Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users

Neither woman rushed to break the silence. They didn't need to. They had lived long enough, carried enough, seen enough, that they understood silence had its own meaning.

It wasn't emptiness. It wasn't absence. Sometimes silence was fuller than words, holding everything they didn't say in an easier, steadier way than speaking it out loud.

The important words had already been spoken earlier, and the rest now hung in the air between them like threads too heavy to cut.

Two mothers, two keepers of secrets that could never be written down, sat together in that study.

They weren't only bound by shared power, or by circumstance, but by something deeper.

By the same vow, neither of them had ever spoken aloud, but both carried down to their marrow: to shield him, and to shield the girls who would soon have no choice but to walk into the same storm.

The study absorbed that silence in the way only old rooms could. The stone held it in the walls, the shelves let it sink into the spines of the books, and the air itself seemed to grow heavier with it.

The candles burned lower as the night stretched long, their flames leaning faintly as if even they were tired.

The untouched wine in their crystal glasses caught what little light was left, glinting like pools of dark red glass.

Time drifted past slowly, in stretches that didn't need counting, until at last morning forced its way in.

Pale light crept through the high windows of the Nocturne mansion, sliding in thin lines down the stone walls, softening the room's sharp edges.

The sun painted the old seals carved deep into the walls, catching in the grooves and making them look alive, as if they pulsed faintly with their own breath.

It was a slow change, but a real one. The weight of war, maps, and endless calculations eased, replaced by something smaller, quieter, and more familiar.

It was as if even the wards, normally so alert and tense, chose to rest for a little while. Battles could wait for an hour.

Lilith sat with her back to the window. Her posture had loosened compared to the night before, and her shoulders eased, though her natural sharpness never quite left her.

She held a porcelain cup filled with steaming tea in her hand. The faint floral scent lifted into the air, cutting through the dry smell of parchment.

In the morning light, her crimson eyes still looked fierce, but the brightness softened them enough that they might almost look gentle to someone who didn't know her well.

Elowen sat across from her. The strands of her silver-green hair caught the sun until they shimmered like dew on grass.

She leaned against the arm of her chair with a natural ease, holding her tea delicately in both hands.

She had a way of making every movement look natural and composed, even when she wasn't trying.

The smell of tea blended with the faint heat of the morning sun on old wood, and the room carried a warmth that had been absent all night.

They didn't speak at first. But this silence wasn't heavy like the one before. This one was easy, almost comfortable, the kind that came when two people trusted each other enough not to fill the space.

Both of their thoughts wandered away from wards, maps, and whispers of gods. Instead, they drifted toward smaller things, the kind of thoughts that made the storms worth standing through in the first place.

Elowen broke the quiet eventually. Her voice was warmer than it had been through the night, carrying the weight of pride only a mother's voice could have.

"They were up late again," she said, her lips curving faintly. "The twins. They spread their orientation files across the table as if they were studying."

Lilith's eyes gleamed faintly at that, the corners of her mouth curving into a smirk that held amusement and a quiet kind of knowing. "Pretending, was it?"

Elowen gave the barest nod, hiding a smile behind the rim of her cup before lowering it again. "Whispering more than reading," she admitted, the faint humor in her voice clear. "And you know what about."

Lilith let out a low hum. She gave her tea a small swirl in the cup, watching the liquid shift in smooth circles, then took a measured sip.

"At least they're whispering about him," she said finally, "and not about the useless noble sons they'll be surrounded by at Astralis. That, at least, is a mercy."

Her smirk lingered, sharp as ever but touched with something close to genuine amusement.

Elowen allowed her smile to grow more open this time. She rested her chin against one hand, looking almost relaxed. "A small mercy, yes," she said. "But one I'll take."

Lilith's gaze softened just faintly, enough that her eyes almost looked thoughtful instead of cold.

"The girls… they're not like the others. And maybe that's what worries me most. Astralis feeds on sameness, on grooming the next generation of predictable pawns.

And they'll be anything but."

Elowen lowered her eyes to her cup, fingers brushing lightly against the porcelain. "I know. But that is why they'll thrive.

You know as well as I do, they'll step into storms whether we allow it or not. The best we can do is make sure they don't step in blind."

Lilith's nails tapped against the table, slow and steady, before she finally gave a small nod.

"You're right. As always." Her voice wasn't bitter when she said it. Just resigned, as if she already knew the truth but needed to hear it spoken out loud anyway.

The sunlight crept further into the room, landing across the table and spilling onto the polished surface.

The two cups of tea gave off small streams of steam, curling faintly into the air. In that light, the study didn't look like a war room.

It looked like a home, and for that brief stretch of time, that was enough.

Neither woman spoke again for a long while. They didn't need to. The silence that filled the room now was gentle, the kind that could stretch for hours without strain.