Chapter 169: Rahapt

The square before Erik changed constantly. The people who had once stood beneath a rain of arrows and feared Succubus wings now wore expensive robes and sat in chairs carved with symbols of power.

Below them, female Succubi dressed in simple clothing stood in line to receive residence permits, work permits, and documents certifying their guardians.

Everything played out like a film fast-forwarded through generations. Wooden signs became metal plaques, cities expanded, and streets grew brighter, but the distance between those standing upon the platform and those forced to bow their heads became increasingly clear.

Erik noticed something strange. In the earliest eras, the men upon the platform still looked around fearfully, as though the bloody past would immediately return if they lowered their guard.

But later generations, raised in safety, no longer understood that feeling. They inherited privilege alongside stories of ancient sins, then used them as justification to demand obedience from others.

"I understand why they wanted laws to protect themselves," Erik said, watching a female Succubus being forced to sign a pledge before she could pass through the gate. "But this has become far too different from self-defense."

The Lord of Seasons still sat on the flower-covered bed beside him. The garden of four seasons had transformed into a grandstand floating above history, allowing the two of them to witness every change without being noticed.

"That is what often happens when fear becomes an inheritance," she replied. "Those once hunted want to build a wall to protect themselves. Their descendants are born behind that wall, and then some begin to believe they have the right to decide who may pass through."

She reached out and gently touched the back of Erik’s neck. The warmth of her fingertips made him flinch. The Lord of Seasons only smiled and pulled him closer so they could watch the next scene together.

The sky below shifted to the red of dusk. A group of Succubi with dark black wings stood amid the ruins of a plantation, where men were imprisoned in rooms carved with sealing symbols.

"Who are they?" Erik asked.

"Pureblood branches that refuse to accept their bloodlines being controlled. But do not rush to place all pureblood Succubi into the same category. Some retain the old bloodline and still understand how to respect life. Others see the world’s changes as a humiliation that must be repaid in blood."

Erik watched a pureblood Succubus open a cage and force the man inside to stand, her eyes holding no trace of pity. The next scene showed another woman of the same race silently breaking seals and leading a group of prisoners toward an escape route in the night.

"Even within one faction, people can be different," he said.

"Yes. I am very glad that you can still see that."

The Lord of Seasons placed a hand against Erik’s cheek, gently turning his face toward hers. The mist veiling her face made her beauty even harder to grasp, with only her smiling lips clear.

Erik smelled the sweet, mild floral scent around her wrist. Her fingertip brushed along his jawline, making him feel less like a wounded warrior and more like a man being cared for.

"If I only told you that Succubi were once cruel, would you look at the people beside you differently?" she asked.

"No." Erik did not need long to answer. "Meira did not do those things. Neither did Elowen. And the female soldier controlled by Dark Mist did not deserve to die simply because she shares the same bloodline as those who committed crimes."

The Lord of Seasons leaned down slightly. For a moment, Erik thought she was about to kiss his forehead, but she only moved close to his ear, her voice as soft as praise meant only for the two of them.

"No wonder I like you so much."

Erik gave a small cough. "We are having a very serious discussion about history."

"I know. Who says a Sentinel cannot tease someone she likes?"

She laughed, then snapped her fingers and returned the scene to the square. A young female Succubus bowed her head before a man in white robes. Around her wrist was a magic ring that only glowed when the man placed his hand against it.

Whenever the distance between them grew too great, the light dimmed, causing the female Succubus to stagger as though something essential was missing.

Erik frowned.

"Is that Gen.0?"

"It is a model based on the same principles as the Gen.0 branch that the present world researches and exploits," the Lord of Seasons explained. "You can see the dependency, can you not? Bloodlines designed that way find it difficult to return to the era of casually hunting men. If they slaughter every person they need, they will have no way to survive themselves."

"But that means they have no right to choose either."

"Correct. At first, those who designed it hoped that necessity would force both sides to learn how to coexist. But necessity is not love, and dependency does not mean trust."

Erik remembered the female Succubi who had trembled before the Council’s control devices. He also remembered Meira’s expression when she spoke about Gen.0 research.

Only now did he understand why a solution created to limit killing could become the foundation for other forms of exploitation.

"Did the Primal Succubus try to fix that?"

"She did. She did not want those born from the new bloodlines to live only in fear. A tool was created to help them build relationships with men, allowing closeness to gradually become joy rather than a hunger they had to endure."

The Lord of Seasons raised her hand. From rose petals drifting through the wind, a small object gradually formed. It resembled a slender pen, pale pink in color, with a heart-shaped magic ring at its tip.

Erik looked at it, then suddenly fell silent.

The pink pen.

Several memories of that item’s strange effects surfaced one after another. At first, he had found them interesting, but when he thought of the situations in which the tool could increase intimacy between people, he instinctively turned his face away.

The Lord of Seasons tilted her head to observe him. Her smile widened.

"Oh, you recognize it?"

"I have heard a little about it."

"Only a little?" She twirled the pen between two fingers, deliberately drawing out her words. "I thought you would know very well about the effects that make people blush."

Erik looked toward the snow-filled sky and decided not to answer. That attitude only amused her further. The Lord of Seasons leaned down, a soft lock of hair brushing his neck, then used the tip of the pink pen to draw a small circle in the air before his chest.

"Do not worry. I do not plan to try it on you. This first device was originally created to encourage harmony when both sides were willing. It had no right to replace anyone’s will, much less take their life if they refused."

Erik turned back. "Then what is the thing the Men’s Council uses now?"

The Lord of Seasons’ smile faded.

The pink pen floating before them began to change color. The heart-shaped magic patterns suddenly twisted, their edges becoming sharp. The gentle pink light turned dark red, then sank entirely into a glossy black layer like ink.

The symbols that had once connected two streams of energy moving in the same direction became locking hooks pointing only one way.

Erik felt a chill run down his spine. Its form was far too similar to the Contract Control Device he had seen in Zeka’s hand.

"Someone altered it?"

"Not merely its outer shell," the Lord of Seasons said. "The principle that helped two sides understand one another was transformed into a mechanism forcing one side to submit. The energy that was meant for resonance was redirected into the power to punish, and eventually, the power to decide life and death."

"So the black pen is not a creation of the Primal Succubus?"

"Not in its current form or purpose."

Erik looked at the pen. The black symbols around its body reminded him of the terror on the faces of female Succubi whenever a man raised the device in his hand. An item that could have become a bridge for intimacy had been turned into the most terrifying weapon for those being controlled.

"Who did that?"

The Lord of Seasons did not answer right away. She closed her hand, allowing the black pen to dissolve into luminous dust. Beneath the grandstand, the historical scene changed again. A procession of hooded people entered a temple deep within the mountains.

Symbols resembling eyes crossed out with red streaks covered the walls. The worshippers placed rows of black pens upon a stone altar and knelt before a shapeless darkness.

"In many prayers, they call upon a god," she said slowly. "Rahapt."

Erik repeated the name. "Rahapt?"

The moment the final sound left his lips, every candle in the temple suddenly went out. The scene that had only been a memory trembled, the lines of the stone ceiling warping as though stretched by an invisible hand. Erik thought he heard a whisper from far away, though he could not tell whether it was a voice or Dark Mist rubbing against itself.

The Lord of Seasons immediately placed two fingers against his lips.

"Shh."

For the first time since they had met, her voice held real tension.

"Do not call that name too often here."

"You just said he is behind the pens," Erik said with a frown.

The Lord of Seasons sighed. She gently caressed Erik’s face. Her translucent hand touching his cheek made him feel as cold as ice water. Tiredly, she said, "I can say that the being bearing that name exploited the original tool and the long-standing hatred between races. I cannot tell you everything I know."

"Why?"

The mist covering the Lord of Seasons’ face suddenly thickened, wrapping around her shoulders as well. She placed an arm behind Erik and pulled him close to her, as though shielding him from a cold wind. Erik could clearly feel that hand trembling slightly.

"Rahapt does not only hear words spoken to call him. There are secrets which, when placed beside one another in the right way, allow him to know where I am."

Erik looked at the tall woman. A Sentinel created to protect an entire city was afraid of a name. That was more terrifying than any threat he had ever heard.

"Does Rahapt control Dark Mist?"

The Lord of Seasons looked toward the temple sinking into darkness. "What you fought at the outpost is connected to his power. But do not believe you understand all of Rahapt simply because you repelled someone using Dark Mist. Even I would not dare claim that I can see the whole of him."

Erik remembered the glossy black woman with the red cross on her face. Thunder Eagle had shattered her, yet she had been able to reconstruct her body and continue attacking. If something far stronger stood behind her, then what happened at the outpost was only a very small part of the danger.

"Does the Men’s Council know about this?"

The Lord of Seasons shook her head. "Some know what they are holding. Some merely believe it is an inherited privilege. But as for who serves Rahapt, who is being exploited, and who cooperates willingly, you must find those answers yourself. I do not want you to turn suspicion into a sentence for everyone."

Erik nodded slowly. That was how he viewed pureblood Succubi as well. He could not condemn an entire race for the sins of a few.

The Lord of Seasons gently lifted his chin, forcing him to look at her instead of the images in the darkness.

"I know you still have many questions," she said, her voice softening again. "But if we continue, I may bring you a visitor neither of us wants to meet."

Before Erik could answer, a very faint sound came from the far edge of the sky.

Crack.

A black fissure appeared in the clouds. On the other side, something enormous slowly moved, like the eyelid of a creature that had just sensed light after a long sleep.

The Lord of Seasons immediately embraced Erik’s head and pressed him against her chest. The gentle floral scent that always surrounded her suddenly became ice-cold. A four-colored circle of light erupted from beneath the bed, swallowing the temple scene and every black symbol.

"Do not look."

Her voice lowered until it was almost a plea.

Erik heard his heart beating hard. Through the mist and the closing light, he only caught sight of the torn sky beginning to take the shape of an eye.

Then the entire garden went dark.