1. The Walk of the Demon
The path through Solmira was carved with elegance and care. Cobblestone roads glimmered under golden sunlight. Flowers bloomed in windowsills. Music drifted faintly from the market district—harps, flutes, laughter.
And in the middle of it all, walked death incarnate.
The Demon King.
Every step he took echoed. Not physically—but across hearts. His very aura was wrong to the world: dark, jagged, ancient. His presence made the air colder, the light dimmer, the birds quiet.
And yet…
No screams.
People stepped aside, but not in panic. There was awe. Confusion. Some children even watched curiously from behind their parents. Old women made protective signs—but no one ran. No one fell to their knees begging for life.
This wasn't the reaction of terrorized citizens.
It was a kingdom that trusted.
A kingdom that believed in its Queen.
The Demon King walked slowly. His long coat dragged behind him. Black magic pulsed faintly from his fingertips, more from habit than intent.
His brother—tired, ragged, eyes always watching—walked behind in silence.
He whispered, "They're not even scared… They trust her that much."
The Demon King said nothing. But his eyes moved—toward the buildings, toward the people, toward a little girl no older than eight.
She ran past guards, broke through the line, and stood directly in front of him.
Unarmed. Innocent.
The guards panicked—but she raised her hand.
"If you hurt our Queen," she said, with the fire of a thousand oaths, "I'll kill you myself."
Dead silence.
The girl's hands trembled slightly. Her eyes did not.
The Demon King stared at her.
She was powerless. Not even awakened. No armor, no magic, no blade.
And yet… she stood taller than armies.
No one moved. Not even the wind.
He… didn't know how to respond.
He had slaughtered knights for less. Broken kingdoms over insults. Yet now, he felt something alien stir in his chest.
Was it amusement? No. Curiosity? No.
It was confusion.
He stepped past her, wordless.
And the girl stood unmoved until he vanished into the corridor of the Queen's palace.
2. Solmira's Palace
The interior was unlike anything the Demon King had ever seen.
Vaulted ceilings of crystal glass. Walls painted with myths and victories. Water flowed through channels along the halls, casting shimmering light that danced across marble.
This wasn't a palace of power.
It was a palace of hope.
Every symbol carved into the stone whispered: We are proud. We are unafraid.
He passed by statues of former rulers—none with swords drawn. All standing beside children, farmers, warriors, artists.
He hated it.
Or… did he?
His footsteps slowed.
His brother whispered behind him, "Do you feel it?"
The Demon King nodded slightly.
There was no death here. No rot. No festering magic or cursed chains.
Just order.
Not of fear. Of unity.
He hated it. Because it felt like something stolen from him.