THE DEVIL AND HER APPRENTICE
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The veil of smoke parted.
A floating panel of mirror-light hovered before Valthrix’s throne, refracting Thornmere’s chaos:
the shattered gates, the fallen mirrorborn, Sereth and Elyra screaming for Varno, Tavian crumpled but alive, Elaris shaking with rage, and Azhareth’s silhouette rising into the dusk with the child in his arms.
The Devil’s smile…
was poetry.
Valthrix lounged sideways across her velvet chaise, legs crossed, heels swinging lazily off one foot.
Her quill twirled between her fingers with bored precision.
Valthrix:
“Mmm. Beautiful. Just beautiful.”
Beside her stood Latt Elyra.
Still. Silent. Perfect.
She watched the mirror with unnerving calm — a flawless reflection of the real Elyra, minus the scars, minus the emotional storm, minus everything human.
But there was something new in her eyes.
A faint—very faint—pulse of blue-green light when the real Elyra screamed her baby brother’s name.
Valthrix noticed.
She always did.
Her quill paused mid-spin.
Valthrix (soft, teasing):
“Careful, darling. Don’t let sentiment creep in. It wrinkles the soul.”
Latt Elyra did not look away from the image of Sereth collapsing to her knees.
Latt Elyra (monotone):
“The Shepherd suffers.”
Valthrix grinned wickedly.
Valthrix:
“Ohhh yes he does. Look at him — look. Every thread of that cute little lattice of his is trembling.
Despair. Rage. Guilt. A parent’s terror…”
She placed a hand dramatically on her chest.
Valthrix:
“Delicious.”
She flicked her quill and the image zoomed in on Azhareth lifting off with Varno — the baby peaceful under his cloak.
Latt Elyra tilted her head slightly.
Latt Elyra:
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“The dragon hesitates.”
Valthrix laughed — low, rich, amused.
Valthrix:
“Of course he does. Poor Azhareth. Loyal to a fault. Bound by love. Burdened by conscience.”
(smirks)
“How predictable.”
A beat.
Valthrix leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands like a delighted teacher watching her finest student.
Valthrix:
“But this — this — is the masterpiece.
Do you see it, my dear?”
Latt Elyra:
“The separation of the child destabilises them.”
Valthrix:
“Exactly. Every step unfolding just as I nudged it.”
She tapped the mirror with her quill, each note punctuated:
Valthrix:
“Varsha dead.
Vaelith weakened.
The lattice cracked then repaired.
The little miracle born.
The Vorns too distracted by love and comfort to guard their greatest vulnerability.
And Azhareth… trapped in a choice he cannot survive.”
Her smile sharpened like a scalpel.
Valthrix:
“Oh, how I adore mortals. They think their decisions are theirs.
But every path they take…”
tap
“…I paved.”
tap
“…I anticipated.”
tap
“…I orchestrated.”
She turned her head, watching Latt Elyra with sly fascination.
Valthrix:
“Tell me, my radiant little lattice-child…
What comes next?”
Latt Elyra processed silently.
When she spoke, her voice had the eerie calm of someone already seeing the future.
Latt Elyra:
“They will come to the Spire.
The Shepherd’s grief will break open the queen’s corruption.
The True Heart will search for a new vessel.”
She looked down at her own glowing hands.
Latt Elyra:
“It will choose me.”
Valthrix exhaled in pleasure — a sound of pure triumph.
Valthrix:
“Ohhh gods, hearing it said aloud…
It’s like dessert.”
Her wings flared in a ripple of smoky gold.
Valthrix:
“Yes.
The True Heart is cornered. Afraid.
It will leap from Vaelith the moment it senses her falter.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
Valthrix:
“And I have spent months positioning you as the perfect host.”
Latt Elyra blinked.
Latt Elyra:
“Perfect…?”
Valthrix slid an arm around her shoulders like a proud mother.
Valthrix:
“Perfectly stable. Perfectly powerful. Perfectly loyal.
A creature who can hold both lattices without collapsing.”
Her tone shifted — darker, sweeter.
Valthrix:
“You will take the corruption…
and purify it.
No madness. No erosion.
Full power.
Full control.”
Latt Elyra:
“And you will guide me.”
Valthrix’s smile turned angelic in shape, demonic in intent.
Valthrix:
“Always, darling.”
She lifted the mirror again.
The Vorns collapsed together in grief.
The Crimson Dice running.
The bells of Thornmere ringing for war.
Valthrix inhaled the scene like perfume.
Valthrix:
“All chess pieces moving exactly where I want them.
All hearts cracked open just enough.
All fear sharpened perfectly.”
She leaned back, satisfied beyond measure.
Valthrix:
“We are in the endgame, little goddess.”
Latt Elyra:
“Yes.”
A faint, strange warmth flickered across Latt Elyra’s face — almost a smile — when Elyra below clung to Sereth, sobbing.
Valthrix missed it.
Or pretended to.
She stood, stretching, her silhouette framed against the fiery glow of the corrupted lattice behind her.
Valthrix:
“Come, my dear.
Let’s watch the Shepherd crumble…
and prepare to take your rightful place.”
Latt Elyra followed.
Silent.
Perfect.
But inside her lattice-woven chest, something shifted.
A warmth that shouldn’t exist.
A pulse not from corruption…
…but from the real Elyra’s desperate, hurting heart.
And for the briefest moment —
just one breath —
Latt Elyra whispered internally:
“Brother…”
Then the feeling snapped away.
Valthrix brushed her quill against her lips, humming.
Valthrix:
“Everything is falling into place.”
And the devil smiled.
Because she was right.
