Lysoria shimmered with spelllight and secrets, its golden towers hiding rot beneath runes. In the undercity, where magic was currency and monsters wore crowns, The Crimson Siren moved like wildfire—Y/N, untouchable, unforgettable. But that night, among blood-soaked bids and veiled enchantments, a boy appeared like snow in summer. Aziel. Quiet. Unreadable. Dangerous in a way that didn’t scream—it whispered. Their eyes met like blades drawn in silk. One sought vengeance, the other, truth. Neither
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