Sylia, the Dark & Light Saint

October of the Sainted Year (Second Civil Month)

(Shuna)

Today was Julend Klenzar's day off. Bless be the Sainted Month of October that had lasted so far almost two civil months.

He had only worked two hours that morning at one of his other jobs before heading out at a brisk pace toward the Fifth North-West Gate. That gate—one of the newer ones—had appeared just over a decade ago. It led directly to a Half-Enclaved City, tied to a newly established Enclave under the oversight of the Goddess Florenciela and the God Arbusto. Access to that part of the City was heavily restricted. Guards and soldiers employed by the Nation or the National State Church were generally barred from entry though exceptions existed. Certain military personnel stationed in the Region were allowed through, but only during set hours or under specific circumstances.

Julend had been one of the lucky few.

When he was just a boy, an aunt or possibly a family friend had brought him there often, under the pretense of visits, to meet his natural father, Jaael. At the time, Julend had only known the man as "Uncle." He'd grown fond of the area for many reasons. His siblings had never shared that fondness, preferring more accessible places, but Julend didn't care.

The only true obstacle was the language. Most locals there spoke in a different tongue, full of dialects that often made conversation a guessing game.

Still, today Julend felt particularly good. He had a purpose and a sweet one at that. He was going to see a woman and release some of his excess Body Mana. That was one of the many burdens of life in the Slums. Mana could be siphoned off or drained over time, but Body Mana lingered—often with a vengeance. His uncles, whose bloodline overflowed with it, suffered most. Julend lived in quiet fear that the King's researchers would one day discover how to extract Body Mana safely from a host. That would be their end. They'd be strapped to a cot, fed intravenously, and drained daily like livestock.

He'd heard whispers, disturbing ones, about places where such things already happened. Strange research facilities. Confinement towers. People consumed alive by spells that channeled power directly to the Royal Court. Things had changed somewhat, ever since a number of high Nobles and even a well-known prince had vanished years ago, imprisoned within a tower raised by the Gods themselves. Rumor said the King had been kept there, bound to a pole, drained for power. When he finally reemerged, he looked thirty years older… but his mother? Younger than ever, as were several members of her clan. Since then, the King rarely left his Region, let alone his palace, where he now remained to pour what Mana remained back into the lands they clung to.

Of course, Julend could have gone to his girlfriend, Gelida. She would have helped him with his Body Mana problem. But the woman he was heading to see wasn't just anyone.

He'd get more than release. He'd get a good meal, some fine drink, and likely coins from a few artifacts he'd crafted. Julend had a secret, one he'd never shared. Not even with his twin brother Danielzo.

He had been seeing one of Sylia's Sub-Servant Divisions for a long time.

Not just any one, either. Shuna had been around for quite some time. She had her own Sub-Servant Divisions now, which made her stronger than most of Sylia's standard creations. She was also a Faithwarden, directly subordinated to Goddess Florenciela herself. Sweet and delicate, Shuna was nothing like Sylia. Saint Sylia could snap him like a dry twig and never shut her mouth around him. Shuna, though… Shuna was gentle. Kind. She smelled like a dream. And today, Julend couldn't wait to see her again.

Shuna was an odd one, though. Unlike most of her kind, she preferred to live as a bird. She only shifted back to human form when she felt like it. Sub-Servant Divisions and Sub-Serbian Pieces of Sylia often developed their own distinct personalities and lived semi-independently. Still, Sylia could shadow them. Take over their bodies if needed. Even multiple ones at once.

It was as much a safety measure as anything else. Julend understood that. He'd heard that more than fifty of Sylia's Divisions lived in this one Semi-Enclave and the surrounding Enclave alone.

He didn't even want to guess how many existed beyond that.

Of course, some were Divisions of Divisions, or even fragmented Pieces of earlier Divisions. The hierarchy was more arcane than Julend could understand but that didn't matter today.

Today, he just wanted to see Shuna.

Yes, he was a bastard but who could blame him?

He hadn't seen her in a while, and he missed her. Syl Celia and Sylia had been noticeably distant from him lately, and it wasn't hard to guess why: his mother Tasha. As for Gelinda, his girlfriend, she now had a new boyfriend, someone from the higher Gentry-class districts who paraded her through town and showered her with gifts.

Gelinda, unlike Julend, didn't live in the Slums. Her mother still did, which was why Gelinda occasionally returned to visit her. She had been raised instead by her father and her maternal aunt Johanna, deep within the Controlled Gentry districts—areas reserved for restricted individuals considered too valuable to discard. These were assets whose skills warranted preservation, and whose Mana and Magic were extracted carefully, directly, so that none of their finer properties would be lost. After all, when harvested in bulk and mixed, Mana and Magic tended to degrade—losing their unique signatures, their inherited Blessings, and ultimately, their worth.

Her mother Arthurina hadn't been so lucky. She belonged to a Ducal bloodline so deeply tainted, so irrevocably marked, that escape had never been an option. A few from that lineage had managed to slip out either through distant connections or because their abilities bore no resemblance to the family's bloodline traits. Their Mana was too incompatible with the family's old Artifact and Wands that could be used by the descendants against the other Nobles or for even more dangerous enterprises.

Contrary to a few of her relatives who had escaped the Slums, Arthurina had not been spared. Her blood was too pure, her Magic too strong, even if her overall Magic and Mana level ranked lower. Those very traits had doomed her. She was considered dangerous without being useful. Stronger Magic and Mana tended to compress over time, coiling tighter and tighter until only a few drops could be extracted. Her bloodline was infamous for such traits. They were difficult to detect, harder to track, and their Mana nearly impossible to drain. A Ducal bloodline so reviled, so notoriously corrupt, that even the vilest Nobles in the Kingdrom had agreed that there had to be limits.

Unlike the rest of her bloodline, many of whom had clawed their way out of the Slums, Arthurina remained a quiet and kind woman who kept to herself. Her siblings, however, were a different matter entirely. One, who still lived with her family on the outskirts of the Slums, was truly vile. The other, who had managed to escape and now resided in the Controlled Gentry District, was no less detestable—dripping with superiority in every word she spoke. She had once looked at Julend and his brother as if they were insects. That woman, who could likely have claimed a second-rank Barona or Viscountess title, was the very picture of pride and arrogance.

Julend often wondered what might happen if his brother were ever truly freed from his magical constraints. Kuschiel's powers were rising at an astonishing pace. He might not even realize it yet, but he was already at Count class. As for Julend, his growth had been slower at first. His Magic and Mana remained tightly compressed—a trait from his own bloodline, according to Sylia and one of Master Mathias's servants who had once assessed him. Still, there was no doubt. Julend now stood way above the level of a Baron Class. Even in his divided form.

Many claimed that compressed Mana and Magic couldn't be harvested as easily as others'. So, he had been lucky that way. A few relatives had escaped being completely drained through Blessings or because of the properties of their Mana.

Even Kuschiel's, though less compressed and far more volatile than Julend's, resisted extraction. It slipped past spellwork, as if its instability was designed to evade control. One Priest, now long dead, had attempted stronger spells, blessed ones, and had nearly killed Kuschiel in the process. He and his accomplices were executed in a manner so horrific it left whispers trailing for weeks. As for the Minor God who had sanctioned the use of those spells, he had been forced into mortal form and was now confined in a cell, dissected and tortured daily.

Julend and Kuschiel were sometimes ordered to bring him food. Not because he needed it—he didn't. The Executioner had explained it once: the Fallen Deity might crave sustenance, might even feel hunger, but his body had been modified. Spells kept him tethered, feeding off his own Divine Magic. The meals were merely a gesture. A reminder. A cruelty dressed as kindness.

On this second civil month of the Sainted Month of October, Julend considered himself fortunate—fortunate to be on his way to see Shuna, a woman who could take his mind off everything that had been weighing on him.

She was a welcome distraction, a balm. His girlfriend, Gelinda, had grown increasingly demanding, now pressuring him openly for marriage, and his mother had thrown her full support behind the match as if it were some divine alignment. Tasha, too, had become nearly unbearable. He cared for her deeply but he had begun to question the value of that protection. The more he shielded her, the bolder she became, diving headlong into trouble with the Saints while his own standing with Sylia and more recently Syl Celia crumbled.

Syl Celia, who had once been understanding, had changed. After becoming the primary target of Tasha's wrath, she had made it very clear that forgiveness was no longer on offer. Tasha and the rest of the Bimal had learned that the hard way. Without hesitation or flourish, Syl Celia had stuck Tasha and several of her relatives to a floating, unvisible pole for days—no food, no drink, nothing but humiliation under the unflinching gaze of the Slums' residents and the occasional passerby. She had declared, coldly, that she wouldn't be seeing Julend anymore, not because she disliked him, but because she liked punishing Tasha far more than she enjoyed bedding him.

And punish Tasha she did. With ritualistic precision, Syl Celia would bring the Bimal women down from the pole, beat them until they screamed or passed out, then hoist them back up. Sometimes, if they begged well enough, she'd toss them hardened bread scraps or stream water that barely passed as drinkable. That had become the rhythm of the week. It was now a spectacle. Even the guards loitered nearby, drawn by the morbid absurdity of it all. Syl Celia, ever the artisan of cruelty, had even carved a Magic Sygil into the air below them and cast a spell that transformed the Bimal women's piss into water clean enough to nourish grass. She'd used it to grow a neat little garden where a white rabbit with red eyes resided.

Julend had only realized on the fourth day that the rabbit wasn't an ordinary creature. It was a minion—a cursed servant of the Protection Gods of the Bimal, now imprisoned in animal form as punishment for creating and blessing such a disastrous bloodline. Other rabbits occasionally visited him, strange magical things slipping through a small Magical Portal tucked into the hedgerow. Julend had heard them speak in soft, eerie tongues. He was fairly certain that the white rabbit no longer blessed the Bimal at all. If anything, it cursed them.

The guards had started placing bets on when the women would next relieve themselves. It was cruel, pitiless, and precisely the sort of punishment Syl Celia excelled at. Sylia passed by often, carrying a case filled with pancakes, sandwiches, and warm bread, only to remember again and again that she wasn't allowed to share it. Syl Celia kept the women alive with her Magic, sustaining their bodies through carefully measured Spells, but she never fed them. Hunger and thirst were part of the sentence.

Julend had been told that his mother would be released soon. Within a few days, perhaps. That was, of course, unless she opened her mouth again and earned another week of torment. He had truly begun to understand how foolish and stubborn she was. The stubbornness was a signature of Bimal degeneration; the foolishness was a degeneration all its own. Once, long ago, the Bimal were known for their wisdom, sages among their peers. One had even served as a State Sage. But those days were gone. What remained was shame.

For now, Julend could breathe. He could walk freely, without his mother and her kin watching every step. They'd hated seeing him too close to the Saints as if he was supposed to be on their side. Julend had nearly laughed when one of his Bimal cousins shouted it in the streets, dead serious. Others had heard and simply shaken their heads. To admit, openly, that one stood against the Saints? That was madness. The cousin had been dragged away by Priests of the Izranavel Churches and admitted to one of the Churches' quiet asylums. A place where they kept those whose minds had rotted beyond recall—damaged by corruption, or by delusions even more profound.

Julend quickened his pace as he neared his destination, eyes finally settling on the large, luxurious building standing before him. As always, he bypassed the main entrance, slipping instead through a discreet side door for which he had the magical code. Inside, the familiar corridors stretched out around him. He moved swiftly until he reached one of the main halls—then stopped short.

There she was, approaching from the far end of the hallway. Shuna.

She stepped into the hall with the quiet poise of someone born beneath silk lanterns and whispered rumors. Her long, chestnut-brown hair cascaded like river silk over her shoulders, touched faintly by the magical lamplight. Blue eyes—clear, soft, and uncannily observant—glanced over the room with a serenity that felt both practiced and real. Her presence wasn't commanding, but it lingered like the aftertaste of rare tea—subtle, sweet, and unmistakably refined.

The beautiful woman wore a pastel pink kimono of exotic design, patterned with cherry blossoms so pale they seemed to fade and bloom with her every breath. The obi was tied in a modest bow, but there was elegance in every fold, as if the fabric remembered a thousand ancestral hands. The scent she carried—part cherry blossoms, part heavenly rain and flower nectar—was the only indulgence she allowed herself.

Those who didn't know her mistook her for delicate. Those who did knew better. She had the sharpness of Sylia's blood, tempered by silence. Though rarely the first to speak, her words often ended conversations. And while Sylia dazzled and devoured, her Subdivision "cousin" Shuna watched, gave, remembered, and waited. In the quieter circles of the Semi-Enclaved City, she was known for two things: never repeating a mistake, and never forgiving one.

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Though younger in years than Sylia, Shuna often played the elder in restraint. Yet in the way she stood slightly behind her Maker, never outshining but never obscured, it was clear they were of the same cloth—stitched at the edges with secrets.

***

Shuna greeted him with a warm smile. "There you are at last. It's been a while—over two weeks. Nearly three. You stayed away longer this time."

Julend returned the smile. "I'm sorry. Things kept piling up."

"Of course they did." she replied gently. "Come, follow me. We'll take the usual room to talk. I'll check your Mana cores again. Did you bring the items you wanted to sell?"

"Yes," he said, patting his pocket. "They're in a pouch. I crafted a few just this morning."

"Good," she nodded. "I'll assess them shortly."

Julend recalled the last two times he'd come here. One visit over three weeks ago, the other a little more than two. The first had been with a Division of Shuna, shadowed or perhaps even merged with one of Sylia's. That visit had felt like a dream—like a proper date. They hadn't used the usual room. Everything about that day had been different. They'd shared meals, wandered the gardens, and spent hours in bed together. The kind of unhurried, indulgent sex he liked. He'd let himself go that day, truly. And though Kuschiel had joined them later in the evening, Julend hadn't minded sharing her attention. It wasn't the first time they had shared a woman, a Division of Shuna or Sylia or even Syl Celia. Those women were insatiable, and without help, even a single one of them would leave him fainting after a few hours.

However, that day had still stood apart. It had offered a glimpse of something impossible—what life might be like if a principal Division of Sylia or Syl Celia were truly theirs. Obedient. Sweet. Attentive. Of course, it was a fantasy. Sylia could play that role for a few hours, just to amuse herself, but it was always a performance. A form of roleplay for her pleasure. She did it often for sex.

He remembered when she once summoned a double body with altered features and a maid's uniform, saying she meant to "teach" him—no, teach them—about reality.

One time, he had spent nearly a year in a distant Enclave learning from her. Kuschiel had only stayed for six months.

Another time, Julend had remained for four full years with one of her Divisions, working and studying. That was when he learned to craft medals and jewelry—pieces he could now sell for decent coin. And that was also when he came to understand just how powerful, and how fragmented, Sylia truly was.

Most of those memories were sealed now. At least while he was in the Slums. They were too dangerous to carry openly. He hadn't even told Kuschiel about that particular trip. They had both spent three years elsewhere on another mission of learning. Most of the time they spent in those places had been gifted—time set apart from ordinary time. Sometimes, their bodies would regress to the way they had been upon arrival.

Someday, perhaps, they might access all the skills and experience they'd once held.

Julend almost laughed, a bitter sound caught in the back of his throat. He didn't just feel older. He was older. Older than his official age by at least a dozen years. Maybe that explained his frustration. He couldn't even speak plainly about it nor complain. Sylia herself was stuck in child form because of Masha, who, contrary to what others believed, was no child at all.

His mother, Tasha, still insisted Masha was just fifteen. But Julend knew better. She was over twenty now. That was what made him hate her. No one her age should still be that immature or misled. Then again… a few of their relatives fit that bill too.

Still, none of them claimed to be a Saint Candidate chosen to bring wisdom and clarity to the world.

Julend had laughed when he first heard it. Not out of amusement—more out of disbelief. Wisdom? Clarity? Masha brought nothing but confusion and madness.

As he followed Shuna through the familiar corridor, Julend tried not to think about the last two times he had been here—tried not to let his mind drift to how good the sex had been. But it was impossible not to remember. Especially when they passed the room they'd used. He tried not to get angry knowing full well Sylia had probably invited another man in for something just as intimate. But the anger rose anyway. She had been perfect that day.

He kept his gaze forward, resisting the urge to glance at the door, as if memory alone might drag him back into it. That first time had been with a Division of Shuna, shadowed or perhaps partially merged with a Division of Sylia. It had been unforgettable. Not just the pleasure, though there had been plenty of that, but the atmosphere of it all. That day had felt like a date, a dream. They had shared meals, taken quiet walks, and lost themselves in each other, unhurried and wild.

He had been rough, holding her waist and thrusting into her like he would never see her again. She had taken it all, legs spread wide, leaning against that simple settee like it was made for their bodies alone. The room had been plain, a tea room by design, but that didn't last. The simple room had become a slice of heaven, transformed by the power of the Division. That one might have been too strong, too saturated with spiritual force, because somewhere between their touches and climax, she had grown a small Enclaved Forest right there in that room.

Vines and flowers had emerged across the walls and climbed toward the ceiling. Carpets became soft beds of glowing petals shimmering with Spiritual Mana. Furniture transformed into silken beddings and seats embedded with magical flowers.

A soft and potent atmosphere, heavy with Divine Mana, wrapped around them like a living shroud of magic. The air shimmered, resonating with energy as strange Magical creatures began to manifest—some glowing faintly, others rippling with sound, chittering and squealing as they clamored for attention. Shuna-Sylia swatted at them with a graceful wave, sending them scattering toward the now-warped walls where their forms melted back into the distorted veil.

That was when Julend snapped.

His hair, already reacting to the saturation of Divine Spiritual Mana in the air, had changed color. There were limits to what a man could endure, even one accustomed to divine interference. Being, immersed in the moment, fully buried in his lover's body, his body leaning between her thighs, only to look up and see a wide-eyed, oversized rabbit standing upright like some sentient plush guardian. It made him recoil with unfiltered disgust. The creature didn't leave. It simply stood there, watching them mournfully, as if waiting for them to stop and pet him instead. The creature seemed to be expecting an invitation to play.

Julend narrowed his eyes and glared furiously at his lover.

She offered a second, half-hearted shooing gesture. The creature pouted. Its fluffy form sagged with rejection. That was when the spiritual projection of Sylia herself emerged from the body beneath him, solidifying into view with an ethereal glow. Without ceremony, she waved the creature away—sharply this time. When it hesitated, she summoned a Spiritus servant wearing her appearance while still fully formed in her spectral state, and tasked it with distracting the stubborn creature. It obeyed, gliding across the distorted air like liquid light. The rabbit-creature followed, gloomy but not gone, casting one last pitiful glance at Sylia's form, which loomed protectively over her Division.

"I'll come later." the rabbit creature muttered.

Sylia nodded curtly, then turned to Julend. "You may continue." She said calmly. "I was distracted."

Then her spiritual form, still hovering, slipped smoothly back into the physical body below him.

Julend caught the subtle curve of her lips, a knowing, infuriating smile that confirmed what he already suspected. Sweet and soft Shuna had been pushed aside. Sylia was now fully in control.

There was no point pretending anymore.

He wasn't here for tenderness. Sylia wouldn't tolerate it anyway.

He flipped her over roughly.

She was heavier than she looked. Definitely Sylia. Not fragile and frail little Shuna.

Gone was the softness of Shuna. This was the source, not the vessel. He finished turning her over positioning her for him without ceremony. She was even heavier now—rooted by power. Julend bent her and reentered her with much more force than before. As expected, she responded instantly, trembling beneath him as waves of energy pulsed from her core, spreading across the room. Within minutes, she was climaxing, and her Magic began to pulse outward, saturating the room in waves. He kept going, over and over, driving into her with growing intensity.

Her Magic surged even more, clinging this time to the walls like moss and flame. He moved inside her again and again, relentlessly bringing her to climax over and over again, driven by something more than desire.

This wasn't lovemaking. This was offering. Tribute. Ritual.

He filled her again and again, claiming every one of her openings just the way she liked—without having to be asked this time. He gave it freely. Deliberately.

Yes, he was giving her everything she loved freely, for once—not under order, but willingly. Hoping, perhaps foolishly, to be rewarded.

Her climaxes began to peak harder, sharper. Her form began shifting. Her moans grew louder. She tried muffling them pulling a Magical ribbon in her mouth but it came to no use as she reached another climax and lost her ribbon in a shout along more liquid that escaped her first opening once more.

She tried again and again to regain composure but this body proved to be too hard to fully control. The harder Julend trusted in her the more inhibited she became and the more control started slipping. The heat and ache within her still quietened at least. She was grateful but asked for more.

Shuna-Sylia endured all the teasing and torment Julend pulled her body through. Maybe she did call him names and slapped his hands hard when he went too far. The fiend had overly teased the buds of her breasts, her overly sensitive clit or even her heated rear openings. The squeezing of her breasts and ass didn't help either as she tried to explain. Neither did his hand cupping her intimately as he drove inside her rear or her Second womb. That was not allowed. Not when it made her loose control.

Shuna-Sylia continued enduring, her mind drifting as pleasure dulled replaced by something harsher. Need. Hunger. She knew she would soon lose control again. This body was just too much. Another attempt she would mark as a failed experiment since she felt too much in it.

Another moan escaped her as she thought that. Another magical ribbon lost. The fourth one. Her body was releasing even more liquids which was bad. She needed to regain control and for a while she did. The teasing returned and she was gently fucked this time. Too gently. So she made demands. Julend followed her orders this time and started thrusting hard helped with a spell she made to help him recover some of his stamina and another that cleared his fatigue.

Just as they changed positions again, Shuna-Sylia bit this time into her discarded dress—an attempt to stay grounded. Now as she endured his thrusts on her hands and knees, Magic threatened to spill uncontrollably with each motion.

Another time Julend could have been amused and even teased her about it. He had done so before. However, as her trembling intensified and he noticed the tears sliding down her eyes and her juices leaking out of her openings, dripping down her tights and covering the furniture below her, he couldn't be find any source of amusement in this. Not at all.

Yes, he wasn't amused. He was worried. This wasn't some spontaneous bout of wild sex. She was dangerously close to tearing open a magical rift in this world, and they both knew it.

He changed position, pulling her down to sit on his lap, holding her with her back against his chest. He cupped her breasts, teasing the sensitive buds, and spread his legs so hers opened wider over his thighs. She moaned loudly now, uncontrollably, her fluids leaking out again. As soon as he pinched her breasts hard, she came even harder, shouting loudly as liquid started pouring out from her first womb, soaking the floor until it began to respond—changing shape beneath them as if alive.

He didn't hesitate. After he finished in her rear, he quickly repositioned her and filled her back womb with alarming speed. His body was overflowing with Mana now. The trance had taken them both.

But Julend didn't care.

There was no time to waste.

Her other wombs were already leaking again—this time thicker, denser.

He pushed into her first womb, the one most affected. The moment he did, her body slackened, her face softening into something serene.

She smiled faintly and reached to cradle his cheek.

"How clever of you." she murmured. "For once. This is exactly where I wanted it."

Julend smiled back. "I'm glad."

He started moving again, thrusting harder, guiding her body up and down along his shaft with his hands and the help of a little Magic. But something wasn't right. She began sobbing—quietly at first, then more urgently. It wasn't pain. It was frustration. She was still stuck in that mana-fueled trance, and this wasn't enough.

He turned her to face him, kissed her, and slowed his rhythm, trying to soothe her. For a moment, she calmed. But the pressure in her belly—the ache—was building. He could feel it.

He laid her against the settee, lifted her legs and began again, driving into her hard, changing positions, angling deeper with each motion, searching for the exact point of release.

He took her again, harder this time, trying every angle, every cadence, searching for the relief she needed. Her cries echoed beautifully, body writhing with each rise and fall. He nearly succeeded.

She climaxed over and over, beautifully, but it wasn't enough.

She needed more.

He placed her on her hands and knees—her favorite position, and the only one that ever brought true, overwhelming release.

There, at last, he gave her everything. On her hands and knees. Bent over. Dominated. Her body mastered completely. Exactly the way she loved it. Being able to lose control while regaining it.

Julend took his time.

He moved without haste. Without urgency. He had all the time in the world—and all the power he needed. The room itself bent to the rhythm of their union, caught in a spell of Divine time, where moments stretched into eternity.

***

Alas, despite his best efforts, the first Division had eventually turned into a flowering tree and released another Division—one Julend had spent the rest of the day with. The date he had been granted afterwards had felt like an apology, sweet and surreal. By the early hours of the next morning, both he and Kuschiel had ben laying with the new Division, when it happened again. Another Enclaved Forest emerged.

The next day was spent with yet another Division—one less amusing, less kind—but still born of the same source, merely blended with a piece of another Division that had more grounded ways and more Earth Magic affinity. It was supposed to lessen the Spiritual power of the first pieces. The result, however, had followed the same strange pattern. Another Enclaved forest had bloomed, this time within a garden. The new forest was less adorned with flowers and more densely wooded, marked by thick vines and clusters of stone. Shades of brown dominated the palette, and Julend could clearly scent the heavy concentration of Earth Mana emanating from within.

And so, it was decided they would go spend some time in those newly formed places, alongside the Divisions they had meddled with too deeply—new places were conjured, it seemed, just to allow Sylia and Syl Celia to release their excess Mana more freely. As foolish as the two men were, they had accepted the offer with open arms and foolish grins. What began as six months with the first Division, and a few more with the others in their respective realms, soon spiraled into three years… and then almost four more.

"Time is gifted." said the humanoid Cat Sage they had met there. Kuschiel had nodded in agreement. Julend had almost laughed in his face. He was now forty, trapped in the body of a teenager, and felt younger than when he arrived. He'd said as much to the Cat, who had only waved a paw dismissively and urged them to return home, leaving their children behind with nothing to show for their time there.

Kuschiel had tried to defend the Sage Cat's position, saying their families were waiting. That part of Sylia was waiting. That was when Julend snapped.

Then, he finally understood.

Indeed, a second Sage Cat arrived soon after, this one ash-brown, stepping out of a tree and explaining it all to support his Cat friend. He spoke in riddles too, but the message was clear. Julend couldn't protect his mother and siblings if he stayed away. He had said he wouldn't abandon them, not ever. So why was he even here?

Yes, Julend understood. This wasn't just a salvation plan. This had been punishment—divine punishment.

Eventually, they were allowed to visit their children—now living in another Plane. A Celestial would come for them from time to time. Sometimes they traveled in spirit, leaving their bodies behind to prevent corruption from seeping into that world. Other times, they were granted their full form.

But now, walking down this hallway, those years pressed down on him like stones in his pockets.

He didn't just feel old. He was old—older than anyone around him could guess.

And that bitterness returned, especially when he thought of Masha. The one he owed all his trouble. The one who kept manipulating his parents making his life hell.