black claw. The stone beneath the tapestry trembled, rippling like water, then parted as it recognized the one who had been granted access, revealing a narrow chamber carved directly into the thickness of the wall. Inside, on a single shelf of black obsidian, lay ...