Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users

They sipped their tea, letting the warmth settle into them, easing into their bodies like a reminder that, for now, they were more than strategists and keepers of wards.

For this stretch of time, they allowed themselves to exist as mothers first, guardians second.

The maps had been folded away and burned into ash. The wards that lined the walls still hummed softly, a steady reminder of the protection surrounding them, but neither woman looked toward them.

They both knew the storm wasn't far, that trouble always moved in the shadows, but for this one hour, it was enough to sit, breathe, and trust that they would face it together when the time came.

For a moment, they let themselves rest in that rare relief, that fragile but real comfort.

Outside the study, the world was stirring toward war, pawns were already in motion, and the gods whispered names in halls that reeked of bone and ash.

Yet there was still space for something smaller here. Despite everything, there were still mornings when their children laughed, whispered, and carried themselves as though the world were ordinary.

Lilith leaned back slightly in her chair. Her posture loosened enough to ease the rigid lines of her body, and her gaze drifted upward toward the carved ceiling.

Her crimson eyes caught a ray of light sliding down from the tall windows, and for a second, they didn't look like the eyes of someone who had carried wars in her hands.

"It won't last forever," she said, her tone steady but with a quiet weight behind it.

"No," Elowen agreed softly. She didn't lift her eyes. Instead, she lowered them to her tea, watching the steam curl faintly upward.

Her tone wasn't sad—it carried no sorrow at all—just calm acceptance, like someone acknowledging the seasons. "But it lasts now. And that is enough."

The words hung in the air, carrying more weight than any explanation could. Neither woman tried to add more. They didn't need to.

Time stretched quietly again, the minutes slipping past in the hum of wards and the faint clink of porcelain against wood.

As it always did when they sat too long, the conversation circled back toward the horizon they could never ignore.

Elowen set her cup down lightly on the table beside her. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment before she spoke again, her voice steady.

"The midterm exam is coming sooner than they realize."

Lilith's crimson eyes sharpened again, the softness in them dimming. She didn't raise her voice, but the firmness was back.

"A secret realm. That's all they're told. A safe training ground designed by the academy. That's what they believe it is."

"And it is," Elowen answered carefully. She sat straighter, balancing calm against truth. "At least on the surface.

A stabilized fragment, a stitched world, one that the Dean's clan captured long ago. They turned it into something that could be reused—a realm shaped from echoes of old battles, its monsters bound into repeatable patterns.

Safer than most of the places we've walked, safer than the worlds that tear themselves apart every decade. But…"

Lilith cut in before she could finish, her tone low and sure. "But safety in such places is always a lie."

The candles that lined the study flickered faintly, as if agreeing with her.

Lilith set her cup down with a quiet click. Her nails tapped once against the porcelain before she drew her hand away.

"The Dean's clan has relied on that fragment for decades. Students walk its paths every year.

They fight its beasts, stumble through its ruins, and leave believing they are hardened. But when a fragment carries traces of divine history, shadows always linger.

No leash can hold them forever. Not even his."

Elowen's gaze lingered on her across the table, calm but watchful. "You don't trust it."

"I don't trust anything born of gods and sealed by mortals," Lilith replied without hesitation.

The truth of it sank into the room, heavier than the tea steam rising between them. The wards hummed faintly in the walls, and for a moment, neither spoke.

When Elowen broke the quiet again, her voice was softer but carried a note of certainty.

"Still, they've grown. More than I expected. Everly and Evelyn—they aren't just princesses anymore. They've steadied themselves, and it's because of him."

The name didn't need to be spoken. Both of them felt it in the air, as present as if he sat between them.

Lilith's lips curved faintly, a smirk without bite this time. "They cling to him like ivy," she said. "Not that he minds."

Elowen turned her head slightly, giving Lilith a sidelong look. Her lips curved with quiet amusement. "Neither would you."

That pulled a low laugh from Lilith, soft and unguarded. It wasn't the sharp laugh of a schemer or the cold laugh of someone plotting—it was human.

A sound that carried the faintest warmth beneath all the iron she wore. "Perhaps," she admitted at last.

For a brief moment, the study filled with something warmer than wards or wine could conjure. Their laughter wasn't loud, but it was real. And for that heartbeat, it felt stronger than the shadows that had followed them all night.

But laughter was always brief. It faded quickly, sliding back into quiet. And in that quiet lived the truth that never left them.

"They'll think it's just another test," Elowen said finally. Her voice was calm, steady, unflinching.

Lilith's crimson gaze drifted toward the table where the map had been spread the night before.

The surface was bare now, but her eyes seemed to trace the routes still burned into her memory.

"Every step forward is a war in disguise," she said quietly. "That's the world we gave them."

Neither argued. Neither softened the words.

They lifted their cups again, almost in unison, sipping the last of their tea slowly, as though the simple ritual itself gave them something to hold onto.

The sunlight stretched farther into the study, pouring across the shelves and painting the floor in long stripes of gold.

It brushed against the seals carved into the stone walls, making them glimmer faintly like scars catching light.