Chapter Four - After-Party in Progress
Namo finally reached the long courtyard leading to his castle.
The guests were departing, but the night was far from quiet.
Wyvern-drawn carriages thundered across the earth—incapable of flight, the beasts were whipped mercilessly by their drivers, their talons carving deep gouges into the stone. Large tusked horses carried others away, their ribcages protruding, their breath coming out in wheezing, ghastly snorts.
Namo paid them no mind. The only thing he cared about was sleep. He'd ruined Iana's plans. That was enough.
He could deal with everything else tomorrow—perhaps even say hello to Tajan in the morning— Just then, a shadow lunged.
Namo twisted on instinct, sidestepping as a blade slashed past his throat. No, not a blade- claws.
A low chuckle. Moonlight spilled over Tajan's grin. His older brother. Yet wilder, brash, never acting his age.
Tajan reigns in his claws as he flexes his fingers, casual, like he hadn't just tried to take Namo's head.
"You weren't going to leave without saying hello to your brother, were you?"
Namo exhaled through his nose. "I knew you were close."
Tajan's smile twitched. "That's impossible."
Namo smirked. "So was reaching ISLE."
Tajan held his stare for a beat. Then—he laughed. "You always think you're so clever."
"I am."
Tajan let out an exaggerated sigh. "I have to apologize, little brother—"
Namo tensed.
"—but you won't be sleeping just yet."
Namo rubbed his temple. "I'm not fighting you right now."
Tajan grinned. "Good. We've had enough of your fighting."
A soft click of heels. A young woman stepped forward.
Kirsa Daxeu.
Devilkin. Elegant. Well-dressed. Yet there was something calculating in her gaze, something sharp beneath the poise.
"She's here on request," Tajan continued, waving over to the young woman. "Mother sent her."
Namo's eyes flicked to him.
Tajan smirked. "You remember her, don't you? The head of JUDGE?"
JUDGE.
The Kingdom's elite military academy.
"She wants you to enroll."
Kirsa's gaze didn't waver. "I've heard of your strength. I'd like to make a request of you, dear Prince.
Namo inhaled deeply. So much for sleep. Namo let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. "I appreciate the offer, truly—"
Kirsa stepped forward. "But the Humans need you."
Namo blinked. That wasn't what he expected. JUDGE was a military academy, built to shape warriors of all races. But the Devilkin? They had little reason to concern themselves with human affairs. And yet here she was.
His jaw tightened. "I came back to prove my innocence. That's all."
"Then prove it." Kirsa's voice was steady. "Your return is already turning heads. If you join JUDGE, you'll have influence."
Namo exhaled sharply, glancing away. His exile had changed him. He had spent so long among humans—lived as one of them, fought as one of them. But that had never been the plan.
He wasn't here for them. And yet, he studied Kirsa again. Her horns curled back elegantly, a striking contrast to her composed, almost earnest expression. A Devilkin caring about humans? Intriguing.
"And how exactly does enrolling help the humans?"
Kirsa hesitated for only a second before answering. "Because right now, you're just a story. A rumor. But at JUDGE? You'll be a leader."
Namo smirked. A quiet shuffling caught his ear—he glanced sideways.
Tajan was already sneaking off.
Typical.
Namo didn't stop him, only tilting his head slightly, amusement flickering behind his eyes.
Kirsa caught the movement, looking between them in confusion—then caught herself, suddenly aware of Namo's smirk.
She looked away quickly, flustered.
Namo chuckled. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
Namo sighed and loosened his posture further. "You've got the wrong idea about me."
He turned to leave.
Then another Kirsa appeared. She hadn't moved. And yet, now she was standing in front of him again. Namo stopped.
Kirsa tilted her head. "Can you tell where I am?"
Namo glanced back to where she had just been, unimpressed. "This is pointless."
Kirsa smirked. A flick of her wrist, and a green glass bow shimmered into existence—conjured by magic. The air between them shifted. For the first time, there was threat in her stance.
Namo didn't react.
Kirsa raised the bow.
"I was trying to be nice."
She loosed the arrow. Ten arrows shot from ten Kirsas. They whistled through the air, surrounding him from all sides.
Namo barely moved. His fingers snapped closed. The real arrow stopped just inches from his head.
Silence.
Namo exhaled, spinning the arrow between his fingers. "You're not here."
Kirsa's illusion flickered.
"You were never here," Namo continued. "Even earlier, when Tajan introduced you—you were already up there."
His eyes lifted. A balcony. A shadowed figure stood watching.
Kirsa's illusion dissolved.
Namo smirked, tossing the arrow aside. "Neat trick."!
Kirsa landed lightly on the balcony railing, her conjured bow dissolving into embers of green light. "I thought Beastfolk had the best senses," she mused, "but yours are sharper."
She leapt down, landing effortlessly. "Even Tajan couldn't tell where I was."
Namo rolled his shoulders. "And?"
Kirsa's smile faded. "And I need you to listen."
Namo crossed his arms. "You're going to great lengths for a recruitment pitch."
Kirsa took a breath. "In the last decade, the human element in JUDGE—and all of Thurosia—has been in steep decline. Your mother was supposed to be their last bastion."
Namo's expression froze.
Kirsa hesitated.
His mother. She wasn't supposed to say that.
Namo turned away. "Don't talk about her."
Kirsa swallowed, then chose her words carefully. "You're half-human, half-devilkin. That's why so many people hate you."
Namo gave her a side glance. "One of the reasons." He skirted the discussion of his mother.
Kirsa exhaled. "But you don't strike me as the type to care what people think."
He smirked. "I don't."
"Then why avoid JUDGE? Why hide?"
Namo said nothing.
Kirsa took a step closer. "You don't have to do anything special. Just attend. Survive as a human. That'll be enough." The weight in her voice made him pause.
Was it really that simple?
He doubted it, but Kirsa believed it.
And that intrigued him.
Namo exhaled. His body felt heavier now that the night was ending, like exhaustion had finally caught up with him. He rolled his shoulders, stretching out the tension gathered there. The courtyard's cold air curled around his exposed skin, carrying the lingering scent of charred wood and incense from the festivities.
"I'll think about it," he said at last. His voice was quieter than before, but firm.
Kirsa's tail flicked behind her, slow and deliberate, her pink-toned skin catching the moonlight. She studied him with those sharp, gold-rimmed eyes, as if weighing his soul.
"If you want in," she said, "JUDGEMENT is soon. The entry trials for JUDGE—held every five years."
A breeze whispered through the courtyard, tugging at the ends of Namo's coat. Somewhere in the distance, a wyvern snorted, its breath fogging in the night. He listened to the clop of departing carriages, the creak of leather harnesses, the soft grind of bone-hoofed horses shifting in place.
Kirsa rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, clasping her hands behind her back. There was a quiet confidence in the way she stood.
"I've been there since the last enrollment. Worked my way up. Now, I guess I'm something like a class president."
Namo didn't respond.
Kirsa smiled, the kind that almost reached her eyes. "But thank you—for considering." She paused, then tilted her head slightly. "Your senses… How did they get that sharp?"
Namo didn't answer.
Instead—he felt outward. A controlled breath left his lips, shallow but steady. Then, the pulse.
A rush of Ki spread out from him in an instant, unseen and untouchable. It expanded outward like invisible threads, skimming over the ground, stretching through stone, weaving between brick and bone and flesh and air.
The castle absorbed it like a dull heartbeat.
The feeling was indescribable—like touching everything at once but never being touched back. His Ki wrapped around objects, brushed against figures, mapped out the living and the dead.
Kirsa's breath hitched. She didn't know what he had done—only that something had happened.
But then—
There. Something else. A presence inside his castle.
Not Kirsa. Not Tajan. Someone else.
Namo didn't move. Didn't breathe any differently. His pulse stayed slow, measured, but his fingers twitched—the tiniest tell.
Kirsa didn't notice. Or maybe she did and didn't press it. Instead, she let out a hum. "What was that?" she asked, watching him.
Namo exhaled softly through his nose, relaxing his shoulders just enough to feign ease.
"Goodnight, Kirsa Daxeu."
Without another word, he turned toward the castle doors.
The closer he stepped, the heavier the air felt. His Ki was still pulsing faintly, feeding him information—the exact distance, the slight shift of weight inside, the way the unknown figure's breath barely disturbed the space around them.
He could already tell who it was. Namo opened the door. And waiting for him, her presence as steady as the moonlight dripping through the arches, stood—
Maid Mara.