Chapter 170: Night’s Hunt
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Sekhmet nodded once. "Good," he replied.
Mira hesitated, then spoke carefully.
"Young master," she said. "That space you use. It is... unusual."
Sekhmet looked at her.
Mira’s eyes remained steady. She was not accusing. She was not begging. She was simply acknowledging reality.
Sekhmet’s voice stayed calm.
"It is mine," he said. "Your job is not to understand it. Your job is to make Dawn House business stronger."
Mira bowed slightly deeper. "Understood," she replied.
Elena approached again, eyes scanning the courtyard.
"How much did you buy," she asked.
"Enough," Sekhmet replied.
Elena nodded once, satisfied.
Bat Bat shuffled closer, holding her writing board like it was a shield.
She looked at Sekhmet with wounded eyes.
"Master," Bat Bat said, "Bat Bat worked hard today."
Elena’s voice cut in. "She drew a few lines and cried twice," she said.
Bat Bat pointed at Elena with outrage. "Elena tell lies," she accused.
Sekhmet looked at Bat Bat.
"What did you learn," he asked.
Bat Bat lifted the board proudly and showed it. There were, indeed, three lines.
One was straight. One was crooked. One looked like a dying worm.
Sekhmet stared for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly as if he had witnessed an ancient technique.
"This, what is it?"
Bat Bat replied, "It’s your name, master."
Sekhmet said, voice controlled, "is an improvement."
Bat Bat’s eyes widened with joy.
Elena’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, as if she suspected Sekhmet was bribing Bat Bat with false praise.
Sekhmet looked at Elena.
"She is improving," he said.
Elena’s expression softened by the smallest fraction, because Elena wanted Bat Bat to improve more than she wanted to win arguments.
Bat Bat puffed her cheeks proudly.
"Hunt soon," Bat Bat declared.
Sekhmet did not promise to hunt. Promises became obligations, and obligations became leverage.
Instead, he walked away before Bat Bat could negotiate a treaty. He returned to his study and sat behind the desk, letting the quiet settle again.
The void land had changed today.
Auri had changed today.
Even the ghouls had changed today.
This was how foundations formed. Not in grand speeches. In wood, rope, and small disciplined decisions.
Sekhmet opened his ledger and began writing plans for the coming days.
The auction was still ahead. The Iron House was still ahead. The middle domain predators were still traveling.
But now, the void land was not just a hiding place.
It was becoming a base that could grow.
And Sekhmet, for the first time in a long time, felt a calm that did not come from hunger or blood.
A few moments later...
That night came quieter than the day deserved.
Dawn House settled into its usual sleep rhythm, the kind that looked peaceful to outsiders and felt like a fortress holding its breath to anyone who knew what hunted it. Lanterns dimmed. Servants withdrew. Doors latched. Curtains pulled. The courtyard turned into a pool of shadow where even footsteps sounded guilty.
Sekhmet sat in his study with his ledger open, ink drying in careful lines.
He was not writing poetry. He was writing about survival.
Materials moved today. The void land changed today. Auri started building today. That mattered more than any rumor because it was tangible. Real. A foundation.
He was in the middle of tallying the next set of purchases when he felt it.
A small vibration.
Not on the floor.
Not in the air.
On his door.
Three taps.
Not servant taps. Servants knocked softly and waited like they feared being scolded for breathing too loud.
These taps were confident.
Almost rude.
Sekhmet’s eyes lifted.
Before he could speak, the door opened.
Bat Bat stepped in.
She did not sneak. She did not hesitate. She walked into his room like she owned the corridor and the moon paid rent.
Her hair was still messy from homework. Her wings were half tucked. Her cheeks were slightly puffed like she had been arguing with her own stomach and losing.
She pointed at Sekhmet dramatically.
"Master," Bat Bat said, voice full of accusation, "hunt."
Sekhmet stared at her. He did not ask why. He already knew why.
Bat Bat pointed at her mouth.
"Bat Bat is hungry," she declared. "Bat Bat want warmth."
Sekhmet’s gaze narrowed slightly.
"That is not a proper sentence," he said.
Bat Bat frowned. Then she said it again slower like she was teaching a baby.
"Bat Bat. Is. Hungry." She nodded firmly after each word. "Need Warm Blood."
Sekhmet leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Did Elena feed you," he asked.
Bat Bat puffed her cheeks harder, offended.
"Elena fed Bat Bat soup," she complained. "Soup is not blood."
Sekhmet pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. He could already imagine Elena’s face if she heard this conversation.
Bat Bat stepped closer, eyes wide and shining.
"Master," she said sweetly, "master promised hunt soon."
Sekhmet’s eyes flicked to the ledger. He had not promised. Bat Bat had declared. Bat Bat lived in a world where declarations were legally binding if said loud enough.
"Bat Bat," Sekhmet said evenly, "it is night."
Bat Bat nodded once like that was the whole point.
"Yes," she replied. "Night is hunting time. Master is blood lord. Bat Bat is Blood bat. Same face girls are new followers. Time to Hunt."
Sekhmet went still.
The twins.
He had planned to teach them control soon. If he delayed too long, hunger would teach them instead, and hunger was a brutal instructor. Hunger did not care about rules. Hunger cared about feeding.
Bat Bat was impatient. Bat Bat was annoying. But Bat Bat’s instinct was not wrong.
Sekhmet closed the ledger. He pushed his chair back. Then he stood up.
Bat Bat’s eyes lit up like she had won a war.
"Quiet," Sekhmet said immediately.
Bat Bat froze, then put a finger to her lips dramatically as if she had always planned to be quiet and was simply waiting for permission.
Sekhmet walked to the door.
Bat Bat followed, tiptoeing so loudly it defeated the purpose.