It was a quiet departure, one made without banners or witnesses, as Nicole insisted she would handle the preparations while Mirabel and I set out beyond the capital.
She promised efficiency, which meant fewer questions and no delay, and that was reason enough for us to leave without waiting.
We carried little, moving with the certainty of those who expected resistance but did not invite it.
I wore only the clothes on my back and the sword at my waist, its presence so familiar that I barely noticed its weight unless I focused on it.
Mirabel, by contrast, wore polished armor of black steel etched with crimson roses, each line catching faint light as she moved.
She also carried a longsword that balanced elegance with unmistakable purpose.
We passed through the outer districts and beyond the walls before either of us spoke, stone roads giving way to packed earth as the city's presence slowly thinned behind us.
The land sloped gently downward, trees gathering closer until the road narrowed into a forest path shaped by age rather than design.
The air cooled as we walked, not sharply, but persistently, like a presence settling in rather than a change in weather.
Mirabel slowed first, her posture shifting just enough that I noticed, her attention narrowing as though she were listening to something beneath the sound of wind and leaves.
I felt it a moment later, not as fear or threat, but as an awareness that something nearby did not belong.
"There," she said quietly, without pointing or changing pace, as if acknowledging something that had already decided to reveal itself.
Satire's warning surfaced in my thoughts then, words that had seemed unnecessary at the time but now settled into place with uncomfortable accuracy.
I reached for Mirabel's hand, not out of fear, but because I wanted to feel something steady and real beneath my fingers as the forest pressed closer around us.
She glanced down briefly, surprised, then allowed it, her grip firm and warm.
The cold deepened as we moved forward, sharper than it should have been, and though runes and magicae dulled its edge, it lingered against my skin longer than expected.
I wore a thick coat over padded black trousers, layered for movement and warmth, yet the chill seemed persistent in a way that felt deliberate rather than natural.
Mirabel appeared unaffected, her armor gleaming faintly in the dim forest light, black and red standing apart from the muted greens around us.
"The mercy of the strong," I murmured, the words escaping before I had fully considered them.
She glanced back at me, her expression curious rather than concerned, and asked whether I was cold.
I shook my head and replied lightly, insisting that I was fine, and her faint smile suggested she accepted the answer for what it was.
Her attention shifted forward again as the forest grew unnaturally still, the absence of sound becoming noticeable only after it had already settled.
The path ahead looked unchanged, yet something in the air pressed against my senses, a heat that did not burn so much as suffocate.
Mirabel reacted instantly, shoving me aside as she swung her sword in a single smooth motion that split the space between us.
Crimson fire tore through the place I had been standing, spilling across the ground in rippling waves that scorched the earth and scattered embers like scattered gems.
Laughter followed, rolling through the trees with layered depth, too vast for the space it occupied and far older than the forest itself.
The demon emerged without ceremony, its form refusing to settle into anything stable, dark flesh stretching over angles that resisted alignment as shadows folded and unfolded across its body.
Torn wings jutted unevenly from its back, more suggestion than structure, and its eyes burned with molten light fixed directly on us.
Flame gathered around its hands in unstable coils, but the heat mattered less than the presence behind it, the unmistakable wrongness of something shaped by Hell.
Even restrained by this world, it carried an authority that pressed outward, a reminder that it existed beyond the rules it now brushed against.
Mirabel adjusted her stance, her voice calm as she noted that the creature had been here long enough to stabilize and would not fall easily.
I stepped forward and asked to fight, my voice quiet but deliberate, knowing what the answer might cost.
She glanced back as she avoided another wave of fire with minimal movement, asking why I would risk myself.
I told her the truth, that I needed to move forward, that I needed to grow, and that standing aside would not grant me that.
She studied me for a brief moment before nodding once and shifting position to give me space.
I drew a slow breath and coated my blade in runes, each symbol settling into place with practiced ease as intent and structure aligned.
Fire struck again, and though the runes split the attack, heat washed over me, biting through cloth and skin with sharp insistence.
Pain flared, immediate and grounding, yet I stayed upright as the demon lunged forward with crushing speed.
I moved beneath its descending fist, pushing it aside with my left hand as I rolled into an upward swing that carried my blade through its flesh.
Dark blood spilled like ink dropped into water, spreading without splash or sound as the demon attempted to speak in patterns that carried structure but no meaning.
That told me enough, and I shifted sideways, drawing runes through the air as I landed behind it and lunged again.
It caught my blade, strength bracing against force, but the runes detonated as gravity folded inward and compressed the space between us.
A shadowed limb lashed toward me, and I twisted away, severing it cleanly before pulling the mass forward in the same motion.
Something inside me loosened then, a resistance I had carried without noticing finally giving way.
[In that instant, a shackle broke, and Nicholas reached the second wall in the midst of battle.]
I laughed despite the strain, feeling the sickness that lingered within me ease just slightly as progress asserted itself.
The demon reeled, and I drove my blade into its chest, drawing out a scream that rippled through the forest with a resonance that scraped against understanding.
Its body collapsed inward and dissolved into drifting darkness, leaving behind a moment of suspended silence.
That silence shattered as something struck me from above, sending me crashing into the ground with bone-deep force that tore the breath from my lungs.
Fire split the space overhead, but Mirabel shattered the attack mid-air and drove the demon backward with a single decisive kick.
Its body struck the earth, its head rolling free before falling still, and the forest finally quieted.
Mirabel turned to me with a measured smile, telling me that I had done well and that removing a shackle was meaningful progress.
I pushed myself upright, lungs burning, aware that even weakened, the demon had hovered near the sixth wall while I remained far below that threshold.
She extended her hand, and when I took it, she pulled me into a firm embrace that grounded me as warmth flowed steadily through my body.
The runes faded without resistance, and the damage eased under her controlled magicae.
[Nicholas had advanced, though he did not yet understand what that would invite.]
A hidden strike had grazed Mirabel, leaving a faint scorch along her armor, yet she did not loosen her hold or acknowledge it aloud.
She muttered her displeasure at interruptions, her voice calm but sharp, and I was reminded how formidable she was when she chose to be.
Mirabel remained beside me, steady and unshaken. She had disregarded such an event, she was simply herself.
***
Our return to the capital was anything but quiet, as Nicole reached us before we crossed the inner gate, her urgency cutting through the usual rhythm of the city.
She grabbed my sleeves with both hands, calling out to me as tears threatened to spill, demanding to know if I had any idea what state the kingdom was in.
I clenched my jaw, holding back a response that would only worsen things.
[Nicholas saw his sister, and his thoughts remained unspoken.]
Her expression shifted when she noticed my silence, accusing me of judging her even as she protested the accusation aloud.
Mirabel stepped between us without hesitation, lifting Nicole with ease and informing her calmly that they needed to speak at once.
Nicole protested loudly as Mirabel carried her away, listing reports.
Disasters, and political concerns in rapid succession as they disappeared down the corridor.
Most of the gathered attendants barely reacted, accustomed as they were to raised voices and sudden scenes within the court.
I exhaled slowly and rubbed at my brow, letting the noise fade behind me.
"Forgiveness," I muttered quietly, "is a generous thing."