Behind that chuckle, Dervin's mind was already working, meticulously crafting his next move—a move that would hinge entirely on the power of his impending ability.
This wasn't a victory.
Not in his books.
If anything, this was a failure.
He had been forced into a deal rather than orchestrating it himself. He had needed help, which was already a strike against him.
Worse, his opponent had walked away with more than he had gained. And what had he received in return? An unknown power—one that could be monumental or laughably weak.
For the first time, uncertainty gripped him.
His innate abilities had yet to reveal themselves, and the anticipation felt like a double-edged sword. Would they be as overwhelmingly powerful as everyone expected? Or would they prove to be nothing more than a disappointment?
No.
He wouldn't accept that.
He couldn't.
If this game had barely been a win, then next time, he would make sure it was a slaughter.
For the sake of caution, Dervin decided that his maids would be the first to ascend. Not out of fear—never fear—but calculated prudence. Information was power, and he needed to understand the process before stepping into the unknown himself. He would use his maids as his vanguard, uncovering what awaited beyond mortality. Was it a series of trials? A mere transition? He would soon find out.
His voice remained firm, an unshaken force of dominance. "Emily, the first of my maids will also be the first to ascend."
Emily smirked, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Your tone never wavers, does it? It would be quite the sight to watch that confidence crumble—especially if your innate ability turns out to be nothing but garbage."
Dervin merely offered her a cold glance. Words meant nothing; results were all that mattered.
Emily stretched her fingers, her midnight violet eyes gleaming with power. "This won't be a reincarnation but a rebirth," she stated, as intricate violet magic circles began forming beneath Theresa. "Now then, let's begin."
The air crackled as Theresa's body was lifted, suspended by an unseen force. A moment later, her illusionary form shattered like fragile glass, dissolving into nothingness. What remained was her true essence—an orb, much like Dervin's, but instead of a deep blue, hers was pure black, pulsating with a mysterious energy.
Seconds passed, and then—crack.
The orb fractured, the sound like delicate porcelain breaking apart. Shards of light erupted outward, a brilliant radiance flooding the chamber. From within that glow, a silhouette emerged, forming, taking shape.
As the luminous energy finally settled, Theresa's reborn form was unveiled.
She still retained her earthly beauty—smooth porcelain skin, bewitching golden eyes that shimmered with intelligence and feline mischief—but now, she was something more. Her once-human ears had been replaced by soft, furred cat-like ears that twitched in the air, amplifying her heightened senses.
A sleek, elegant tail swayed behind her, its movements fluid and precise. Her figure had become more refined, ethereal even, radiating an undeniable aura of divinity. The regal posture she held only added to her allure—an apex predator wrapped in grace.
Emily's fangs glinted, barely concealed behind her lips. Her instincts flared at the presence of an untested Goddess—one who had yet to taste the full extent of her new power.
Then, the first thing Theresa did was kneel before Dervin.
It wasn't the awkward, forced submission of one compelled by circumstance, but something utterly natural, seamless.
Her feline features only made her devotion more profound, her obedience almost instinctual. The way her tail curled slightly, the way her ears lowered ever so subtly—it wasn't just respect. It was reverence.
Emily observed with interest, tilting her head. "Hmm… A Goddess of the Beastkin. That's an unexpected path."
Unexpected.
Dervin instantly dissected her words.
An unexpected path meant that ascension was not a rigid process but one shaped by something deeper. There were boundless possibilities, infinite directions a soul could take. If that was the case, then it was entirely possible to find a path perfectly suited to him—one that transcended even the limits Emily thought existed.
It made sense why Theresa had ascended in this form. Her unnatural, unwavering loyalty and devotion had shaped her new existence. She was his, completely and utterly, and now that devotion had manifested physically, elevating her into a divine being that embodied her true nature.
Dervin stepped forward, his gaze unwavering as he addressed her.
"Theresa," he said, his voice steady. "How was the ascension?"
Theresa lifted her gaze to meet Dervin's, her light brown eyes glimmering as though reflecting the golden radiance of her newfound divinity. There was something different about them now—something ancient, something untamed. Yet, the unwavering devotion in her expression remained the same.
She took a slow breath before answering, her voice carrying an ethereal resonance that hadn't been there before.
"The ascension…" she began, her tail flicking behind her, "was both a trial and a revelation. It was as if I was torn apart, broken down into my very essence, scattered across the void… and yet, at the same time, I was whole. The pain was there, but distant, dulled by an overwhelming clarity. The moment I accepted what I was meant to become, the struggle ceased. Everything fell into place naturally, as though I had simply been waiting to remember."
Emily smirked. "How poetic. But for the record, ascension isn't supposed to be easy. Some never find their path. They wander in the void, lost for eternity."
Theresa turned to her, unfazed. "Then they were never meant to ascend."
Dervin listened intently, absorbing every word. To Theresa, the experience had been a paradox—both difficult and effortless, agonizing and enlightening.
And yet, to him, it sounded… easy.
Of course, it wouldn't be simple in execution. But if the key was understanding oneself—one's desires, one's truth—then Dervin already had an advantage. He was a man who never doubted himself. If the ascension required embracing one's nature, then he had no reason to falter.
A small smirk ghosted his lips.
"Good," he said simply, as if Theresa's rebirth was nothing but an expected outcome. "Then we proceed."
His gaze shifted to the next in line.
"Xanthe, you're next."
The air grew thick with anticipation.
Xanthe stepped forward, graceful yet unhurried, as if she had already foreseen this moment long before it arrived. Unlike Theresa, there was no illusion to shatter—her form remained unchanged to the human eye, her ethereal beauty as mesmerizing as ever. But there was an unmistakable shift in her aura. A presence that was both serene and overwhelming, as if she already existed beyond mortal comprehension.
Emily's lips curled in amusement. "Oh? A rare case. Her body remains as it was, but only because that's all the human eye can perceive. How interesting…"
The violet magic circles formed once more, weaving through the air as Xanthe was lifted. The process began, a quiet hum reverberating through the chamber.
Unlike Theresa's ascension, which had burst forth with raw energy, Xanthe's was almost imperceptible—silent, like the turning of a page in a book only she could read. The light that surrounded her was not blinding but subtle, weaving intricate patterns, reshaping her into something far beyond mortal understanding.
Then, as if nothing had happened at all, she was there.
The same. Yet, not.
To the untrained eye, Xanthe was untouched, her features retaining their flawless beauty, her expression calm and composed. But there was something in the way she held herself now, a quiet authority that spoke of limitless knowledge, an understanding so deep it could never be fully grasped.
Dervin's gaze remained locked on her as she descended from the air, her feet touching the ground with the same grace as before. And then—just like Theresa—she knelt before him.
The act was deliberate, not out of obligation, but an unspoken truth. She belonged to him. She always had.
A quiet chuckle escaped Emily's lips. "A smart one, I see… No, more than that." She tilted her head, observing Xanthe with newfound intrigue. "Not quite a Goddess of Wisdom… yet rivals one."
Dervin met Xanthe's gaze, reading the silent intelligence in her golden-hued eyes.
"Xanthe," he said, "tell me."
Xanthe's voice was soft, almost dreamy, as she reflected on her ascension. Unlike Theresa's trial of destruction and rebirth, hers had been something else entirely—something warm, something familiar.
"The ascension was… soothing," she murmured, her golden-hued eyes carrying a distant glow. "Like the gentle flicker of candlelight against the pages of a book. It reminded me of those quiet nights we spent together, when the world around us faded away, and it was just the two of us… reading, nestled against each other in perfect harmony."
Her gaze lifted to meet Dervin's, a rare trace of vulnerability shimmering beneath her composed demeanor.
"It was a place I could have stayed in forever. A world where nothing else existed but that warmth, that comfort. But there was one flaw—one thing that made it all feel… incomplete." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You weren't there."
A silence followed, heavier than before.
Dervin absorbed her words, analyzing every nuance, every implication. The ascension wasn't a uniform experience—it was deeply personal, uniquely tailored to each individual. Theresa's trial had stripped her down to the core of her being, forcing her to accept herself before she could be reborn. But Xanthe…
Her challenge had been temptation. A reality so perfect, so inviting, that she could have easily lost herself within it. If she had chosen to remain in that illusion, she would have been trapped, bound in eternity to a world that only felt whole in his presence.
His expression didn't change, but something flickered in his obsidian eyes.
Without a word, his hands moved instinctively, resting atop the heads of the two kneeling women. A quiet gesture—one of acknowledgment, perhaps even affection.
A habit.
His fingers brushed through Theresa's soft, silken hair, trailing briefly over her cat-like ears, then shifted to Xanthe, his touch lingering at the crown of her head.
As if by some unseen force, Aisha's gaze was drawn to the scene. Her emerald eyes fixated on the two kneeling women, her expression unreadable—yet, beneath her composed exterior, there was something else.
Something close to envy.
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