The cube hovered before her, and she gazed at it—not with fear, but with absolute longing.
Demoness (whispering, eyes glimmering):
"I've waited so long for this..."
She leaned forward, drawn to it like a moth to flame, her eyes narrowing, glinting with an intensity that could burn worlds. Every inch of her focus was consumed by it—by what it could bring, and the power it could unlock.
Her breath caught.
Demoness (gently):
"It's been so long... I can feel it. All that I need, all that I've desired... it's inside."
Anticipation bubbled beneath her calm demeanor—like an ocean waiting to crash.
The Demon of Dreams stared at the cube a moment longer before her expression softened. Almost… affectionately. She finally reached out and took it, holding it in both hands like a sacred gift—before quietly, almost absentmindedly, slipping it into the folds of her gown.
Then she turned her gaze back to Zen.
"You've done well, Zen," she said with a delicate smile—the kind that hid far too many teeth.
"Truly."
He didn't answer. He stood still, breathing shallowly, eyes locked on her like someone waiting for a knife to fall.
"You want your freedom," she continued, pacing slowly now, each step echoing across the endless throne hall.
"You and your precious sister, free from this little contract of ours."
Her smile didn't fade, but something behind her eyes shifted—like the tilt of a blade catching light.
"And why shouldn't I give it to you?" she mused, tapping a finger to her chin.
"You brought me something no one else could. Something even I thought was unreachable."
She stopped, turning toward him fully now. The calm in her tone began to fray, replaced by something deeper—an excitement simmering under her skin.
"I should honor our deal, shouldn't I? You gave me what I wanted."
A beat.
Then—
"But here's the thing..."
"You don't understand what you've done."
Zen's jaw clenched. He didn't speak. Not yet.
"When I sent you into Nitya," she said, voice low and rich with amusement, "you were just a toy to me. Something interesting to watch break."
"A weak little boy," she went on, savoring each word like a fine wine, "willing to throw himself into madness, for the freedom of his and his sister."
She tilted her head, curious now.
"But you came back."
The air around her crackled faintly.
"You survived."
Her eyes lit up again—not with power, but with pure intrigue.
"And you didn't just survive… You brought that back."
She stepped closer. Close enough that Zen could see the hunger dancing in her gaze, layered under silk and shadow.
"Now that changes everything, Zen. You've done something no demon, no god, no soul has ever managed to do."
"This isn't a game anymore. You tipped something real, and it's falling."
Zen didn't flinch.
Without a word, he reached into his coat and drew out a folded piece of black silk. He unwrapped it slowly, revealing a strip of pale, stretched skin—marked with glowing red sigils that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. It wasn't paper. It was old. Alive. Unholy.
Zen stepped forward, holding the contract out before him.
Zen (calmly): "We had a deal. You signed it."
The demon's eyes flicked to the contract, and for a moment, silence reigned.
Memories stirred.
She had laughed, back then. Laughed when he first stood before her throne—barely more than a shadow of a boy—asking for a deal.
"You want to go to Nitya?"
"Bring me the Demon Orb?"
"And in exchange, you want freedom—for yourself and your sister?"
It was adorable.
Normally, she would've refused. She didn't like losing her favorite toys.
But if anyone ever asked, what is the weakness of the Demon of Dream? —the answer would be Nitya.
She had sent armies: demons, enslaved humans, creatures from every layer of her domain.
None returned.
Demonic beings above a certain rank couldn't even enter. If they could, she would've been the first through that cursed threshold.
And yet—he had stood there.
A trembling mortal, eyes full of fear and resolve.
Then he pulled out the parchment—serious as a priest—and her grin had widened.
"A real contract? With proper sigils? Oh, how sweet!"
She'd signed it out of amusement. Indulgence. He was just a mortal boy with too much heart and no future. A toy. A temporary distraction.
But now...
Now he stood before her again. Alive.
And the contract?
She laughed—quiet and sweet but laced with that undercurrent of madness she never quite hid.
Matriarch: "We did, didn't we?"
She moved toward him, her heels echoing across the cold stone floor. Each step was graceful. Predatory.
"You were so sincere, so desperate, when you first brought me that little scrap of flesh. Promising to retrieve the Demon Orb if I freed you and your dear sister."
She stopped just short of him, head tilting, voice softening.
"And I was bored enough to agree."
Her gaze drifted—remembering or pretending to.
"I never thought you'd survive. But you did."
"You returned with what I desired."
Her smile faded slightly.
"But the terms..."
"I've been thinking about them."
She stepped even closer—now inches away. The air grew heavier, tinged with shadow and heat.
"I will keep the deal..." she whispered.
"But only part of it."
Zen's eyes narrowed.
Demoness "Your sister. She's free. No tricks, no chains. She will wake tomorrow in her own bed, with no memory of me."
"That part I will honor."
She lifted one clawed finger, trailing it through the air just above the contract—savoring the idea of burning it.
"But you, Zen..."
"I've decided I rather like you where you are."
"So, here's what I offer instead."
"I will grand your sister's freedom not your and in exchange, ask me for anything. Power. Knowledge. A new contract."
Her eyes gleamed.
"Refuse..."
She tapped the contract lightly with her claw.
"...and I tear this little thing apart."
The sigils on the contract flared briefly in warning, sensing the threat.
"Oh, I know the punishment for breaking a demon contract," she added, almost wistfully.
"The backlash will be exquisite."
She smiled wide now. Unbothered. Delighted.
"But I'm willing to endure it."
She leaned in close.
"So. What will it be, Zen?"
Zen didn't hesitate.
He looked up at her, calm despite everything, and spoke clearly.
Zen:
"My request is this—"
"Erase her memory of this place. Of you. Of me. Of the past."
"Let her start a new life… a better one."
He paused, eyes steady.
"Place her in a good human orphanage. Somewhere safe. Big enough for her to disappear into a normal life."
The Demon of Dream tilted her head, her smile twitching at the corner. She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.
"You know..."
"She'll forget you. Forever."
Zen nodded. His voice was unwavering.
"Yes."
A long silence followed. The Demoness studied him with a curious intensity—like a child inspecting a strange insect.
Then she let out a soft, drawn-out sigh and placed the back of her hand to her forehead in mock despair.
"Oh, how tragic!"
"How romantic!"
Her voice dipped into a taunting whisper.
"You endured Nitya. Faced madness. Brought me the Demon Orb… and your reward is to be forgotten by the one you saved."
She clapped slowly, the sound echoing in the dark throne room.
"How sad."
She grinned.
"I love it."
With a flick of her black-clawed finger, the contract burned like an illusion. The space rippled—like reality itself had been tugged open.
From the dark fold of that rift, a small figure appeared and gently touched down on the floor. A girl, barely five. Pale. Unconscious. Untouched by the horrors she'd once witnessed.
Her breathing was soft. Peaceful. As if she had just fallen asleep in a warm bed.
The Demon of Dreams smiled down at Zen, eyes glowing with amusement.
"There she is," she said sweetly.
"Your little treasure. You should say your goodbyes now—while she still remembers who you are."
Her voice was velvet-laced mockery.