Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls

Irelia was practically sprawled across the table, her body leaning forward while her face rested sideways on the smooth surface, her light hair scattered haphazardly around her. Her fingers drummed erratically, a clear sign of accumulated irritation, as she stared blankly with a deeply defeated expression, as if she had just lost an important battle—and, in a way, she had.

"I swear... he does it on purpose," she murmured, her voice muffled by her position, but laden with enough frustration to pierce the room. "Whenever it seems like something is going to... happen, he just shows up with another mission, another request, another problem."

She turned her face slightly, looking at the woman in front of her with a tired gaze, almost too dramatic to be taken entirely seriously.

"And Kael goes. Always goes."

There was a short pause, and then she sighed louder, exaggerating a little more now.

"And I’m left there. Waiting. Again."

The woman sitting across the table observed everything with a completely different expression—calm, almost amused. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she rested her chin on her hand, clearly entertained by the outburst.

Irelia continued, now lifting her body slightly, but still without much real energy.

"And that’s not all!" she added, now with a bit more indignation. "I still have to compete for attention with Amelia... and now two more new girls who appeared out of nowhere!"

She raised one hand, as if counting.

"Two!"

Then she let her arm fall back onto the table, making a small noise.

"How am I supposed to compete with that...?"

She turned her face back to the side, sinking further into her own defeat.

"I need to become prettier..."

The statement came almost as a dramatic whisper, completely sincere within her emotional chaos.

The woman in front of her finally let out a low, light laugh, almost musical in tone, as if she genuinely found it all adorable.

"You’re really frustrated."

Her voice was soft, enveloping, carrying a natural affection that didn’t need to be forced.

Irelia raised her gaze slightly, narrowing her eyes with a slight pout.

"That’s not funny."

But there wasn’t much force in the complaint.

The woman simply tilted her head slightly, observing her daughter with more careful attention now. Her long blonde hair fell softly over her shoulders, perfectly aligned, reflecting the light in an almost golden way. Her eyes, a clear and gentle shade, had a depth that mixed experience and affection, while her posture remained elegant even in the informality of the moment.

She was beautiful in a mature and natural way, not exaggerated, but impossible to ignore. There was grace in every movement, a calm presence that contrasted directly with Irelia’s restless energy.

This woman was Lysandra.

Irelia’s mother.

And someone who clearly knew every detail of her daughter’s exaggerated expressions.

"Of course it’s funny," Lysandra replied, still smiling slightly. "You’re practically declaring emotional war for attention."

Irelia let out an indignant sound and stood up abruptly, crossing her arms.

"I’m not declaring war!"

She blushed slightly, looking away for a second.

"I just... wanted him to pay more attention to me..."

Lysandra observed this with a softer look now, but there was still a slight glint of amusement there.

"My dear, you’re competing with people, situations, and... apparently, imperial responsibilities."

She paused briefly.

"Perhaps the problem isn’t just ’attention’."

Irelia narrowed her eyes again.

"You’re not helping."

Lysandra laughed again, this time a little more lightly, and then leaned a little further over the table.

"You know you’re being treated exactly as I’ve always treated you."

Irelia sighed, already anticipating what was coming.

"Don’t start..."

But it was too late.

"Like my daughter."

Lysandra said, with a small smile.

"And that means that, to me... you’ll always be a child."

Irelia reacted immediately.

"Stop it!"

She lightly tapped the table, clearly annoyed.

"I’m not a child anymore!"

Lysandra raised an eyebrow elegantly.

"To you, perhaps."

She replied calmly.

"To me... that never changes."

Irelia opened her mouth to retort, but hesitated, unable to form an immediate response. Instead, she looked away again, huffing softly.

"That’s unfair..."

Lysandra tilted her head, observing fondly.

"It’s being a mother."

The answer came simply.

And definitively.

Irelia sank back into her chair, still sulking, but without much energy to continue discussing that point.

It was then that Lysandra lightly tapped her fingers on the table, as if she had had an idea.

"Well..."

She began, in a tone that was too casual.

"If the problem is attention... perhaps we should work on your presentation."

Irelia slowly raised her gaze, suspicious.

"What do you mean...?"

Lysandra smiled.

"I can send you some very interesting lingerie."

Silence fell immediately.

And then—

"M-MOTHER?!"

Irelia practically choked on her own words, her face turning completely red in seconds.

"You can’t just say that like that!"

Lysandra laughed, clearly amused now.

"Of course I can."

She replied matter-of-factly.

"I’m your mother."

Irelia brought her hands to her face, completely unsure where to hide it.

"That’s... that’s... absurd!"

Lysandra simply shrugged elegantly.

"It works."

She then continued, as if just giving normal advice.

"And that’s not all. You need to dress better."

Irelia peeked through her fingers.

"I dress well!"

Lysandra tilted her head slightly.

"You dress like someone going into battle."

She replied bluntly.

"Not like someone who wants to be noticed in another way."

Irelia opened her mouth, ready to argue—

And stopped.

Because... she didn’t have an immediate answer.

Lysandra seized the moment.

"Dresses. Lighter fabrics. Something that highlights your presence in a different way."

She made a small gesture with her hand.

"Less steel. More... elegance."

Irelia crossed her arms again, still blushing.

"I don’t just think about swords..."

Lysandra smiled slightly.

"No?"

Silence.

Irelia looked away.

"...Maybe a little."

Lysandra laughed again, satisfied.

"That’s what I imagined."

She then relaxed a little in her chair, observing her daughter with a softer, more reflective look.

"I was quite sad, you know?"

The change in tone made Irelia look at her again, surprised.

"When you used magic to advance ten years in your own body."

Irelia was silent for a moment.

"I know..."

She murmured, more quietly now.

Lysandra tilted her head slightly.

"I missed a part of your childhood there."

Her voice wasn’t accusatory.

But it was sincere.

"But..."

She continued, softening her tone.

"...now you’re here."

Irelia watched her in silence.

"And, at least physically..."

Lysandra smiled slightly.

"You’re already a woman."

Irelia blushed again, but this time didn’t look away.

"So maybe..."

Lysandra concluded, a slight glint of amusement returning to her eyes.

"It’s time to start acting like one."

Irelia opened her mouth.

Closed it.

And then huffed, throwing her head back slightly.

"I hate when you make sense..."

Lysandra laughed softly.

"I know."

The lighthearted atmosphere that had settled between the two didn’t last long.

The sound came first—hurried footsteps echoing down the outside corridor, too fast to ignore, completely shattering the tranquility of the room. It wasn’t the kind of movement typical of servants or routine messengers. There was urgency there. Real haste. And, above all... worry.

Irelia was the first to react, still half-slumped in her chair, but turning her face towards the door with a slight expression of irritation.

"Don’t tell me that—"

The door opened unceremoniously.

A man entered almost abruptly, stopping only a few steps in front of the table, trying to catch his breath while forcing himself to maintain a minimally respectful posture. He had clearly run there, and the tension on his face left no doubt that this was no small matter.

Lysandra didn’t move immediately.

She only closed her eyes for a brief second, as if she already knew exactly what that kind of entrance meant. A slow sigh escaped her lips, laden with a weariness that wasn’t physical—it was the kind of exhaustion of someone already dealing with too many problems.

"This sucks..."

She murmured, without even trying to hide her displeasure.

Then she opened her eyes again, now focusing on the man in front of her, her gaze becoming sharp, attentive, completely different from the lightness of seconds ago.

"What happened?"

The question came directly.

Without beating around the bush.

Without patience.

The man swallowed hard before answering, clearly choosing his words carefully.

"One of our patrols was... massacred."

The silence that followed was short.

But heavy.

Irelia immediately straightened up in her chair, her expression changing almost instantly. The sullenness disappeared. The embarrassment evaporated. In that place, something more familiar took shape—focus.

Lysandra, on the other hand...

She only raised her eyebrows slightly.

No exaggerated shock.

No impulsive reaction.

Just... interest.

"In that forest..."

She began, tilting her head slightly, as if connecting existing information.

"...which days ago became a field of dead vampire bodies?"

The man nodded quickly.

"Yes, ma’am."

The air seemed to grow a little heavier at that moment, as if the confirmation had given form to something that was previously only suspicion.

Irelia crossed her arms, looking between the two.

"So it wasn’t an isolated incident..."

She murmured, more to herself than to the others.

Lysandra remained silent for a moment, her fingers tapping lightly on the table in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Her eyes narrowed subtly, analyzing not only what had been said, but what it implied. "Interesting..."

She finally said, almost in a whisper.

Then, the man looked away for a moment.

At Irelia.

The gesture was small.

But it didn’t go unnoticed.

Lysandra noticed immediately.

And a slight smile appeared at the corner of her lips.

Ah.

So that was it.

She rested her chin on her hand, looking at her daughter with an almost... amused air again, as if she were seeing an opportunity arise in the middle of the problem.

"Well..."

She began, in a tone too light for the situation.

"I have problems to solve."

She paused briefly.

And then tilted her head slightly towards Irelia.

"But it seems you do too."

Irelia’s gaze met hers immediately.

And, this time...

There was no hesitation.

Her posture changed completely. Her previously relaxed body was now firm, aligned, her eyes focused in a way that hadn’t existed a few minutes before. It was almost as if this was her most natural version—not the sulky girl, but the warrior.

Still... there was something new there.

Something more controlled.

More aware.

She rose from her chair slowly, the light sound of the movement contrasting with the growing tension in the room.

"Entire patrol?"

She asked, now looking directly at the man.

He nodded.

"No survivors."

Irelia took a deep breath.

Once.

Slowly.

And then she exhaled.

"Great..."

She murmured, but there was no irritation in the word.

It was focus.

Lysandra watched everything attentively, her eyes soft but watchful, clearly analyzing every small detail of her daughter’s reaction. Her smile hadn’t disappeared—it had only changed meaning.

Pride.

Disguised.

"Go ahead."

She said simply.

Without formal orders.

Without pressure.

But with complete confidence.

Irelia looked at her for a second.

And then nodded.

Without discussion.

Without drama.

She turned her body, already starting to move towards the exit, but stopped for a brief moment, as if she had remembered something. Her face turned slightly red for a second, and she looked away.

"And... she doesn’t send anything."

She murmured quickly.

Lysandra blinked, confused for a split second.

And then—

Ah.

She laughed.

Loosely.

Amused.

"No promises."

Irelia made an indignant sound, but didn’t turn to answer. She just kept walking, this time faster, almost as if she wanted to escape before her mother said anything else.

The door closed behind her.

Silence returned.

But now it was a different kind of silence.

Sharper.

More dangerous.

Lysandra rested her elbow on the table, watching the door her daughter had left through, the smile still present, but softer now.

"She’s grown..."

She murmured, almost to herself.

Then her eyes slowly moved back to the man in front of her.

And, in that instant...

The lightness vanished.

Completely.

"Details."

Her voice changed.

Cold.

Direct.

"Everything you know."