NOVEL NEXT Chapter 390: Then We Make Sure It Doesn’t Touch This House... Or Him
The colossal tree groaned faintly, its branches stirring as though they were alive, stretching into places where the air itself seemed to breathe.
Its roots pushed deeper through cracks in reality, curling into voids no mortal eye would ever see, wrapping themselves around the bones of old worlds.
The laughter of the two women who had sat playing on its branch had already faded, but its echo lingered anyway, clinging to the marrow of space itself like smoke that refused to vanish.
Meanwhile, far away from this space, in a place that seemed small by comparison yet carried its own weight, another silence waited.
Lilith's study wasn't vast, not when measured against the halls of gods or the endless limbs of the world-tree, but it didn't need to be.
Every corner of it had its own charm. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, layered with wards and seals so dense they hummed faintly against the skin, like invisible threads drawn tight through the walls. It wasn't the silence of emptiness.
It was the silence of intention, crafted to smother sound, to ensure that every word spoken here stayed locked inside and didn't slip into ears it was never meant to reach.
Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, bowed slightly under the weight of tomes that looked older than the universities that claimed to hold the world's knowledge.
Scroll racks leaned against one another like weary soldiers, some spilling their edges forward, ink still sharp and black in curling sigils that seemed to hum with their own faint power.
The light of dozens of candles sat steady in their holders, no draft daring to disturb their flames.
Their glow spilled golden light over the table at the room's heart, where bottles of ink, loose parchment, and carefully carved implements were scattered in tidy disarray.
And on the table itself, stretching across nearly all of it, lay a map. The parchment was pinned flat by thin silver rods at each corner, its surface marked with thin red lines that crawled like veins across the shape of continents.
Some of the lines were faint, their ink fading as though resisting the years, while others pulsed faintly with recent life.
Circles marked places once claimed by old cults, scars that should have faded long ago but hadn't.
To anyone else, it might have looked like just another old map, but to the two women staring at it, it was a reminder of movement—hidden veins beneath the surface, paths carved by mortals and by things far older than mortals.
Elowen sat perched on the arm of a chair beside the table, her silver-green hair catching the candlelight so it shimmered faintly, strands glowing like dew in early dawn.
Her posture was casual in a way that only came with centuries of practice. Her body was perfectly still, and her hands rested lightly in her lap.
She didn't need to fidget or shift to command presence. Her being in the room steadied it.
Across from her, Lilith lounged in her seat, one leg crossed over the other. Her crimson eyes were fixed on the map, but sharp enough that they seemed to cut into the parchment itself.
Her nails tapped against the edge of the table, slow and deliberate, each sound small but clear even through the muffling wards, as if the silence bent around her so that her rhythm could still be heard.
Neither spoke at first. They didn't need to fill the air with words. Their eyes traced the same lines, paused over the same marks, both thinking the same heavy thoughts.
It was Elowen who finally broke the quiet. Her voice was soft, carrying the kind of calm that had survived long centuries, but underneath it lay a weight that no one could miss.
"So it's true," she said, her words careful, her eyes still on the map. "He's awake again."
Lilith's tapping stopped. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, crimson meeting silver-green. Her answer was short, almost clipped, but carried more than the words themselves.
"Yes. The ancient one stirs. His hands are already reaching."
Elowen's eyes dropped to one of the faint red circles on the parchment. Her voice lowered.
"He's gathering what he left behind. Cults that should have withered long ago. Altars that should have been swallowed by time. The roots are moving again."
Lilith leaned forward slightly, her nails dragging lightly across the surface of the map as if she could scrape those circles away by touch alone.
"And not just remnants," she said. "He seeks allies. You can feel it in the weight of the moves. Reckless, yes. But not stupid."
Elowen's lips curved faintly, but her eyes stayed hard. "His arrogance blinds him. But not quickly enough to stop the damage from spreading first."
The air in the room seemed to grow colder at Lilith's reply. Her voice sharpened until the candle flames quivered. "Then we make sure it doesn't touch this house. Or him."
The name wasn't spoken, but it didn't need to be. Both women knew exactly who she meant.
Elowen let the silence stretch before answering, her hand lifting only to brush a strand of hair back over her shoulder. Her movements were slow, graceful, and deliberate.
"Your shadow guard is stretched thin already," she said finally. "The Crescent women hold their web well enough, but even they can't cover every path at once. His cults don't crawl blindly."
Lilith's eyes flicked back to the map. A low hum escaped her, not quite agreement, not quite denial.
"No," she said. "But they crawl fast. Faster than I'd hoped. The Crescent web has caught most of them, but…"
She tapped a claw against one of the lines etched faintly across the parchment. "Not all. And that bothers me."
Elowen rested her elbow on the chair's arm, her posture as easy as ever, though her gaze was sharp. "He's old," she said softly.
"But he's not wise anymore. Not in the way he once was. He thinks chaos still bends the way it did before the void shifted. He doesn't see that even gods bow to rules now."