Ernest gazed at the palace that was adrift in the sky. Rocks and earth swirled around the atmosphere, seeming to dance around him. Magical winged creatures of all kinds made this structure their home. Griffins soared past the many floating islands; fae and fairies whistled to each other to hide; and phoenixes—some of Flame Mourn's most prized creatures—glided their blazing trails over the night, creating streaks that mimicked the shine of the stars stretching beyond.
Even Ernest's royal pegasus wanted to stretch its wings when it spotted its kind flying in syncopated formations. Ernest couldn't blame them. Though to most humans there was nothing special about these winds, to the creatures blessed with flight, they were like home. There seemed to be a quality to the breeze that urged those who could to take it all in. Ernest patted his pegasus and told it to return when called, to which it gave a grateful bruu and flew to its kin.
Despite the enchanted allure around him, there was also a sense of dread—a reek of despair that crept into Flame Mourne's domain.
Ernest approached and was instantly spotted by winged guards. They flew to meet the unexpected royal and knelt.
Guard 1:"Sir Ernest, you grace us with your presence. We... weren't expecting you."
Though the winged people's armor obscured their faces, Ernest could see the darkness beneath their sorrowful eyes. They had been working overtime.
Ernest:"Be at ease. I've only come to visit Her Highness. I have news of utmost importance to discuss with them."
The guards nodded and gestured for him to stand on an erroy. After he did, the earth below him hummed, and dust swirled around him yet never touched him. There was a crack—then he found himself hoisted into the air from beneath. The ascent subsided once he reached the palace's level.
Guards:"Please, this way."
Ernest walked through the palace. It was unlike his own. Though it too was huge and decorated with mystic and expensive ornamentation, it carried a quietness to it. Where the Flame Mourns paraded extravagant displays of wealth and power, the Air Bewails preferred a more subdued elegance. The entrance was lined with green marble, contrasted with sleek white-blue and swirling pillars that supported it.
But as Ernest strode deeper, his eyes caught more things of note: statues of finely crafted figures from the Bewails' histories, all seated and holding books. Ernest knew this well—of all the clans, this one was the most learned. Their library held the vastest collection of tomes. It was said that if one needed to know anything, a visit to the Bewails' archives would provide the answer.
They prided themselves on intellect and poise. Their servants mirrored this. They wore their attire with a mannered grace that Ernest's own staff still struggled to emulate. Every so often, he spotted robed figures sitting on benches, reading.
Just before the massive doors to the throne room was the path to the library.
Ernest:(I'll do a bit of digging later.)
The guards nodded and knocked twice. A tiny fairy appeared before them, its oversized, pupil-less blue eyes fixed on Ernest.
Fairy:"Wow! Sir Ernest. What a welcomed surprise."
Ernest:"It's nice to see you too, Relaca."
Relaca:"No, the pleasure is all mine. So, what brings you to our oasis in the sky?"
Ernest:"I need to speak with the queens."
Relaca nodded and dismissed the guards.
Relaca:"Oh, before I forget—please be mindful of them. They've lost much."
With a sly wink, they were teleported into the throne room, where two feline figures sat crying. They were the newly crowned twins. In the massacre, two of the elders—the previous queen and king of the Bewails—had been killed. Traditionally, their children, aged 40 to 50, would succeed them. But the Bewails had discarded tradition, always innovating. Instead, they had appointed the two most brilliant minds in their family to rule, regardless of royal blood.
Thus, the throne now belonged to:
Sylphine of the Mind
Zephyra of the Body
Each excelled in psychology and anthropology. Despite their youth—just 16—they had organized their people flawlessly in the days since their coronation. Yet their intelligence couldn't shield them from grief.
Zephyra held a tissue to her pink eyes, spotting Ernest's approach. She hastily wiped her tears and nudged Sylphine—the shorter of the two—to do the same.
Ernest, though wielding more power in this season, bowed to the twins. In their domain, he couldn't afford arrogance.
Ernest:"I apologize for the intrusion."
Zephyra:"I-It's fine, Sir Ernest. You've caught us at a... problematic time."
Sylphine:"..."
Ernest:"Yes. I'm deeply sorry for this, but recent developments necessitated my immediate audience with Your Majesties."
Zephyra:"Then speak."
Ernest:"It's about the Witch."
Anger cracked through Zephyra's sorrow. Sylphine remained silent and calm.
Zephyra:"That bastard! Ugh. How I wish to just—"
Sylphine glanced at her. Zephyra softened her tone.
Zephyra:"What of her?"
Ernest:"From witness accounts and my investigation, she's believed to be a mere demon. Yet none of my sources mentioned her wielding wind sigils."
Zephyra sighed.
Zephyra:"So this is what you're after. You think we're aiding her."
Ernest's jaw tightened. Though the Bewails had suffered the heaviest royal losses, their overall casualties were minimal. And with their unorthodox succession, the deaths had little impact on their hierarchy.
Ernest:"Not at all."
Sylphine:"..."
Zephyra:"Ugh! Listen. Do you know how demons are made?"
Ernest:"When the mother has killed and eaten enough beasts, she's given the option to give birth—though she requires a man to 'instigate' the process. I don't know all the details."
Zephyra:"Clearly~ You get one out of three for that. First, yes, the mother must consume beasts before considering childbirth, but the father's role is merely to facilitate it. The mother can give birth immediately—but doing so kills her."
Ernest flinched slightly.
Ernest:"I didn't know..."
Zephyra (rolling her eyes):"I'm not surprised. Most stop at the surface, content with 'enough.' It's reductive. They parade their half-truths as philosophy while—"
Sylphine:"..."
Zephyra:"Never mind. As I was saying, the father raises the demon child."
Ernest:(The Demon Lord.)"But that doesn't explain her sigils."
Zephyra:"Learn to listen before demanding answers."
Ernest:(This... child!)
Zephyra:"In the first three months after birth, the infant absorbs knowledge from its surroundings. But here's what's fascinating: their power acquisition. I assume your people remain ignorant of this?"
Ernest:"...Yes."(Get on with it.)
Zephyra:"They consume. Like their mother, demon spawn devour creatures without thought. After ingesting a certain number of a species, they gain its abilities. On average, they eat 300 specimens daily—humans and their own kind included. After four years of this cycle, they solidify these powers."
Nausea threatened to buckle Ernest's knees.
Ernest:"M-Monsters."
Zephyra:"Reality, really. When you know as much as I do, you'll see the beauty in savagery."
Ernest:"T-To return to the point—you're saying she likely ate many of your people."
Zephyra:"Not likely. Certainly. Does that answer your question?"
Ernest:"I-It does... Wait. That still doesn't explain why there were no reports of her using such abilities. How do you explain that?"
Zephyra's grip on the armrests turned her knuckles white.
Zephyra:"Are you implying I'm ignorant? She was probably a late bloomer."
Ernest (smirking):"Oh? Is there something Zephyra the Body can't explain?"
Zephyra:"You little hothead—she's a devil! She could have deceived us all!"
Ernest:"I've no qualms—"
A crushing force slammed Ernest to the floor. Zephyra, too, was dragged down.
Ernest:"W-What is this?"
Zephyra:"Sylphine! Enough!"
Sylphine:"..."
The weight lifted, and both recovered.
Ernest:(What power...)
His eyes locked onto the small girl, her expression still eerily calm.
Ernest:(Best not provoke further.)"My apologies, Sylphine of the Mind. I was too rash."
Zephyra:"Exactly!"
Sylphine:"..."
Zephyra (exhaling sharply):"Yes, yes—and our deepest apologies to you as well, Sir Ernest."
Her breathing steadied.
Zephyra:"To demonstrate our sincerity, I'll share intelligence—the finest resources in this world."
Ernest:"Go on."
Zephyra clapped her hands, and Relaca reappeared.
Relaca:"Yes, my liege?"
Zephyra:"Give our guest the devil's sister."
Relaca:"Are you certain, my liege? Not to question your wisdom, but—for assurance?"
Zephyra glanced at Sylphine, her expression softening.
Zephyra:"Don't fret. We've little means to interrogate her further without the Capital City of Thraw's permission for... harsher methods. But our guest here has a mother who holds the crown."
Her lips curled into a cruel grin.
Zephyra:"I'm sure she'll leverage that authority to persuade the wench."
Relaca nodded and vanished, reappearing with a figure in chains. The girl's hair was matted, her skin shredded, her clothes reduced to rags.
Ernest:('Harsher methods,' she says.)
Zephyra:"She's yours. We ask only for any information that might aid in hunting the devil."
Ernest:"Of course."
He approached the prisoner and knelt behind her.
Ernest:"Tell me, what's your name?"
Girl:"..."
Ernest:"Oh. Quiet, are we?"
He seized her hair, forcing her onto wobbling legs.
Ernest:"No matter."
He pressed a sigil to her clothes—since sigils only adhered to non-living matter, it stuck. Smoke coiled around her, faint at first, then thickening.
Ernest:"You will answer."
At its peak, a guttural scream tore from her lips.
Ten minutes after Erica's confrontation...
Her limp body hovered on the lake's surface, lifeless and colorless against the dark water. An unexpected end.
Gunner:"And this was the person who killed the Hero of Prophecy? Impossible."
As the gunner turned to leave, dread coiled around his throat. He glanced back—but she was already gone.
Something gripped his arm. In one swift motion, he was hurled into the lake. Horror flooded his vision as he stared at the shore, where a beast now stood—no longer human, no longer recognizable.
Monstrous. Demonic.