"Why did you show me that memory?"
Asuma stood within his own consciousness, facing the woman crowned with fractured metal and shadow—the witch whose presence felt older than hatred itself.
Her hollow gaze rested on him.
"The being you call Lyra," she said calmly, "is only a child—one forced to shoulder a monster she never wished to become."
Asuma clenched his fists.
"So you pity her?" he asked bitterly. "That's strange, coming from someone soaked in secrecy and blood."
A faint, humorless smile curved beneath the broken crown.
"Saving her is your desire, not mine," she replied. "I merely showed you what she wished me to show you. That girl swore to your sister that she would protect you."
Her voice softened—just slightly.
"Now the choice is yours. Decide whether a child the world branded a calamity is worth saving."
The void shattered.
Asuma's eyes snapped open, the scent of poison and blood flooding his senses once more.
He turned to the princess.
"Princess Urillia," he said firmly, "how do we stop her from awakening?"
Urillia regarded him with interest, golden pupils narrowing.
"You would aid a demon capable of erasing this city?" she asked. "Would it not be wiser—cleaner—to kill her?"
"She's important to me," Asuma replied without hesitation. "And killing has never been the answer I choose."
For a heartbeat, the air was silent.
Then Leon let out a dry laugh.
"Guess we've officially crossed into saving city-destroying demon children territory."
Amira glanced at him—then smiled.
"She's not a monster," she said quietly. "She's a child the Church decided to break. That alone makes me sick."
Urillia studied the three of them, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.
"...Interesting," she murmured.
"If you succeed," the princess continued, "then the girl—Lyra—will fall under my protection."
Asuma's gaze hardened.
"Your protection?" he repeated.
"Yes," Urillia said. "The royal family will assume control over what was once the Garden of Noctyrix."
Asuma stepped closer, his voice cold and unyielding.
"And how can I be sure your family won't exploit her? Use her? Turn her into another weapon?"
Urillia raised a brow.
"You distrust the royal family that deeply?"
"I don't trust them at all," Asuma replied instantly.
For a moment, the princess said nothing.
Then she spoke, her tone ironclad.
"I guarantee that she will not be harmed. Nor will she be used. Not by the empire. Not by the Church. Not by anyone."
Asuma searched her face, weighing every word.
"...Good," he said at last. "Then tell us—how do we stop this ritual?"
Urillia's gaze shifted toward the blood-soaked garden, toward the corruption pulsing beneath the earth.
"By killing the caster," she answered.
Leon stiffened.
"The caster?"
Amira's grip tightened around her spear.
"...Who is it?"
"The man standing in front of you."
Urillia's words fell like a death sentence.
They turned as one.
The cocoon pulsed—once, twice—then unraveled, its blood-soaked tendrils peeling away like rotting petals.
A man stood where it had been.
He wore a pristine black suit, immaculate despite the carnage around him, a shadowy cape flowing from his shoulders as if it were alive. Thin-rimmed glasses rested on his nose, obscuring eyes that felt calculating rather than human. He moved with the calm precision of an intelligence officer—measured, deliberate, utterly unhurried.
One hand gently caressed the cocoon's remnants, as though soothing a sleeping child.
Yet the aura that poured from him was anything but gentle.
It crushed the air itself—thick, suffocating, grotesque. Shadows warped under his presence, bending unnaturally toward him like obedient servants. Breathing became difficult, not from poison, but from the sheer pressure of his existence.
"What the hell is this aura...?" Amira muttered, teeth clenched as her knees threatened to buckle. "It's disgusting."
Leon swallowed hard.
"...That man," he whispered, "feels like death itself is staring back at me."
Urillia's expression darkened.
"Saving Lyra," she said coldly, "may be impossible with him here."
Asuma forced himself to stand straight, every instinct screaming at him to run.
"Who is he?" he asked.
Urillia didn't look away from the man.
"Across Anorak, those who serve the Primordial Demons bear sigils—brands that declare their allegiance," she said. "This man is engraved with the sigil of Malaga, the Shadow Monarch... the Prime Demon of Darkness."
Leon's breath hitched.
"...A pillar."
"Yes," Urillia confirmed. "And not a minor one."
The man finally turned.
His smile was polite. Practiced.
"Well, well," he said pleasantly. "What an interesting gathering. A princess... a prince... and a few unusual children."
Asuma's mind reeled.
Another pillar?
They were supposed to be legends—rare, distant calamities. Yet he had crossed paths with two already.
Urillia stiffened.
"...A prince?" she echoed.
The man's gaze slid to her, lingering on her eyes. His smile twisted—not with joy, but irritation.
"Those golden eyes," he said. "They remind me of someone. An irritating bastard. Just looking at you makes my skin crawl."
Urillia's jaw tightened.
"Only members of my family bear these eyes," she said sharply.
"Is that so?" the man replied. "Then tell me, Princess... do you truly trust your family?"
"Princess, don't listen to him!" Leon snapped. "The Shadow Monarch is known for manipulation!"
The man chuckled softly.
"Oh, relax. I'm not manipulating her," he said. "If anything... I'm far more interested in you."
His gaze snapped to Asuma.
The shadows around him surged.
"You're not supposed to be here," the man continued calmly. "And you're definitely not supposed to be tainted by that blood bitch."
Asuma's heart slammed.
His voice dropped, losing all warmth.
"You're a miscalculation," the pillar said. "A variable I did not account for."
He took a step forward—and the garden groaned beneath his weight.
"As such," he finished, eyes gleaming behind his glasses,
"I need to remove you. Immediately."
The shadows responded.
And the ritual pulsed—hungry.