Here's chapter two, sorry about the long, long haitus. Enjoy and tell me what you think I the comment section below. I also have a website where I post all of my work and some outtakes, so do check that out! You can also find me on archivesofourown under the username Raineee and Quotev at Raineblack!

"I would try to create a construct of him, an illusion for her, but Takara is impervious to my illusions now," Mukuro says, idly swirling his wine glass. Lilith lounged opposite him on the sofa, is stretched out, her legs draped over the armrest of the sofa, and she hums in muted pride. Her hair, inky black, spills over the other armrest, and for a split second, a ludicrous, breathless moment, he is certain that the shadows reach out and play with the curling strands of her hair. He blinks, and the faint, ephemeral image is gone, but Mukuro still wonders, what are you?

If Mukuro hadn't seen the proof of Lilith's blazing storm flames, painfully pure and hungry in its intensity, as loyal to Takara as the foolish Gokudera is, he would have thought her to be an illusionist. It wasn't the first time he, or any of the Guardians have doubted that she truly did not wield a dual flame with how often he has caught fleeting flickers in the space around her, the air distorted as if reality has ripped a jagged hole just for Lilith to pass through. Shadows worked differently for Lilith, bending around her like a lover would, as did sound.

"She is now, but she wasn't always." Lilith says in return, feathery lashes brushing against the gentle slope of her cheekbone. Her voice has gone low and contemplative, a sign that she has slipped into a meditative state. The last time he saw it, Takara was risking her life for the cursed Arcobaleno, most of which hadn't even bothered to spare a more than a flippant thanks to his Decimo. That voice is savage, ruthless, and hungers for blood. It sends shivers down his spine.

"Yes," Mukuro returns dryly, taking a small, appreciative sip of his wine before continuing, "you've trained her well."

Lilith's eyes flutter open, sharp gold irises, weren't they always purple? focused intently on the patterns drawn into the ceiling. Mukuro faintly remembers Chrome stumbling upon the two, her memories folding into his like the remembrance of an old song, Takara and Lilith, painting the ceiling full of constellations. Lilith and her too-old eyes lock with Chrome's and at that moment, an indescribable feeling wells in his Nagi's, chest, but he pushes that memory from his mind as soon as he catches a glimpse of her eyes, striking eyes so similar to his Sky's own, hazing over in thought.

"She's prepared now, to face him." Lilith murmurs, diverting the topic to what they were previously discussing with ease, and her piercing eyes slide over to meet his half-lidded eyes.

A lesser man would falter at the fear-inducing gaze of the unflappable woman, but Mukuro has seen the same infallible woman break down when Takara's cavort with death turned from shy gazes shared across the ballroom to an intimate tango across the floor, and it doesn't work as well as she might have liked for it to be.

"For Takara, what would you do?" Mukuro asks quietly, for though he already knows the answer, he and all the others do, as his Sky's guardian, he needs to hear her promise.

Without missing a beat, Lilith responds with the exact same thing she has told Iemitsu all those years ago,

(what she has promised all of them for every single lifetime)

"For Takara, anything."

Lilith stands in the shadows of the pillars, content with watching over her student, as she had all those years ago. Her inky hair, too pale skin and violet eyes always too old and tired for her age chase everyone away like they have always, always, have.

She has always shouldered the responsibility of her Sky's safety, most often than not, she has done it alone. Now, in this lifetime, Takara's guardians accompany her.

Kyoya, the ever distant, ever aloof Cloud, lurks amongst the perimeters of the building with his Disciplinary Committee. He is as vigilant as ever, and though he is far enough from the ballroom to ignore the crowds, he is near enough to keep an eye on his Sky.

Ryohei, silent, stands uncharacteristically still behind her, his body coiled with loose awareness, primed for a burst of instantaneous movement. His neatly pressed suit is ever at odds with the tape that winds proudly around his calloused knuckles, a token from his childhood. His eyes are sharp and flinty, and they linger on those who leer perversely at Takara with a dangerous light.

Perched on the highest railings, his sharp, verdant eyes flitting from one guest to the other, Hayato's lit cigarette dangles roguishly from his lips, and he casually huffs out an occasional puff of smoke, even as he idly juggles the explosives held carelessly in his hands. He too has his gaze lingering on those who sought Takara's downfall with disparaging acidity, only Hayato's is considerably more calculative. This was a Storm who would do more than just destroy those who stood against his Sky. This was a Storm who would drag out their deaths, make them hurt and beg for mercy. This was a Storm who put the fear of God, the fear of loyalty to those who stood against his Sky.

Mukuro, draped in one of his illusions, hangs off Dino's arm, his features eerily similar to Takara's, from the slant of his eyes to the delicate line of his neck. They are everything Lilith knows stares back at her in the mirror, all hinting at who he has modelled his illusion after. The resemblance is not so similar to cause any suspicion, however, and Lilith has taught him well enough to know that his presence goes unnoticed by the Dons', Donnas', hitmen and the like, who are casually milling about, some of them accompanied with their guardians. All of which, Likith notes, warmth blossoming in her chest, possess flames that are nothing but embers compared to the blazing beacons that were the Vongola's Tenth Generation.

Yamamoto is the only one who isn't in the shadows, and he trails Takara's every step. His smile is kind and sharp, tempered with a deadly edge, and it promises the threats that he would gladly carry out if they stepped too close.

All of them make up a picture-perfect image of faithful guardians. They've grown, so much. If Lilith left now, Takara would be able to take care of herself and those she loved. Her job should have been done two years ago, the moment Takara bested her, but she had stayed. She wanted to stay. Lilith didn't want to see Takara survive, she wanted to see her live. Truly, happily, with no regrets.

She knew that he would not be attending today, but soon, the time would come. Lilith would enjoy seeing him grovel of Takara's forgiveness, but for now, she backed deeper into the shadow of a pillar and watched.