CHAPTER 184: CHAPTER 184: AIDEN NO MORE

Winter was here.

The next day broke with the hush of snow over the Leonidus estate. The air was silver, soft, and mercilessly still.

Within the chamber of mirrors, Aiden stood before his reflection—unfamiliar, distant, half-vanished behind the new face he had crafted.

His once-white hair, the mark of his identity, shimmered now in black. The golden light in his eyes had turned to a tranquil blue, oceanic yet cold.

His reflection looked like a stranger dressed in shadow—a man reshaped by purpose. Tanya stood behind him, hands deft and practiced, her fingers moving through strands of hair like a sculptor refining marble.

The faint scent of iron and crushed herbs filled the room.

"There," she murmured, smudging a spot of color along his cheek. "No one will see the Aiden anymore."

Aiden gave no reply. His eyes were half-lidded, lost in the silent fire of thought. The fewer who see the truth, the safer they are, he told himself. But that was a lie, and he knew it. The truth was simpler: the fewer who see the truth, the freer I am.

Tanya frowned as she brushed the powder off her fingertips. "No matter how you try to dim yourself, Aiden, you still draw the eye."

He gave a soft, rueful laugh. "Then let them see only what I allow."

The knock came—a sharp, impatient rhythm. Tanya turned, startled. Before Aiden could speak, the door opened and Flora entered, her eyes blazing with restrained fury.

Flora’s red dress trailed across the marble, the scent of jasmine following her like a curse. "So it’s true," she said. "You’re going to be a priest?"

Her voice trembled, caught between anger and disbelief. The word priest hung in the air like a blade unsheathed. "Why, Aiden? Why now—when we are meant to be preparing for our engagement? Why are you playing games with the church?"

Aiden turned slowly, his new reflection catching the light. For a moment, she didn’t recognize him. The black hair, the altered eyes—it all felt like a mask.

He stepped closer, his voice steady. "The church is where my answers hide. If I am to build something that lasts, I must understand the faith that binds this world."

Flora’s hands trembled. "You speak of building and understanding as if you are not part of this world."

He smiled faintly. "Perhaps... perhaps I’m more."

Then, before she could speak again, he crossed the space between them and drew her into his arms. His hand rested at her waist, his touch firm, grounding. "Flora," he whispered, "you will be my wife. That much will not change."

Her heart thundered against him. "Then why do you look like someone else?"

"Because," he said softly, "to tune this world in my favor, Our Favor..."

His lips brushed her forehead—a promise, not possession. She closed her eyes, her breath catching.

Around them, the morning light spilled through the curtains like holy fire, and for a heartbeat the world seemed still.

When they broke apart, her voice was quieter, almost childlike. "You say you’ll return... but the church devours men like you. Your kind burns in its name."

Aiden turned toward the table, where a small pendant lay—three crystals intertwined by thin silver threads. The stones glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat: one clear as water, one deep crimson, and one the color of dusk.

He lifted it, feeling its weight hum against his palm. "This will change that."

Flora frowned, stepping closer. "What is it?"

"A key," he murmured, slipping it over his neck. "And a weapon."

He closed his eyes, focusing inward. A faint radiance rose from his skin—a shimmer, subtle and alive.

[Aura of allure used]

The air warmed, and a strange fragrance filled the room, sweet and sacred. Tanya gasped. Flora felt her breath catch in her throat.

The usual heat of Aiden’s presence—his lustful allure—was gone. In its place was something gentler, brighter, like sunlight through stained glass.

"Your aura..." Tanya whispered. "It feels... charming but also....divine..."

"That’s what the crystal does," Aiden said. "It consumes what I am and rebirths it as something opposite.

To walk among them, I must become one of them."

Flora’s voice trembled. "You twist your own nature, Aiden. How long can you bear that?"

He looked at her, and for an instant his mask faltered. "As long as I must."

The words rang with quiet finality.

Later that morning, he dressed in the humble garments of the clergy—plain linen, a silver chain, a traveler’s cloak.

The symbol of the Church of Acclaim hung from his neck, polished but faintly tarnished. His reflection no longer bore the fire of the knight, the Servents nor the incubus-born, but the solemn calm of a pilgrim bound by faith.

Tanya adjusted his collar, her eyes lingering on him with unspoken worry. "Your beauty might draw suspicion, even now. Be cautious."

"I’ve lived a life of masks," he said. "This one is simply cleaner."

Before leaving, he turned once more to Flora. She stood by the window, half in shadow. The wind caught her hair, carrying strands across her face.

She looked at him—not as a fiancée watching her betrothed, but as a woman watching the edge of fate.

"When this is done," she said softly, "promise me you’ll come back with your name still your own."

"I promise nothing," Aiden said, though his eyes were gentle. "But I’ll try."

He stepped into the corridor, and the mansion exhaled behind him—the sigh of walls that had seen too many secrets.

As he descended the grand staircase, he caught sight of the two figures waiting by the gate: Duchess Sabrina, crimson as a dying sun, and Viscountess Catherine, pale as moonlight.

Both stood silent, their gazes fixed on him. There was judgment in their eyes, yes—but also curiosity, a strange hunger that had little to do with desire. More to do with thirst and lust.

They were women of power, used to reading men like books. Yet before Aiden, both hesitated.

Sabrina’s voice came first, low and melodic. "You hide yourself well within those hair and clothing. What are you planning, Aiden??."

"...I think you know already, my dear Sabrina."

Catherine tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You walk toward a nest of serpents, Aiden. And you wear a crown of faith. How poetic."

He bowed slightly. "If serpents are what await me, then perhaps I’ll learn to speak their tongue."

Sabrina’s smile deepened, sharp and knowing. "Be careful. The Church is older than any crown, older than the Empire’s bones. It eats what it cannot control."

"I have no intention of being eaten," he said simply.

Their gazes held for a long moment. Then Sabrina nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Go, then. But remember—faith is the most dangerous fire. It burns believers and heretics alike. And you my love, shame the heretics they oh so hate..."

As Aiden walked through the gate, the sound of the city rose to meet him—bells tolling in the distance, the murmur of merchants, the cold wind carrying whispers from the cathedral towers.

Each step felt heavier than the last, as if he were walking not toward destiny but into its jaws.

In his mind, pieces began to align: the corrupted scriptures, the noble houses, the civil war’s strange orchestration.

Everything pointed toward a single, unseen hand shaping the world’s collapse. The Church, he thought, has always been patient.

The pendant against his chest pulsed once, as though acknowledging his thought. It was a quiet reminder of what he carried—his bloodline, his ambition, and his disguise.

He looked up. Beyond the rooftops, the spires of the Great Cathedral pierced the sky like spears of glass. Their tips caught the sunlight, blazing with a holiness so pure it felt almost cruel.

And beneath that brilliance, Aiden smiled—a slow, dangerous smile.

"Let’s see," he whispered, "if heaven can recognize the devil it made."