Kael walked through the palace with a less measured step than usual. The corridors passed by, familiar yet distant. The tapestries depicted ancient battles, demons in their glory, landscapes of the Neverdie Realm bathed in twilight. He barely looked at them.
Kira followed at a distance, without a word.
"You can speak, you know," said Kael.
"I'm letting you rediscover."
"Rediscover what? The dust?"
"Your palace. Your home."
"It's a building. Not a home."
"For you, perhaps. But for others, it's a symbol."
Kael stopped before a tall door, reinforced with black iron. He placed his hand on the wood.
"These were my quarters."
"Yes."
"They must have left everything as it was."
"No one would have dared touch it."
"That's what I said. A museum."
He pushed the door open.
The room was vast, lit by tall windows open to the starry night. A canopied bed stood at the center, draped in dark and silver fabrics. Massive furniture, a monumental fireplace, animal skins on the floor. Everything was clean, but frozen.
Kael entered slowly.
"It's exactly as before."
"Yes," said Kira, remaining on the threshold.
"Down to the smell."
"Polish and old wood."
"Yes. It's awful."
"You hate it?"
"No. It's just too perfect."
He walked toward a desk placed near the window. Quills, inkwells, parchment rolls. And, set askew, a notebook with a dark leather cover, worn by time.
Kael picked it up.
"My notebook."
"I had forgotten," Kira admitted.
"So had I."
He sat on the windowsill and opened the notebook. The pages were covered in fine, tight, nervous handwriting. In places, diagrams. Formulas. Lists. Names.
"What is it?" Kira asked, approaching.
"My notes. My thoughts. My spells."
"Your spells?"
"Those I created. Those I modified. Those I imagined."
Kira leaned slightly.
"You wrote them down?"
"I trusted no one. So I wrote."
Kael turned the pages. Some were annotated in the margins. Others crossed out, scratched out, rewritten years later.
"It's a grimoire," said Kira.
"Yes. But not like the others."
Kael stopped on a page. His eyes scanned the lines.
"What is it?" Kira asked.
"A rupture spell. Massive destruction. I would tear the ground for several kilometers. Fissure effect, lava, collapse."
"Did you use it?"
"Once. On an entire army."
"And?"
"Nothing remained."
Kira fell silent.
Kael turned another page.
"Here, it's a servitude ritual. I would break a demon's will and bind it to my commands."
"You did that?"
"Yes. A few times."
"You never spoke of it."
"It wasn't glorious."
"And there?"
"A pleasure spell. For myself or others. I wasn't insensitive to bodies."
Kira raised an eyebrow.
"You?"
"Me. Surprised?"
"A little."
"I was young. Curious. Voracious."
"And now?"
"Now I prefer to sleep."
Kael turned a few more pages. The spells followed one another, increasingly wild. Some were written in a trembling hand. Others accompanied by precise, almost obsessive drawings.
"I was completely insane," said Kael.
"You were powerful."
"It's the same."
"No. You were exploring the limits."
"I was shattering them."
He closed the notebook and held it in his hands.
"I didn't remember all this."
"Perhaps that's for the best."
"No. It's necessary."
"Why?"
"Because if I'm to reclaim this kingdom, I need to know what I was capable of. The good. The bad. The atrocious."
Kira sat on a stool.
"Do you regret it?"
"What?"
"These spells. These acts."
"Some."
"Which ones?"
"Those that had no meaning. Those I did out of anger."
"But not those you did for the kingdom."
"No. The kingdom justifies many things."
Kira nodded.
"You're more talkative tonight."
"It's the notebook. It reminds me who I was."
"And who were you?"
"A king. A monster. A creator. A destroyer."
"And now?"
"Now I'm tired. And thirsty."
Kira smiled.
"There are cellars."
"I know."
"Do you want me to fetch something?"
"Yes. Something strong. Very strong."
"You want to get drunk?"
"I want to remember while drinking."
Kira stood.
"I'll be back."
He left. Kael reopened the notebook.
The pages turned. Destruction spells, control spells, terror spells. But also calmer notes. Descriptions of landscapes. Fragments of poems. Sketches of faces.
Kael lingered on a sketch. A woman's profile. Long hair, fine features.
He didn't remember her.
"Who are you?" he murmured.
Kira returned with a dark bottle and two glasses.
"Blood-iron. Aged in ash casks."
"Perfect."
Kael filled the glasses. They drank.
The liquid burned, thick, with an aftertaste of smoke and metal.
"It's good," said Kael.
"Very."
"Again."
They drank several glasses. The room grew warmer. Stars shone outside.
"Have you ever held this notebook?" Kael asked.
"No. I didn't even know it existed."
"No one did."
"Then why show it to me?"
"Because you're here."
"Is that reason enough?"
"No. But it's the only one I have."
Kira raised his glass.
"Then I drink to that reason."
"You drink to anything."
"Only when it's you."
They drank again.
"I'm drunk," said Kael.
"So am I."
"Good."
He leaned against the wall, the notebook on his lap.
"Did you know I wrote poems?"
"No."
"Neither did I. Well, I had forgotten."
"Will you read me one?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's bad."
"Even better."
Kael smiled.
"Another glass."
"You're going to throw up."
"I'm a Demon King. I don't throw up."
"You're a drunk Demon King. That's different."
"It's the same."
They drank until the bottle was half empty. The sky paled in the east, heralding the return of twilight.
"Tomorrow, we inspect the garrisons," said Kael.
"Yes."
"And after, the borders."
"Yes."
"And after, Serya."
"Yes."
"And after, the world."
"You might want to sleep first."
"Maybe."
Kael closed his eyes. The notebook slipped from his lap.
"Don't lose it," he murmured.
"I'll keep it."
"Good."
Kael fell asleep against the wall, the bottle still in his hand.
Kira sat for a moment, watching the sky.
Then he picked up the notebook, placed it on the desk, and left without a sound.
The palace was silent.
The king was sleeping.