Strongest Incubus System

Night fell silently, almost imperceptibly, as if time itself had decided not to abruptly mark its passage in that place that still carried the echoes of what had happened. The daylight faded gradually, replaced by long shadows that stretched through the damaged corridors of the mansion, partially hiding the cracks in the walls, the broken furniture, and the traces of ice that had been absorbed but not completely forgotten. The air still had a faint smell of burning, mixed with broken stone and old wood, as if the environment resisted returning to normal, keeping alive the memory of the recent chaos.

Damon walked down one of the corridors, his steps echoing softly against the uneven floor, instinctively avoiding the debris that had not yet been removed. He carried nothing in his hands, he wasn’t working, he wasn’t fixing anything. For the first time that day, he simply walked, without a defined destination, allowing his steps to take him wherever his body decided, without the need to control every movement or every decision.

He had spent the entire day busy, whether cleaning, helping with small tasks, or staying in the kitchen longer than he considered necessary, simply because Aria had insisted. And yet, the rest she had tried to force him to accept had not been complete. His body was better, the regeneration had done its work, but his mind remained restless, trapped between thoughts he avoided confronting directly and sensations that refused to disappear.

The silence of the night made everything clearer.

No distractions.

No urgent tasks.

No voices.

Just him.

And that which he had not yet resolved.

He turned into another corridor, passing a partially destroyed wall, where the moonlight streamed in a silvery beam, illuminating particles of dust suspended in the air. For a moment, he stopped, observing how that light spread across the uneven floor, as if trying to fill the space left by the absence of something greater. There was a strange calm there, a quietness that wasn’t entirely comfortable, but wasn’t unbearable either.

He took a deep breath.

And continued.

His steps led him out of the main wing of the mansion, through a partially damaged passage that gave access to the garden. The difference was immediate. The air seemed lighter there, less heavy with the smell of destruction, less burdened by the recent memory of the confrontation. The vegetation, surprisingly, had remained intact. The trees were still standing, the flowers still preserved their soft colors, and the grass stretched in a green carpet that contrasted sharply with the rest of the property.

It was as if that space had been spared.

Protected.

Or simply forgotten by the fury that had dominated the courtyard.

Damon walked slowly along the stone path that crossed the garden, his steps lighter now, almost silent, while his eyes scanned the surroundings. The moonlight illuminated everything with a cool hue, creating soft shadows among the trees and reflecting off the leaves with a discreet, almost ethereal glow.

He wasn’t thinking about anything specific.

Or perhaps he was thinking about many things at once, but without clinging to any of them enough to transform them into something concrete.

He just walked.

Until he stopped.

His gaze lifted slightly, drawn by a subtle movement, or perhaps simply by a presence that stood out in that tranquil setting.

And then he saw her.

Ester was sitting atop the greenhouse.

The glass structure reflected the moonlight, creating a soft glow around her, as if enveloped in a silvery aura. Her body was relaxed, one leg bent while the other extended along the sloping surface, her arms resting lightly behind her to support her weight. Her face was turned toward the sky, her eyes fixed on the full moon that dominated the horizon, as if searching for something there, something that wasn’t on the ground, wasn’t in the mansion, wasn’t in that place.

She didn’t notice his presence.

Not immediately.

And Damon made no effort to announce himself.

He simply stayed where he was.

Observing.

There was something about that scene that captivated him, something that didn’t demand movement, that didn’t ask for action, that simply existed. The way the light touched her face, highlighting her features with a softness that contrasted with the strength she had displayed earlier. The way her hair moved slightly in the breeze, reflecting light tones under the silvery light. The apparent tranquility in her posture, even knowing that, inside, there was probably nothing tranquil about it.

He let out a low sigh.

Almost involuntary.

Because, despite everything, despite the fight, the destruction, the unspoken words, there was something there that remained unchanged.

She was still beautiful.

Not in a simple way.

Not in a superficial way.

But in a way that seemed to resist everything that tried to break her.

And perhaps that was exactly what affected him most.

The fact that, even after everything, she was still there.

Whole.

Breathing.

Existing.

Esther continued looking at the moon, oblivious to his presence for a few more seconds, completely absorbed in her own thoughts. There was a slight tension in her shoulders, something that hadn’t completely disappeared, but was more contained, more controlled than before. Her hands, which during the fight had been instruments of destruction, were now still, relaxed, as if they had finally found a moment of rest.

Damon didn’t approach.

Not immediately.

He remained in the shadow of one of the trees, partially hidden by the darkness, as if that small distance was necessary, as if crossing that distance meant more than just taking a few steps.

Because it wasn’t just a matter of physical proximity.

It was something else.

Something more complicated.

More difficult to cross.

Elizabeth had been clear.

No words.

No discussion.

No confrontation.

They needed time.

And, for the first time, Damon hadn’t questioned it.

Not because he completely agreed.

But because he understood.

Even if he didn’t like it.

He crossed his arms slowly, leaning lightly against the tree trunk behind him, his gaze still fixed on her. There was something in that silence that wasn’t empty, something that said more than any conversation could at that moment. They were there, in the same space, sharing the same night, the same moon, the same air, but separated by something invisible, something that couldn’t be ignored or resolved with a few words.

He tilted his head slightly, observing her profile, trying to find some sign, some change, something that could indicate what she was feeling at that moment.

But Ester was difficult to read.

She always had been.

And perhaps that was why everything between them was so... intense.

Because nothing was simple.

Nothing was straightforward.

Nothing was easy.

The night breeze passed through the trees, moving the leaves with a soft sound, almost like a constant whisper that filled the silence without completely breaking it. The moonlight remained steady, illuminating the garden with a cold, but not hostile, clarity, creating a delicate contrast between light and shadow that made everything more... distant from the rest of the world.

Damon closed his eyes for a moment.

Just one.

Taking a deep breath.

Damon slowly opened his eyes, as if that brief moment of darkness had been a futile attempt to organize his feelings, to put in order thoughts that insisted on overlapping, contradicting each other, hiding themselves just when he tried to face them directly. And when his gaze met hers again, still there, motionless on the glass of the greenhouse, illuminated by the moon as if she were part of that distant sky, he understood that standing still wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t lessen the weight, wouldn’t resolve the silence, only prolong it until it became unbearable.

He moved away from the tree with a discreet, almost careful movement, as if he feared breaking something invisible around them, and began to walk towards the greenhouse, his steps light on the stone path, without haste, without apparent hesitation, but with a contained tension in every muscle, as if he were traversing more than a few meters, as if each step were a conscious choice to approach something he didn’t yet know how to fully confront.

Ester sensed his presence even before he reached the top, not by the sound of his footsteps, which were almost nonexistent, but by something more subtle, a change in the air, a familiar feeling she didn’t need to see to recognize, and yet, she didn’t move immediately, keeping her gaze on the moon for another moment, as if giving herself time to decide how to react, as if needing to gather the control she had spent the entire day trying to rebuild.

Damon placed his hand on the side of the greenhouse and climbed up easily, the glass creaking slightly under his weight, but without yielding, as if he too recognized that this moment demanded balance, and when he finally sat down beside her, maintaining a respectful distance, without invading the space that still seemed too fragile to be reduced, the silence between them settled immediately, dense, heavy, but not entirely uncomfortable.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.

They just stood there.

Side by side.

Looking at the same sky.

Breathing the same air.

As if that, in itself, was something.

Ester was the first to break the silence, though her voice came out low, without the aggression she usually used as a shield, but also without any attempt to soften her words too much, as if she were trying to maintain a balance between not pushing him away and not exposing herself completely.

”You shouldn’t be spying on people like that.”

Damon let out a soft laugh through his nose, brief, almost inaudible, tilting his head slightly to the side as he looked at her, the corner of his lips curving into something that wasn’t exactly a smile, but also wasn’t completely serious, as if that comment had brought a fragment of normalcy he didn’t know he needed.

”I wasn’t spying,” he replied, his voice calm, but with a slight hoarseness that betrayed the accumulated fatigue, both physical and emotional, ”you were just... hard to ignore.” Ester didn’t turn her face away immediately, but her eyes drifted from the moon for a moment, as if that response had broken something in the tranquil surface she was trying to maintain, and there was a slight tension in her expression, a silent conflict between wanting to retort and not having the energy to sustain it.

”That doesn’t make sense,” she murmured, but without real conviction, more like an automatic response than a genuine attempt to contradict him.

Damon shrugged slightly, resting his arms behind him on the cold glass, letting his face turn to the sky as well, as if he didn’t want to pressure that moment, as if he understood that any sudden movement could undo the little balance they had managed to achieve.

”You looked too beautiful,” he said, bluntly, without irony, without that usual layer of provocation he used to hide what he felt, and perhaps that’s why the words sounded heavier, more real, harder to ignore.

Ester remained silent.

Not because she didn’t have an answer.

But because that answer wasn’t simple. Her fingers tightened slightly against the glass surface, feeling the coldness there, trying to anchor herself to something concrete while the unexpected heat of those words spread uncomfortably, stirring things she had tried to bury since the previous night.

She turned her face slowly, glancing at him sideways, analyzing his expression as if trying to find some sign of playfulness, some trace of a lie that would make it easier to reject it, but there was none.

And perhaps that was the most irritating thing.

Or the most dangerous.

”You talk as if nothing happened,” she said, her voice a little firmer now, though still low, as if she didn’t want the world around them to hear that conversation, which was already difficult enough between them.

Damon didn’t immediately look away from the sky, letting the silence stretch for a moment before answering, as if choosing his words more carefully than usual, something rare for him.

”I remember everything,” he finally said, his voice lower, more serious, and there was a weight there that hadn’t been present before, something that anchored that phrase in the reality they were both trying to avoid, ”it’s not like I could forget.”

Esther looked ahead again, her eyes fixed on some undefined point, and the tension in her shoulders returned, not with the intensity of before, but enough to break the appearance of tranquility she maintained.

”Then why are you acting like this?” she asked, and this time there was something more to the question, something deeper than simple irritation, as if she were trying to understand something that didn’t make sense to her.

Damon took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again, his gaze still fixed on the sky, as if it were easier to speak that way, without looking directly at her.

”Because if I act like that’s the only thing that matters, then there’s nothing left,” he replied, and there was a raw honesty there, something he wasn’t trying to hide or soften, ”and I don’t want it to be just that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t immediate, but it didn’t take long to form either, enveloping them again, this time in a different way, less tense, but deeper, as if the words had opened something that now needed time to settle.

The breeze passed again, cooler now, gently moving Ester’s hair, and she closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, as if gathering courage for something that wasn’t easy for her.

And then, almost simultaneously, without looking at each other, without any apparent preparation, the words came out.

”I’m sorry,” they both said together.