By the time the study door slammed open, Shin was already gone, leaving Bryce crumpled on the floor, beaten and stripped of his pride.
Bryce sat with his back against the wall. Blood trailed from his temple, sliding down his cheek and soaking into his collar. His face was swollen beyond recognition, skin split at the brow, lips torn, one eye already darkening.
The room smelled of iron and dust.
Perhaps the last time he had been beaten this badly was in his teenage years, when survival still depended on strength and speed.
And just as Shin intended, Bryce was raging internally.
A man like him took pride in control, especially in what he considered his home ground. Losing like this was not only painful but humiliating.
Worse than the throbbing in his ribs was the question pressing against his mind.
Apart from knowing he stood behind Hadi and Rogue, how deeply had Shin Keir uncovered the truth of his designs?
---
Meanwhile, after sending the others away for treatment, Shin returned to his villa in Sin Miele.
Though he had been careful, he did not want to carry the scent of blood and gunpowder back to the penthouse where Yeri was staying.
Butler Hong greeted him at the entrance, his tone enthusiastic as ever.
"Young Master, why didn't you inform us you'd be home tonight? Would you like something to eat?"
Shin shook his head and walked past him. As he reached the stairs, he asked casually, "Where's the old man?"
Butler Hong blinked in subtle surprise. He wondered if Shin had forgotten what day it was, or if he was simply asking about his father's whereabouts.
But before he could answer, Shin was already climbing the stairs, his long strides quiet but decisive.
As he passed the room where Master Keir kept his art collection, he noticed the door slightly ajar.
The room was dark, lit only by pale moonlight pouring through the floor to ceiling windows.
Shadows stretched across countless paintings and sculptures, crowding the space until it felt narrow.
Portraits lined every wall. All of the same woman.
Near the balcony, Master Keir stood before a canvas, brush in hand, painting another portrait of her.
"Is it better to paint in the dark?" Shin asked evenly.
Master Keir paused, but did not turn around. His brush hovered over the canvas before touching it gently again.
"Came to see your mother?"
Shin's gaze drifted to the nearest portrait.
Celestine.
Only then did he remember, it was the anniversary of her death.
That explained Butler Hong's earlier expression.
Every year on this day, his father locked himself away from the world.
"What a coincidence," Shin replied calmly. "I just paid Bryce a visit."
Master Keir's hand tightened around the brush. The bristles pressed too hard against the canvas, leaving a darker stroke than intended.
Silence settled between them.
Shin turned slightly, intending to leave. But before he could step away, Master Keir spoke.
"Did he… apologize?"
The question lingered in the dim room.
Shin paused. A faint curve touched the corner of his mouth, though there was no warmth in it.
"Do you want revenge?" he asked instead.
Master Keir's gaze drifted toward the balcony, toward the dark horizon beyond the glass.
"That boy was just a child, if he has regretted it…" His voice softened. The moonlight revealed the truth his tone tried to hide, sorrow and longing.
"The dead cannot return. What is the point of revenge?"
Shin stood still, his shadow stretching across the painted faces of his mother.
For a moment, the room felt like a gallery of ghosts.
"Be cautious when you leave. Not all are capable of remorse, nor are all deserving of forgiveness," Shin said quietly before departing the room.
Truthfully, Celestine's death had no real effect on him.
Because he was not the original Shin Keir.
The real human soul of Shin Keir had perished in that fire eighteen years ago, along with his mother.
This body survived, but the soul did not.
Even so, he understood Master Keir's grief and unending yearning. He had tasted that same desolation when he lost Jewel.
Inside his room, Shin walked straight into the bathroom. He removed his clothes, and turned on the shower.
Steam rose slowly as water ran down his shoulders, washing away the faint scent of blood.
His thoughts drifted to the first time he entered the human realm with Paris Helle.
Compared to the demon realm and the realm of light, the human world felt painfully fragile.
Their arrival had been regarded as a threat.
The storm that raged then had mirrored the tension between realms, tempests tearing through cities as if the heavens themselves protested their presence.
"Fascinating. What a remarkably curious realm," Paris murmured, surveying what humans called a city.
Below, a drunken man staggered along the pavement, cursing a couple he passed.
Without ceremony, Emperor Hexion lifted him into the air with a mere gesture as he absorbed his memories like data flowing into his mind.
The drunk man dangled helplessly, babbling incoherently before slipping into unconsciousness.
"What are you doing?" one of the accompanying beings from the Realm of Light exclaimed. "You must not harm humans without cause."
"He is not dead," Emperor Hexion replied calmly. "I only searched his memories. It is the fastest way to understand this realm."
He released the man, who collapsed into a shadowed corner.
Before further protest could arise, Paris mirrored the action, seizing a passerby and briefly rifling through his thoughts.
"Let us find a family worthy of your empress," the light realm being muttered with a splitting headache.
They ascended, unseen above the city's restless glow, surveying the city from above.
Understanding the structure of the human realm did not take long. From politics, wealth, society and influence.
In the distance, along a treacherous highway, disaster unfolded.
Vehicles lay mangled across rain-soaked asphalt and a truck had overturned.
The storm lashed mercilessly, as though tragedy alone were insufficient.
Inside one of the crushed cars, an injured woman lay unconscious in the back seat.
The being of Light tilted his head slightly.
"This human carries a child," he observed. "Yet the life within has already faded. Shall this body serve as the empress's vessel?"
Emperor Hexion did not answer immediately.
From what he had discerned of this realm, he desired more than mere survival for his empress.
She would be reborn into affection, into security, into prosperity. She would never know deprivation.
"Paris," he commanded softly, "examine the trajectory of her life."
Paris obeyed without hesitation, his consciousness extending into the threads of fate.
After a time, he inclined his head.
"The Zhi family," he said with quiet certainty. "Influence, wealth, stability. The empress will not suffer there."
Emperor Hexion regarded the luminous essence resting upon his palm.
Jewel's soul shimmered like captured starlight, radiant and fragile all at once.
His gaze softened with anticipation. A longing that transcended realms.
With utmost care, he extended his hand toward the high-ranking being of the Realm of Light.
Only such beings possessed the authority to alter essence itself.
Jewel had not been a natural-born demon. Reincarnation through demonic law would have been impossible. But the Light held dominion over transformation, capable of refining essence to harmonize with a human soul.
Radiance blossomed around the unconscious woman, pure and blinding.
Then, as swiftly as dawn dissolves the night, it vanished.
They remained unseen beside the wreckage until help arrived.
The unconscious woman was handled with urgency, the ambulance doors closed and the vehicle safely sped toward the hospital.
However, times passed and the two still had no intention of leaving that realm.
"I begged the Demon Emperor and his general to return to the demon realm," he said, voice tight with restraint. "I swear upon my name that I will watch over this human until the child is safely born."
The wind howled between the buildings as Emperor Hexion and Paris lingered. Their presence weighed heavily on the realm.
"No," Emperor Hexion replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I will remain and witness my empress's rebirth myself."
The light being inhaled slowly. "Forgive my bluntness, Emperor Hexion, but that is not possible. Does it not concern you that this realm rejects your existence? Every hour you remain, disorder increases."
Paris tilted his head with interest. "We are allowed to take over a human body, are we not? As long as it is not done by force."
The light being turned to him in disbelief.
"Your Majesty," Paris continued smoothly, "what do you think?"
Emperor Hexion nodded once.
In truth, that had always been his intention. If Jewel existed in this realm, then he would exist here as well.
"It is not possible!" the light being burst out again, composure cracking. "You are the Demon Emperor. What of your throne? What of the demon realm?"
"My son will manage," Hexion said flatly.
The answer carried neither doubt nor sentiment.
The light being stared at him, stunned.
"It is not possible. Even if you seal your abilities," he pressed on, "what of your memories? Power without restraint is dangerous enough. But a demon emperor with full memory, living as a human? That would be catastrophic."
They could not allow a sovereign of the demon realm to walk freely among mortals with his awareness intact.
Emperor Hexion's gaze sharpened. The air around them grew heavy, dense enough to press against the lungs.
If the words "not possible" were repeated again, consequences would follow.
"This was not our agreement," the light being muttered carefully. "We agreed to assist you in giving your deceased empress a second chance. We did not agree to destabilize an entire realm."
But no matter how many from the light realm came forward to persuade him, the demon emperor refused to return.
In the end, a compromise was forced.
If he wished to remain, he would do so under strict conditions.
He would live entirely as a human, unaware of his former identity. His powers would be sealed and his memories would be locked away.
If the seal were ever to break and his memories returned, Paris would be responsible for guiding him before disaster unfolded.