Zephyrona and Anastasia, along with nine other magical beasts, stumbled upon Necrosia's crown in Abysssia. It lay hidden within a mysterious underground ruin, buried under layers of rubble. Compelled by the strange aura radiating from it, they pressed forward. Their hearts beat faster with a rising hope—for the first time in so long, they believed they had found a true lead on Necrosia's whereabouts.
But then, a faint voice whispered from the crown, "Please… help me…" It was a frail, sorrowful plea—not the growl of a monster, but the desperate cry of a soul clinging to life.
None of them realized the truth: that within the crown lay the Demon Lord Zatherial, shackled by two layers of Necrosia's own sealing magic. The first was the crown itself, and the second, a holy, eternal flame that smothered his strength.
Even so, the Demon Lord's cunning was far from extinguished.
It spun lies with flawless ease, weaving truth and falsehood together like threads in a silken web.
