The corridors deepened.
Imeena followed General Sorell in silence, her boots striking the floor in perfect rhythm with his, though her stride had more edge more intent.
He walked with that bureaucratic elegance only career officers possessed. Imeena walked like she was still hunting something.
They descended into the underlevels of the compound. Past the infirmary wing, past the armory. Past the training halls that echoed with phantom clashing steel.
The air cooled as they went down, the polished walls giving way to dark stone marked by age and fire.
Magic ran faintly through the mortar old protective enchantments etched by the founders of the Celestian Order, meant to resist illusions, mental coercion, and possession. The kind of magic people didn't cast anymore because it required blood and starfire.
She hated it down here.
Even her chains stayed quiet.
"You're not usually this quiet," Sorell noted.
Imeena didn't look at him. "Trying not to murder a superior officer before breakfast."
He smirked. "How considerate."
"I'm growing."
The final hallway narrowed. Torches burned with pale blue flame, flickering with soft whispers in a language Imeena didn't speak and didn't want to.
The doors at the end were tall unpainted metal, reinforced with seven locks and a vertical line of golden glyphs that pulsed slowly, like a waiting heart.
Council territory.
Whatever this was, it wasn't just a debriefing.
Imeena could think of three possibilities.
One: they wanted her to explain the demon generals. Fair.
Two: they were assigning her to another suicidal mission. Typical.
Three: someone in that chamber hated her enough to drag her here just to ruin her morning.
Also typical.
The guards at the door stepped aside wordlessly. One of them a young man with nervous eyes offered her a curt bow. She didn't return it.
The door creaked open.
Sorell gestured for her to enter alone.
Imeena stepped inside.
The Council chamber was nothing like the rest of the compound.
It looked older. Stranger. The ceiling was low and vaulted, like the bones of a dragon had been carved into the stone.
The walls were lined with mirrors, each distorted slightly at the edges, not quite reflecting the room as it was. Somewhere above, a soft hum vibrated through the air like a heartbeat muffled by stone.
A long table of greywood sat at the center, shaped like a crescent moon. At its apex stood an elevated platform with a carved throne-like chair that no one ever used.
The council members sat to either side, draped in pale silver robes, faces shadowed by their hoods despite the glowing runes in the room.
And then there was her.
Sitting casually on the edge of the council's polished table, like she owned the place or at the very least, had already robbed it was a woman in crimson leathers and armor, her legs crossed, her smirk unbothered.
Tall. Slouched like a bored noble. Her black hair was bound back in a careless braid threaded with bone beads and faded ribbons.
Her horns curved high and back from her forehead, spiraling like knives sculpted from volcanic glass.
Her arms bare except for flame-black gauntlets, and a demon blade long, curved, and humming softly was propped lazily against her shoulder.
She looked like a god of war who'd decided to flirt with chaos instead of destroy it.
Imeena stopped dead in her tracks.
Her stomach clenched.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath.
Because she knew that woman.
Lara Daemara.
Demon Captain. Former heir to the infernal throne. Malvoria's older sister, and from all reports, a hurricane in mortal shape.
And currently grinning straight at her like she was the punchline to a joke Lara had been waiting years to tell.
"You," Lara said, pointing at her with a gloved hand. "You're the one."
Imeena didn't move.
Lara leaned forward, smile widening. "You beat my generals."
"That wasn't personal," Imeena said warily.
"Oh no," Lara grinned. "It was glorious."
The Celestian council remained silent. Passive. Watching. Clearly letting this play out.
"I mean really," Lara continued, standing and pacing in front of the table now, arms gesturing wildly.
"They're all still whining about it. 'She used forbidden glyphs!' 'She almost crushed my ribs!' 'She summoned seven chains at once!'—and I'm just sitting there thinking: Why didn't I meet this woman ten years ago?"
Imeena blinked. "Are you... praising me?"
Lara gave her a wink. "Sweetheart, I'm tempted to give you a medal."
"Please don't."
"Too late. It's already embroidered on a theoretical pillow."
Imeena stared. Then looked at the council. Then back at Lara.
"You dragged me to the basement for this?"
"No, no, no," Lara waved her hand. "This is just the appetizer."
"Gods help me."
"You're gonna love the main course."
"I already hate it."
Lara turned back toward the table, propping one foot on a chair like a pirate about to announce a mutiny.
"I don't want to punish you. That would be stupid. If anything, you did us a favor. Knocked their pride down a peg. But..." She turned slowly, pointing a single black-nailed finger at Imeena. "I do want a favor."
Imeena crossed her arms. Her chains stirred faintly under her coat. "Of course you do."
Lara made a long, dramatic pause.
One of the council members shifted slightly. Even they looked tired.
Then Lara said, with a smile sharp as a blade—
"You will become Kaelith's bodyguard during her stay here."