Sylia, the Dark & Light Saint

November of the Sainted Year (First Civil Month) - Present Day

(Sylia as an adult)

Sylia was finally enjoying a moment of peace. Pullina was asleep, safely tucked away in another apartment, and the new Kullen was resting under a sweet-dream Spell she had personally cast. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.

She had begun dispatching some of her Divisions to visit a few of her overeager boyfriends. They deserved a bit of attention, and since she was in such a generous mood, she had added a few extra services—special dishes, carefully chosen entertainment. Even those she was not visiting tonight were not forgotten. After all, life wasn't just about sex.

Tonight, though, she indulged herself. Glirek Syrendor lay beside her—a recent indulgence, grandson of Tamren Syrmundi and son of her former lover Banten Syrmundi. The latter had drifted away years ago, lost to his own tangled mess of wives. He was happy, and that was all that mattered. She hadn't even liked him that much to care.

However Glirek? Glirek was different. She was with him for a reason. The boy had begun circling the edge of ruin, entangled with several young women whose influence she found concerning. One in particular posed the greatest threat to him. His main girlfriend, the one he seemed to be most drawn to, and the one most likely to lead him to self-destruction. Still, the others were no better, all distractions pulling him further from what little future he might still salvage.

She couldn't save him. Not entirely. Some Souls simply inched toward their own endings, no matter who intervened. Still, she could delay it. A little longer.

The boy—barely an emancipated adult at fifteen, just five months past—hadn't been hard to seduce. He might have been way over eighteen years in Civil Calendar but he was still a bit immature. Sylia preferred men in their fifties or forties.

Glirek had spent most of his life in the City, rarely visiting his extended family in the Capital. Maybe that was why he'd fallen in the Slums so quickly. Or maybe it had been the fallout from his half-brother turning rotten, and his mother taking her own life. Either way, he was lucky to have been stationed near the Slums' edge, where the air still carried a trace of Gentry civility. Still, he hadn't adapted. That much was obvious from the suit—far too expensive, far too formal even for Gentry. Likely one of those awful gifts from his aunt, meant to impress that new girlfriend from the Controlled Gentry Districts. It had almost cost him his life. Just an hour ago, he'd nearly died because of it. If not for one of her Summons, he'd be bleeding out in a gutter. Given that, a little "thanks" as he called it seemed natural. She hadn't needed to coax him into anything. He was ready and willing. She hadn't expected anything less. However, after all that time with other women, his technique was still lacking. She almost wondered if he didn't deserve that quick, stupid end after all.

Sylia was in the middle of directing Glirek through yet another clumsy kiss when that familiar voice reached her ears. A voice that still managed to send a chill down her spine. That voice had always stirred more in her than the boy's awkward efforts ever could. Not that she intended to show it.

The voice cut through the small room like a blade, sharp enough to make Glirek flinch and pull back.

Tamren stood in the doorway, gaze cold and unsurprised.

"I see you were busy… with someone else."

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Sylia snapped back with practiced sharpness. "I was going to send you a Division. I didn't want your boys to miss out on tonight's entertainment. There are fireworks."

Tamren didn't so much as blink. "I'd rather have this version. Fireworks be damned."

She glared at him, acutely aware of how compromising the scene must have looked. After all, she'd just been kissing Tamren's grandson.

He crossed the room in long, quiet strides and sat beside her on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

"Can you stop harassing the kid? Glirek, out." His voice held a note of dry amusement.

The young man fled, red-faced.

Sylia didn't flinch. "I was doing him a favor. He might actually learn something useful."

"Maybe he should stick with his girlfriend," Tamren muttered. "You lured him in with Glisro and then left that poor thing stranded."

"He's writing letters of apology," Sylia replied coolly. "Very touching ones."

"I saw," Tamren said, voice low. "He looked ready to cry, surrounded by your Summons. I told him to leave."

Sylia's lips curled. "A pity. If he had stayed, he might've learned what real pleasure feels like…along with Kadrin."

Tamren's tone shifted. "Kadrin?"

"Yes," she said simply. "He's in the other room, training under one of my Sub-Servials."

Tamren leaned closer, his presence suddenly too near, too deliberate. His hand brushed against her hip, his grip firm. She caught her breath, more startled by the rush of sensation than by the contact itself. A low, knowing chuckle escaped him.

The Mana compatibility had done its work. Her body pulsed with excess energy. Too much, too fast. Her new form wasn't fully adapted to hold it all. She could feel the strain as warmth spread inside of her, her body betraying her with each touch.

Tamren's gaze swept over her, studying every detail. "So this is your new body," he murmured. "Smaller than I expected. Closer to Sasha's form… or perhaps a mix. Not what I pictured."

His hands moved with subtle command, drawing out a sharp inhale from her lips. Her body trembled, her Mana reacting too readily to his presence. He had always known how to undo her without fanfare, without effort. Just proximity.

He leaned in, his mouth finding the curve of her neck with practiced ease. The tension between them surged. Sylia gasped, more from memory than touch, overwhelmed by the sensation of being read so easily.

Her breath hitched. The moment shattered something inside her, a dam she hadn't realized was still holding.

He didn't let her catch her breath. His hands moved, searching, teasing, pushing her deeper into sensation. Her new form, layered in sensitivity and built for magical resonance, left her with little room to resist.

She arched toward him, every fiber of her being responding. It wasn't just arousal, it was a kind of overload. He touched her as though he knew the exact places her control frayed, and he pressed into every fault line.

His voice came again, low and amused, even as she barely kept hold of her own thoughts.

"Your Mana is overloading, Sylia. Divide again. You're on the edge."

She nodded quickly. With a flick of her fingers, several of her Divisions shimmered into existence and disappeared in an instant. Sylia sent them to welcome the guests that had arrived at the apartment.

She felt suddenly better. At last, she could breathe again as the Mana pressure eased.

Sylia slumped back with a shaky breath. "Will you listen to me now?"

"I will," Tamren said, drawing her closer. "But this room is too small. We should move…Sylia, you're holding too much power. Why compress so much into one body?"

"To hold Masha off," she whispered. "Maybe I overdid it. Or maybe you did."

He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted her gently. But instead of carrying her away, he turned and pressed her against the wall, his body anchoring hers with careful strength. She gasped softly as the motion reawakened the pulsing tension between them.

Her Body Mana reacted immediately, Dark and Light Elements flaring in tandem, sparked by proximity.

Sylia trembled in his arms, her breath shallow. Her new form shifted again, stretching, shaping to match him. Her body wasn't just reacting, it was remembering. Responding to a man who had, for all his distance and sharpness, always claimed her in ways that went far beyond the physical.

Against the cold wall, cradled in his arms, she let herself surrender to the moment, to him, to the fragments of a connection that had never truly broken.

With Tamren, Sylia let herself forget if only for a moment the weight of her mission, the dangers pressing in from every side.

For that fleeting instant, she allowed herself to feel, to hope, and to imagine a gentler future for them all.