The Incubus System Chapter 1275. Unguarded

The Incubus System Chapter 1275. Unguarded

I stepped back, breathing slower now. My body ached. My power reserve was low. But my chest? It felt lighter. Like something unspoken had finally been handed off.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll go check on Lilieth.”

He didn’t speak.

“She’s in her room, right?”

Still nothing.

I looked at him one last time.

Eyes sharp.

Posture perfect.

Expression unreadable.

But he didn’t stop me.

Didn’t yell.

Didn’t push me out.

That, from him, was practically a thank-you.

I nodded to myself. “Take care, Dad.”

And then I used my Teleportation skills.

As my dark aura swallowed me, I felt it.

His gaze.

Still on me.

Still silent.

But watching.

Maybe not with anger.

Maybe not even with pride.

But with something that mattered more.

Something that meant he heard me.

And maybe—just maybe—

He understood.

I materialized in the living room.

My steps were quiet, precise, almost reverent as I moved down the wide hallway that branched from the main atrium. My boots didn’t even echo. The entire building was muffled by wards and enchantments—silence spells, pressure dampeners, private space enchantments layered over centuries. Most people would feel unnerved by that kind of stillness.

Me?

It just reminded me I was home. Sort of.

I reached her door.

It was cracked open, just a sliver. I pushed it gently, the hinges silent, and stepped inside.

Her room hadn’t changed.

Soft warm lighting. Sheer curtains pulled back around the high canopy bed. Everything in here smelled like her—moonlight, lavender, and something cool and sharp, like starlight bottled and softened by age.

And there she was.

Lilieth.

My mother.

Curled in bed on her side, one arm under the pillow, hair spread across the sheets like scattered silk. Her breath was slow. Even. Peaceful.

For a moment, I just… looked at her.

She looked young. Too young to be what she was—the mortal princess-turned-demon figures in the entire plane. She looked like she should be singing lullabies, not killing corrupted monsters in the dead of night. Like she should be protected.

But that was the thing about her.

She never asked to be.

I moved carefully toward the edge of the bed, lowering myself onto the mattress with barely a creak. My presence shifted the air, stirred the faint scent of her hair, but she didn’t wake.

I sat there in silence, watching the way her chest rose and fell beneath the soft blankets. Her face was calm. No tension in her brow. No furrow of stress. It was rare to catch her like this—unguarded.

My hand moved almost on its own.

Slowly, I reached out, brushing her hair back from her face. Cool strands slipped between my fingers like water, like memory.

“Hey,” I whispered. “You’re okay.”

She didn’t respond.

My palm hovered just above her forehead, hesitant. I didn’t want to wake her. Didn’t want to break the fragile peace she’d managed to steal in this sliver of rest. But still—my instincts kicked in. That familiar hum of power stirred in my chest.

I activated the skill.

[You are using Dark Healing.]

My aura bloomed around my fingers, soft and faint, like shadows laced with warm moonlight. I wasn’t going to push too hard. Just enough to soothe her. Mend what I could. Restore the parts that didn’t scream loud enough for attention.

But before the spell could finish weaving—

Her eyes opened.

Sharp.

Tired, but awake.

And her hand rose with the speed of someone who’d lived through centuries of assassins and betrayal.

She caught my wrist.

“Ethan…”

Her voice was quiet. Barely more than breath. But it stopped everything in me cold.

I blinked.

“...You’re here,” she said, not surprised. More like… relieved. Like she’d dreamed I would come and now that dream had casually walked into her room and sat on her bed.

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing the tightness in my throat. “I’m here.”

Her fingers loosened. Not because she wanted to stop me—but because the recognition finally hit. She didn’t let go entirely. Just… shifted her grip. Thumb stroking the inside of my wrist. Like she needed the contact.

“You shouldn’t waste your power on me,” she murmured.

“It’s not a waste.”

“You need to conserve it,” she said. “The political field is shifting. You’ll need every drop.”

“I’m not here for politics,” I said. “I’m here for you.”

That made her pause.

She looked at me for a long moment. Really looked.

And then she smiled. Tired. Soft. Beautiful in a way that broke something deep in me.

“You’re too much like your father sometimes,” she whispered.

I raised a brow. “Which one?”

That pulled a chuckle from her lips—light and brittle and barely there.

“Both,” she said finally. “Too proud. Too kind. Too stupid to walk away when someone you love is hurting.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Her fingers curled tighter around mine. “I felt your power earlier. You healed Damon.”

I didn’t lie. “Yeah. He was hiding it. Deep core damage. Almost splintered.”

She sighed, eyes slipping closed for a second. “He does that.”

“I know.”

“He hates weakness.”

“I know.”

“He hates accepting help.”

“Yeah. I know that too.”

“But he let you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Even just for a moment?”

I nodded. “He didn’t have a choice.”

She laughed again. “That sounds more like it.”

There was silence again.

Not awkward.

Just… full.

I brushed her hair back again, and she leaned into it this time, cheek nudging into my palm.

“You okay?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “But I will be.”

I blinked. “That honest, huh?”

“I’m too tired to pretend,” she said. “Besides, lying to you never worked. You always saw through me.”

“That’s because you suck at hiding when you’re hurting.”

“And yet you’re still surprised every time I tell the truth.”

I smiled. “It’s not that. It’s just… I don’t want you to have to say it. I want to fix it before you even need to speak.”

She opened her eyes again, and they were glassy now.

“You can’t fix everything,” she whispered.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”