The relic pulsed faintly in Lioren's hand—warm, alive, and terribly delicate.
It was shaped like a sphere of crystal, golden veins running through it like rivers under ice. Within it, swirling slowly like smoke, was Lilith's blood—liquid light, shimmering with ancient power. Power that Lioren had been told not to use, but to amplify.
Not light. Not motion.
But life.
They stood in the heart of the palace gardens, now overtaken by strange beauty—trees with silver leaves, flowers that whispered when they bloomed, vines that pulsed with warmth like veins. Everything here had been crafted through creation and magnified by amplification. But this—this was different.
Lioren exhaled.
Focus.
He raised the relic, the glyphs in his palms glowing faintly as he drew energy into the markings. The runes on his back—hidden beneath his clothing—responded in kind, forming a gentle hum in the air around him.
The golden glow from the relic spilled outward, spreading across the ground like light bleeding through ink. He imagined the shape: not a tree, not a plant—but a creature.
A body.
Muscle. Bone. Breath.
Something with purpose.
Lilith sat cross-legged nearby, her raven-black hair tumbling across her shoulders in waves. She wore nothing regal today—just soft, flowing layers of black and crimson, her feet bare against the glowing grass.
Her eyes watched him with the calmness of a storm that hadn't yet decided to break.
"Don't force it," she said. "Amplification is persuasion. Not control."
"I'm not trying to control it," Lioren replied through gritted teeth.
"Yes, you are," she said mildly. "You're still thinking like an angel."
From a few steps away, Vael leaned against the twisted pillar of a flowering archway. His arms were crossed. His jaw was tight. He had said nothing since they began, but he hadn't looked away once. Not since the first failed creature had vanished with a sound like shattering glass.
Lioren focused again.
Blood vessels. A spine. Breath. Let it live.
The earth trembled softly.
And then—something began to rise.
A shape formed, emerging from the golden light and the amplified blood-magic of the relic. A four-legged creature with a sleek back and narrow shoulders, like a predator in motion. It had scales—not smooth, but iridescent, spiked like feathers made of glass. Its eyes blinked open—bright white, not fully formed.
It gasped once.
Then collapsed.
Gone in seconds.
Lioren lowered the relic, sweat beading at his brow.
Lilith tilted her head. "Closer."
"I gave it lungs," he muttered. "I gave it breath."
"But you didn't give it continuity," she replied. "You created parts, Lioren. Not purpose. A being cannot survive on fragments of existence."
He turned away, frustration mounting in his chest.
"I made one that lived for a day," he muttered. "The pup. It followed me. It knew me."
"And then it died," Lilith said simply. "As all imperfect creations must."
Her voice was gentle, but it did not bend.
Lioren sat down heavily, placing the relic beside him. "This isn't like the others."
"No," she agreed. "It's not."
Lilith stood and walked toward him. "What you hold is not just power—it is potential. And potential without precision is chaos."
From across the garden, Vael shifted slightly.
Lilith noticed. Her mouth curled into a soft, knowing smile.
"You can stay, Vael," she called over her shoulder. "We both know you won't leave."
Vael didn't respond.
But he didn't move either.
Lilith turned back to Lioren. "You've grown stronger. But you're not ready yet."
Lioren's expression darkened. "Then make me ready."
Lilith met his gaze evenly. "That's what we're doing."
She walked back to her seat and gestured for him to begin again.
Lioren picked up the relic once more, feeling its warmth like a heartbeat. This time, he closed his eyes. He imagined not a creature, but a story—a purpose, a need. He imagined breath because it wanted to breathe. He imagined a spine not for structure, but for movement.
Lilith watched with interest.
From the corner of the garden, Vael's fingers curled slightly at his sides—he was still pretending not to watch. Still pretending that he hadn't nearly torn the palace apart the last time Lioren vanished.
But his eyes never left him.
Not for a second.