"You are not to interfere," she said.
The figure nodded.
"Just clean up the aftermath."
"Yes, my Queen."
And that was all.
She walked forward again, down the corridor, toward the vault on the western wing. Her robe still hung loosely, but her eyes no longer looked calm.
They looked focused.
Like fire behind glass.
A different kind of Lilith was beginning to wake.
Not the illusionist. Not the singer. Not the public icon.
But the original.
The one who once brought an entire continent to its knees.
And her daughters?
They were already moving.
No fanfare.
No declarations.
Just clean, cold steps toward retribution.
This was not revenge.
This was a correction.
A lesson, and by the time the cult realized they'd been found, it would already be too late.
There would be no warnings.
No mercy.
Only silence.
And then—
nothing.
Meanwhile, away from the Nocturne Mansion.
