Using her servant's eyes as a mirror, the girl studied her reflection.
"Then, Eidolana," she said softly, "what do you think of this child's face?"
A child, she thought. After all, she had lived for over a thousand years. Compared to her, this body—this girl—was nothing more than a child, fragile and young.
Eidolana lowered her gaze. "If it pleases my master, then it pleases me as well."
A faint smile touched the girl's lips. Eidolana froze. It was the first time she had ever seen her master smile. Perhaps that wasn't surprising; a thousand years ago, her master had no body to smile with. But still, the sight filled her with a joy so deep it almost hurt.
"Destroy the altar once we leave," the girl ordered.
"As you wish."
They stepped outside the mausoleum. Blood rose around them like mist, wrapping their forms. When it faded, their garments had changed—her master now wore a simple black dress, while Eidolana, drawing from the memories of the blood that shaped her, chose a maid's attire.
Behind them, the mausoleum began to crumble. Pillars cracked, marble split apart, and the whole structure collapsed into dust and broken stone—as if it had never existed at all.
A gust of wind swept through the ruins.
Eidolana looked toward her master, bathed in moonlight. Her hair was black and wavy, flowing down to her waist. Her skin glowed pale against the darkness, and her eyes—pure black, without a hint of life—seemed to swallow the light around them. To Eidolana, it suited her perfectly.
Her master gazed at the night sky, the wind tugging gently at her hair.
"Let's see the world with our own eyes this time," she murmured. "A thousand years have passed… I wonder how much it's changed."
A smile returned to her face, soft but unreadable, as she took her first step into the new world.
Instead of flying or vanishing through some spell, the two simply walked. The dark forest surrounding the abandoned mausoleum stretched endlessly before them, damp with fog and silence.
Eyes watched them from the shadows—small glimmers in the dark belonging to beasts and wild creatures. None dared approach.
The girl sighed, a little disappointed.
"They're all afraid," she murmured. "I wasn't going to eat all of them."
Eidolana glanced at her master's expression and smiled faintly. "They are wise to fear you, Master."
"Wise," the girl muttered. "But dull."
They walked for what felt like an eternity before finding a narrow dirt path cutting through the forest. It seemed to lead somewhere—perhaps a town. Morning light was already beginning to filter through the branches, soft and gold.
They waited by the path for a while, expecting someone to pass by. No one did. The girl frowned.
"Strange. From those cultists' memories, there should be carriages by now. What happened to this place?"
"Perhaps no one dares travel this close to the forest," Eidolana said quietly.
"Cowards," the girl muttered, and resumed walking.
The sun climbed higher, burning through the mist. The air grew heavy with heat. Despite possessing power enough to tear the world apart, the girl refused to use even a hint of it. She simply didn't want to. Stubbornness suited her like armor.
Hours passed before the sound of hooves echoed down the road. A group of knights rode toward them, their armor glinting beneath the sun. The two stepped aside, expecting them to pass—but one knight slowed, turned, and circled back.
He dismounted and approached with cautious politeness. "Pardon me, ladies, but why are you walking here alone in this heat? You've no carriage or escort?"
Eidolana stepped forward and bowed her head slightly, her expression carefully arranged into one of distress. Drawing from the rehearsed lines she'd pieced together from the cultists' memories, she said softly, "We were traveling with a coachman, sir, but he deceived us. Promised to take us to the nearest town… then abandoned us halfway."
The knight frowned. It wasn't impossible, but in broad daylight? He studied the two women, noting their refined posture and the quality of their clothes—far too fine for simple travelers. They seemed more like people from a wealthy household. His mind spun with possible explanations: perhaps the young lady had run away from home, taking only her maid along for the adventure.
"I see," he murmured. "Wait here a moment."
Eidolana dipped her head obediently, while her master—silent and unreadable as ever—remained perfectly still.
The knight returned to his captain, explaining what the maid had told him and his suspicions. The captain pondered for a moment, then glanced toward the two figures waiting by the roadside. One of the younger knights spoke up, "Captain, we should help them. They'll faint under this sun."
After a brief silence, the captain nodded.
"Very well. Offer them a ride."
The knight rode back toward the women, smiling slightly. "Good news, ladies," he announced. "We'll take you with us."
Eidolana smiled graciously. "We are grateful for your kindness."
Beside her, the girl said nothing—only watched, calm and distant, as the knights busied themselves.
Two cloaks were offered, thick enough to shield them from the punishing sun. Eidolana almost refused. The heat could do them no harm, and her master had no need for such trivial comforts. But since they were supposed to be helpless travelers, she accepted with a soft sigh.
"Thank you," she said again, taking the cloaks. She draped one over her master's shoulders first, then her own. Her master caught the faint trace of disgust on her face and smiled, amused by her servant's futile effort to maintain appearances.
Inwardly, Eidolana grumbled. We could've killed these men and taken their horses instead. But her master had said nothing of the sort, and so she simply went along with the act.
When she looked back at the knights, she smiled sweetly—a perfect imitation of gratitude. "You've been so kind to us. Truly."
That smile was enough to make several of the men blush. Eidolana's beauty was impossible to ignore—her neatly tied blonde hair gleamed under the light, her skin looked smooth and flawless, and her poise carried the air of someone far above their station. A noble's grace wrapped in a servant's guise.
Their glances soon drifted to the girl in the black dress, though none could recall her features clearly. Perhaps it was the shadow of the cloak now covering her, or something else entirely. All they remembered was how pale she'd been—like moonlight made flesh.
The captain cleared his throat, attempting to sound composed.
"May we know your names, ladies?"
The captain cleared his throat, trying to sound composed. "May we know your names, ladies?"
Eidolana dipped her head politely. "I am Eidolana," she said smoothly, her voice the perfect balance of grace and deference. Then she turned toward the girl beside her, ready to introduce her—and froze.
She didn't know what to call her.
"This is my mas—" The word caught in her throat. Master. No, that wouldn't do. Not here. Not among mortals. Her mind raced as she stole a quick glance at the girl beside her. From the memories she'd taken from the cultists, she knew calling someone "master" outside of servants' quarters would only spark questions she had no intention of answering.
My lady? That sounded noble, far too highborn. The knights might start prying. She needed something ordinary. Familiar. Safe.
Young miss. Yes. It fit perfectly—suggesting a wealthy household, not noble but well-off enough to explain their appearance.
Eidolana straightened, lowering her head slightly. "This is our young miss—"
And then came the next problem. Her master didn't have a name. Only a title whispered in dead tongues, one that would freeze the blood of anyone who heard it.
The girl looked at her, silent. For a heartbeat, the air seemed to hum, and then Eidolana heard the voice in her mind—calm, ancient, faintly amused.
Athymía, it whispered. Call me Athymía.
Eidolana's lips curved faintly as she bowed her head. "This is our young miss, Miss Athymía."
The captain nodded respectfully, none the wiser. Beside her, Athymía stood quiet, her gaze heavy and unknowable. The name she'd borrowed from the cult's blasphemous scripture lingered on her tongue, strange yet almost fitting—like a crown she hadn't asked for but decided to wear anyway.
The captain turned his gaze towards the girl who is now wearing the cloak.
The instant their eyes met, a coldness crawled down his spine. It wasn't just fear; it was the kind of chill that reached deep into his soul, like invisible hands dragging him toward an endless abyss. His breath caught in his throat—then, just as suddenly, the sensation vanished.
He blinked. The morning sun burned bright again. The world felt ordinary, almost insultingly so.
One of his men rode closer. "Captain, are you all right?"
He straightened, forcing composure into his voice. "I'm fine," he muttered. Then, more firmly, "We leave. Now."
The knights exchanged uncertain looks but obeyed. The captain didn't glance at Athymía again. He didn't have to—her presence lingered like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts, whispering look away, mortal.