The Pride Ring wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Power here whispered instead of shouting clean streets, polished obsidian buildings, iron gates carved with symbols of legacy and ownership. Everything was orderly in a way that made chaos feel unwelcome.
Malerion and Verosika walked side by side, hands loosely intertwined not shy, not claiming, just… chosen.
It felt natural.
Dangerously natural.
The Dead Air Lounge
Their first stop was a shadowed lounge built under an arch of carved marble. A single sign hung overhead subtle, gold letters etched directly into the stone.
No flashing lights. No bartender yelling. No crowd.
Just quiet music and expensive alcohol.
Only old money drank here.
Verosika glanced around, lips curling.
"Pride demons love the illusion of restraint. They drink more than Lust ever will they just do it quietly and with better glassware."
Malerion ran a thumb lightly over the rim of a glass set on a vacant table.
"It smells like decisions are made here."
"They are," she said. "Deals, secrets, alliances. Nobody meets here for fun."
He nodded once, absorbing it.
The Plaza of Spires
They continued walking until they reached a broad open space framed by tall white pillars.
Demons here didn't bother hiding the way they stared but it wasn't lust, curiosity, or fear.
It was assessment.
Verosika felt their eyes.
Malerion let them look.
She leaned a little closer.
Not out of anxiety but instinct.
Presence mattered in Pride, and walking beside someone unwavering helped send the right message.
The Royal Glass Terrace
Their last stop was the elevated balcony overlooking the most expensive district of Pride the section where Goetia-owned estates cast long shadows and money didn't just buy status, but silence.
Below them stood a large, pristine building tall windows, gold lined balconies, lush gardens lit by soft magical lanterns.
A quiet luxury retreat.
Demons went there to disappear or to make sure someone else did.
Verosika rested her elbows on the railing.
"I've been here before," she murmured. "Shows for aristocrats, private events... everything rehearsed, controlled, polite."
"Did you like it?"
She smirked.
"No. It felt like singing for statues."
Malerion glanced at her.
"And now?"
She hesitated just a breath.
"It feels different tonight."
The Walk Back
The air shifted on the return quieter, warmer, threaded with something unspoken.
Verosika finally broke the silence.
"You didn't bring me out here for sightseeing."
"No," Malerion said. "I brought you here because I wanted to see you in a place where no one expects anything from you."
She blinked not offended, but caught off guard.
"…And what did you see?"
Malerion looked at her fully not analyzing, not calculating.
Seeing.
"You don't shrink when there's no stage," he said softly.
"You become clearer."
Her breath caught.
She looked away not because she wanted to, but because the moment felt suddenly too honest.
Finally:
"That's a dangerous thing to tell someone like me."
"It's true," he replied.
"And I don't say things I don't mean."
Departure
When they reached the landing pad, the city stretched beneath them in gold and shadow.
Before boarding, Verosika stopped him with a light pressure of her fingers on his hand.
Not playful.
Intentional.
"If you keep showing me parts of Hell like this," she said quietly, "I'm going to start wondering what you actually want."
Malerion's answer came without pause.
"Understanding."
A slow smirk lifted her lips but her eyes softened.
"…Then I guess I'll stay long enough to find out what that means."
They boarded the helicopter in silence not because there was nothing left to say, but because the things left unsaid finally had weight.
Something between them had shifted.
Not loudly.
But unmistakably.