Inside the Divine Dividing—a place of absolute white silence where Albion's will resided—time slowed to a glacial pace. The luminous threads of existence pulsed with a faint rhythm, like the universe itself taking steady, measured breaths. For millennia, this had been the constant background to Albion's awareness—the endless white expanse, the threads binding reality together, and the distant, familiar pulse of crimson that was his eternal rival, Ddraig.
But something was wrong.
The white dragon's presence—ancient, immovable, vast as the space between stars—shifted with rare unease. His essence filled the realm like smoke in a sealed room, pressing against the boundaries of the pocket dimension with restless intensity. For thousands of years, the rhythm had been unchanging—the push and pull between light and dark, white and red, Albion and Ddraig.
Until now.
Albion's consciousness, vast and complex beyond mortal comprehension, rippled through the white expanse of his realm. The threads of existence around him pulsed faster—once, twice—before settling into a rhythm that was subtly, undeniably different. Something had changed in the cosmic pattern—something that shouldn't be possible.
He reached out through the universal fabric, searching for the familiar signature—that hot, vibrant pulse locked inside Issei Hyoudou, glowing crimson in his consciousness like a second heart. The red dragon's energy had always been easy to locate, a beacon burning bright against the cosmic backdrop.
There was nothing.
Not a fading echo. Not scattered remnants. Not even the lingering sense of a soul recently departed. The space where Ddraig's consciousness should have been—where it had been for countless millennia—was perfectly, absolutely empty. As if it had never existed at all.
"…Impossible," Albion breathed, the word barely above a whisper in the vast expanse of his realm.
☆=
On the edge of Kuoh's downtown district, Vali Lucifer stood atop a rooftop with the wind pressing his silver hair against his neck. The night stretched above him—vast and cloudless, the stars arranged in their eternal patterns. In the distance, the city lights cast a soft glow against the horizon, painting the skyline in shades of amber and electric blue. He breathed in the cool evening air, eyes half-lidded as he enjoyed the momentary peace.
Then the air changed—subtly, almost imperceptibly—like the fabric of reality itself had flinched.
It was nothing dramatic—no thunderclap, no flash of light, nothing a normal human would notice—but Vali's senses, honed through centuries of divine-dragon magic, caught the shift immediately. The taste of the wind changed—picking up a hint of ozone and something ancient and sour. The shadows around him stretched for one impossible moment, reaching in directions that defied the laws of physics. The temperature dropped three degrees in the space of a heartbeat, the cold seeping through his jacket like it had been dipped in ice water.
His grip on the Divine Dividing gauntlet tightened automatically, fingers curling around the cool metal with instinctive wariness.
"Albion," he called, his voice calm but carrying the weight of expectation. He waited for the immediate response—the white dragon's presence always flowed through him like a second consciousness, ready to answer with perfect timing.
Silence stretched between them—one beat, two, three—each passing second making Vali's stance grow more alert, his muscles coiling with building tension.
When Albion finally spoke, his voice emerged lower than Vali had ever heard it—the vast, ancient presence that lived within the Divine Dividing reduced to something that might almost be called human.
"…Ddraig is gone."
Vali froze, jaw clenching with sudden, absolute focus. The wind picked up, howling around the edge of the rooftop and ruffling his jacket with impersonal force. "Explain," he demanded, the single word sharp enough to cut.
Albion searched again, the dragon's consciousness pushing through the universal fabric with methodical precision. This time, he probed not just for the presence of the Red Dragon Emperor but for any trace of the legendary soul—any fragment, any essence, any whisper of the entity that had existed since before time was measured.
Nothing. The space remained perfectly empty, as if Ddraig had been erased from the record of existence.
"He was not slain," Albion stated, each word carefully measured despite the grim note that underscored them. "He was consumed. Devoured whole."
Vali's expression remained perfectly composed, but his fingers flexed around the gauntlet—once, twice—the only visible sign of the sudden, calculated tension building in his chest. "You're certain?"
Albion's reply came with absolute, ancient certainty. "Yes. There is no reincarnation, no afterlife trail, no lingering will—nothing that would remain after a normal death." His voice darkened further. "This… is a catastrophe."
The wind shifted, whipping Vali's silver hair across his face as he processed Albion's words. Albion—who had knowledge spanning eras, who remembered the age before the Biblical God's fall, who had witnessed the birth and death of countless civilizations—had no explanation. That ignorance, more than the news itself, sent a current of awareness through Vali's body, tension coiling between his shoulder blades.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his muscles to relax one by one, his face settling back into its usual unreadable mask. "Explain what you do know," he ordered, voice level.
The pause before Albion responded stretched long enough that Vali could count his own heartbeats. When the dragon finally spoke, each word emerged with careful precision, like a surgeon explaining a fatal diagnosis.
"Normal death would leave remnants. Even a soul completely destroyed would scatter, its essence returning to the cycle of reincarnation." Albion's voice dropped lower, carrying an edge Vali had never heard before. "This was consumption—total, absolute, leaving no trace. As if Ddraig had never existed at all."
Vali's lips curved into a slow smirk that contained no humor—just the particular sharp interest of a scientist discovering something that defies all known rules. "Now that's interesting," he said, the words carrying a weight that had nothing to do with amusement.
"Interesting?" Albion echoed, incredulity coloring his ancient voice. "Whatever entity could erase a Heavenly Dragon like a footnote needs to be eliminated immediately."
Vali tilted his head, acknowledgment rather than agreement in the gesture. "We still don't know the who," he pointed out, his tone light despite the careful calculation visible in his eyes.
The wind howled around him—suddenly, viciously strong—as Vali stared toward the horizon where Kuoh Academy's silhouette cut into the night sky. His eyes narrowed, a flash of something dangerous passing behind his gaze—the recognition that someone new had entered the board, had changed the rules, had introduced a variable that even Albion couldn't predict.
And that, whatever else it meant, made things very, very interesting.
The morning after Ddraig's consumption, Hespera groaned herself awake with the particular reluctance of someone who would rather stay buried under her black silk sheets than face the indignity of a school day. Her silver-streaked hair fanned across the pillow in spectacular disarray, violet, indigo, and green-blue strands forming a chaotic tangle around her face. She stared at the ceiling above her bed—a swirling mural of galaxies, nebulae, and dying stars—and gave genuine consideration to the idea of setting Kuoh Academy on fire rather than attending first period.
She dismissed the thought with a snort. She'd promised Ophis nothing too destructive—at least, not yet.
The bathroom welcomed her with cool air and the subtle scent of orchids that bloomed from tiny black-and-violet plants growing along the walls. Hespera caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink—frosted glass framed in silver and obsidian, the fixtures gleaming with quiet luxury—and paused to admire the view. Her hair cascaded down her back in a mess of gleaming silver, the streak of violet fading to indigo then green-blue, as if reality itself couldn't decide what color she should be. Her heterochromatic eyes—emerald on the left, amethyst on the right—glowed with faint, otherworldly light beneath thick black lashes. Her skin held the perfect olive tone that had come from Ophis's impossible genetics, flawless and untouched by the acne that plagued teenage humanity.
Hespera leaned in, tracing the line of her cheek with one finger, watching the way her reflection did the same. She bared her teeth—the left side human, the right side revealing a row of perfect, wickedly sharp fangs. Her lips curved into a smirk that made the girl in the mirror look both dangerous and beautiful, like a blade that had been polished to a killing edge.
"I really am a masterpiece~," she told her reflection, the words carrying genuine satisfaction.
She splashed cold water on her face—a pointless human ritual she'd decided to keep—and stepped under the warm spray of the shower. Thoughts drifted through her mind as the water sluiced down her back: the school had definitely clocked her as something supernatural, the Occult Research Club was watching her with poorly disguised interest, and best of all, the Perverted Trio was no longer a problem. She licked her lips, tasting the ghost of Issei's terror as she'd torn his heart from his chest. That had been fun—a nice warm-up for the main event.
Her mind flickered to Vali Lucifer and Albion, and a slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. The white dragon would have felt Ddraig's disappearance immediately—that ancient connection broken with a snap rather than a fade. And whatever Vali's reaction had been, she doubted it included "stay quiet and do nothing."
Her smirk widened as she stepped out of the shower, water beading on her skin and hair. She reached for the plush black towel hanging on the obsidian rack—and paused. The ring on her left middle finger had begun to vibrate, the spatial connection to Noctis pulsing with the particular eagerness of a blade wanting to be used.
Hespera rolled her eyes with fond exasperation. "Geez, Noctis, I literally just woke up," she complained, running the towel through her hair with more force than necessary. "Can you wait until after breakfast before demanding more chaos?"
The ring pulsed once in answer—a clear "No" that made her snicker despite herself. With a lazy flick of her wrist, she sent a burst of magic through her hair—the strands instantly drying, falling into perfect, gleaming waves that caught the light in impossible ways.
Her closet stood three times the size of a normal room—another little convenience Ophis had arranged—clothes of every style and shade arranged in perfect rows. Hespera considered for a moment, then reached for the uniform. She'd make it work.
The Kuoh Academy uniform emerged transformed from her hands: the white button-up left slightly undone at the collar, the black blazer sharp at the shoulders, the pleated skirt tugged a fraction higher on her waist. Thigh-high stockings and sleek black boots completed the look—the whole ensemble exactly the kind of thing that would make the teachers' association scowl and the boys' club howl.
Her reflection in the full-length mirror grinned back at her with mischief and malevolence in equal measure—a girl who had erased three people from existence the previous night and was already considering who might be next.
The grand staircase curved down the center of the mansion, polished obsidian catching the light from lanterns that burned with enchanted amber flame. Hespera descended with her fingers trailing along the banister, boots clicking softly against the marble steps.
"Rias Gremory," she mused aloud, her voice bouncing off the walls of the empty foyer. "Drowning in untapped power and choosing comfort over evolution." She shook her head, silver hair catching the light. "What a waste. She might need a little push."
Her gaze lifted to the ceiling, thoughts already turning. "Akeno," she continued, her smile sharpening. "All that rage and resentment rotting into daddy issues behind that perfect smile." She tapped one finger against her lips, considering. "That's a problem I'll have to fix at some point."
Her nails scraped the banister as her thoughts landed on Azazel—her brother, who had experimented on her divine body like she was a broken doll, who had treated her as nothing more than a collection of parts to be disassembled and reassembled for his own amusement. Her pupils contracted to dangerous slits, the emerald and amethyst glowing brighter with sudden malice.
"That bastard really thought there wouldn't be a price to pay?" she muttered, the words carrying enough heat to make the nearest lantern flicker.
A low chuckle escaped her throat—the sound of someone planning something particularly vicious—followed by the sharper thought of Lucifer's reincarnation. Her fingers twitched with the urge to shatter something, to tear and break until the rage subsided.
The ring on her finger pulsed again, softer this time, as if sensing the direction of her thoughts. Hespera tapped it once, a gentle admonishment. "Patience, Noctis," she murmured, her voice taking on that particular note of affection she reserved for her blade. "I'll feed you more fun soon enough."
The scent hit her at the bottom of the stairs—vanilla, honey, and the sharp sweetness of berries. Hespera's eyes narrowed in immediate suspicion, because Ophis did not cook. The dragon goddess had existed for eons beyond human comprehension, her existence spanning multiple dimensions, her power vast enough to collapse reality itself—and in all that time, she had never once bothered to prepare food.
Yet the smell was unmistakable—rich and warm and definitely coming from the dining hall.
Hespera moved through the foyer with quick, suspicious steps, following her nose to the dining hall's massive double doors. She pushed them open with a single touch, letting them swing inward with silent grace.
The dining hall stretched long and elegant—the blackwood table polished to a mirror shine, the floating chandelier above it casting a warm, golden glow over the entire space. Ancient tapestries hung on the obsidian walls, depicting scenes from worlds long destroyed and concepts too complex for human minds to comprehend.
And there, at the head of the table, sat Ophis—her back straight, her expression absolutely impassive, a steaming cup of tea balanced between her pale fingers. In front of her, on a plate of gleaming black porcelain, sat a stack of perfectly golden pancakes drizzled with fresh strawberry syrup.
Hespera blinked. Blinked again. Then she grinned, sliding into the chair across from her mother with all the dramatic flair she could muster, chin propped on one hand.
"Mom~," she drawled, drawing out the syllable with teasing affection. "Since when do you make food?"
Ophis lifted her gaze from her tea, violet eyes fixing on Hespera with careful attention. "Since my Silence requires sustenance," she said, and pushed the plate across the table with one elegant finger.
Hespera stared at the pancakes, then at Ophis, then back at the pancakes. Her shoulders began to shake—first with barely contained giggles, then with soft, breathy laughter that filled the dining hall with bright, genuine sound. "That book really helped, huh?" she managed between chuckles. "The one from last night? 'How to Cook For Your Teenage Kid'?"
Ophis blinked once—a movement so subtle it might have been missed by anyone who hadn't spent centuries learning to read her. "Yes," she confirmed. "I learned a lot."
Hespera cackled, stabbing her fork into the top pancake with exaggerated gusto. She took a slow, deliberate bite—and paused, eyes widening slightly with surprise. "Wait," she said, the word muffled around her mouthful. "This is actually good?"
Ophis nodded once, a strand of black hair falling across her face with the movement. "I followed the instructions correctly."
Hespera tapped her fork against the plate, considering. "And here I was," she said, her voice lilting with theatrical suspicion, "thinking you might try to poison me."
Ophis tilted her head—another microexpression that would have been invisible to anyone else. "I would not do that."
Hespera smirked, a fang catching the light. "I know, Mom," she said, her tone softening despite herself. "But wouldn't it be fun if you did?"
Ophis said nothing—just calmly placed another strawberry slice onto Hespera's plate with careful precision, her movements as deliberate as if she were placing a chess piece rather than a piece of fruit.
Hespera popped it into her mouth, chewing with exaggerated pleasure. "You really do enjoy doting on me, huh?" she asked, the question casual but her eyes fixed on Ophis's face with careful attention.
Ophis held her gaze, something almost imperceptible shifting in her expression—a softening around the eyes, a slight curve at the corner of her mouth. "Yes," she said, the single word carrying the weight of absolute certainty.
Hespera's fork paused mid-air, a slow, amused chuckle spilling from her lips. "…You're such a good mom~."
The silence that followed was comfortable—neither empty nor charged, just the quiet companionship of two beings who understood each other perfectly. Hespera finished her breakfast with unhurried bites, licking the last of the syrup off her fork with deliberate relish. When she stood to stretch, her shirt rode up to reveal a sliver of skin at her waist, the movement deliberate and theatrical.
"Alright, alright," she declared, rolling her eyes with exaggerated reluctance. "I'll actually go to school today." She tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the door, "Don't miss me too much, okay?"
Ophis took another sip of her tea, the movement precise and measured. "I will not," she said—the words delivered with absolute certainty, but something in her eyes had softened, a warmth that hadn't been there before.
Hespera laughed—bright and genuine—and headed for the front door, leaving behind the quiet warmth of the dining hall, the impassive dragon goddess, and the faint, lingering scent of strawberries.
This new life, she decided, was really quite fun.