"What… what is happening here?" Meena whispered, her voice trembling. "What was that? Wait—where am I?"
Her thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. For a brief moment, her mind went completely blank. No sound, no feeling, nothing but void. When her senses finally began to return, she was assaulted by something far more chilling—the voice.
That voice.
The one she could never forget.
"Welcome once again…"
Her chest tightened. The sound pierced her like an arrow through the dark.
"Aahhh… not again," she muttered, her voice cracking as frustration tore through her fear. "Why you? Why always you?"
The unseen speaker chuckled, slow and deliberate.
"You're welcome. Hm, it's been a long time, don't you think? I almost missed you."
"Missed me?" Meena spat back bitterly. "Don't act as though I'm some toy you can play with. What exactly do you want from me? Why do you keep tearing apart my life—my world?!"
The voice softened into a silken calm. "World… yes… ah, I almost forgot, I do have the power to send you back to it."
Meena froze at those words.
"But now," the voice continued, rich with mockery, "I've changed my mind. Because you never listen. You argue, you resist. And so… I think I'll just go."
Her heart lurched violently. The irritation she had wielded like a shield crumbled in an instant. Desperation tore it away, exposing the vulnerable truth beneath. Her wide brown eyes darted across the darkness, searching desperately for the source of the voice. Her world? Had she heard that right? Could it be?
"Wait—please!" she gasped, her breath shuddering as though it were her very last. "Can you… really? Can you truly send me home?"
In that flicker of hope, a hidden light gleamed within her eyes.
The voice hummed. "Of course… I can. But not yet. First, you must endure. You must win this game. If you truly wish to return, there is no one else who can help you. Not your friends, not your strength—only me. So be careful what you say, little warrior."
Silence.
Then, with mocking sweetness: "The next time we meet, I want respect. Understand? Until then… see you later, sweetheart."
Two exaggerated flying-kiss sounds echoed into the void: Mwah, mwah.
Then the barrier shattered.
The suffocating darkness dissolved into warmth. The scent of earth, the sound of rustling leaves, the golden kiss of afternoon sun—all returned at once, flooding Meena's senses in a dizzying rush.
"Meena! Thank God—I finally found you."
Her eyes blinked open. Nicoluse stood before her, panting slightly, his hand clutching a butterfly with radiant wings patterned just like the paper.
"We've got it—the butterfly," he said with a triumphant grin.
Meena forced the pounding in her chest to settle. "That's… good. No—I mean… that's great. Let's go back!"
Nicoluse scowled. "You're not even going to compliment me? I'm the one who caught it! Do you even know how hard it was?"
A smile tugged at her lips, despite the turmoil gnawing inside her. "Thank you, sir," she teased with mock formality.
"Not like that. And don't pout—it doesn't suit your personality."
Her grin widened, soft and effortless, and Nicoluse found himself staring at her. Words slipped from him before he realized: "Beautiful."
Meena blinked. "Did you… say something?"
"Yeah. Beautiful."
Her lips parted in confusion. "Beautiful?" she echoed, as though tasting the word. "What is beautiful?"
Nicoluse scrambled quickly. "The butterfly!" he blurted out, raising its beating wings like a shield, trying to cover the sudden tremor of honesty in his voice.
"Right," she replied, suspicion tugging at her smile. "The butterfly."
Together, they returned, where the rest of the group was already gathered. Eight members stood waiting, impatience buzzing in their eyes.
"Finally! They're here," someone exclaimed.
Without wasting time, Nicoluse handed over the butterfly. One of them placed it carefully near the shimmering paper puzzle. But in that moment of contact, the fragile creature wiggled free, fluttering upwards. Panic seized the group at once. A cry erupted: "Catch it!" The scene froze in collective dread.
And then it happened.
The butterfly landed gracefully—directly on the puzzle's glowing seal. The pattern on its wings shimmered, merged with the parchment… and both vanished at once.
Gasps spilled across the group.
Meena's heart clenched. The butterfly was gone.
But then—the paper itself quivered, lifting into the air, alive with radiant energy. Nicoluse reached out tentatively. The moment his fingertips brushed it, the puzzle unlocked.
Joy flickered in his dark eyes. "It's open," he whispered.
The others leaned in as glowing words shimmered into being.
The Puzzle
"Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard.
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with flattering words.
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword.
Tell me—what am I?"
"What… what kind of puzzle is this?" someone muttered.
"Stay calm," Nicoluse ordered, "and think."
But unease crept through them. A riddle not of numbers or logic, but of love, betrayal, and death. And its answer, they all sensed, would shape the next step of their fate.
Across the Field
Meanwhile, not far from them, another group wrestled with their own search.
"How much longer are we going to wait?" Lucifer snapped, impatience flaring in his crimson eyes.
"I agree," Devilo said, arms crossed. "This is wasting time."
"What about Simon?" someone muttered darkly. "Where is he? Why is he taking so long?"
"We can't move forward without the butterfly," Mamon insisted. "And don't forget—we still have two members supposed to join us. Where are they?"
The air grew tense, heavy with suspicion and irritation.
Then footsteps echoed behind them.
"Sorry… for keeping you waiting."
They all turned.
Simon.
The brothers stared, relief flickering briefly—but not entirely.
"Good," Lucifer said sharply. "We need to split up and search. Let's go. Look for a butterfly with this exact pattern."
But as Lucifer spoke, his eyes lingered on Simon longer than usual. Something about him felt… off.
Simon walked quietly, his silver hair catching the sunlight, his hands loose at his sides. None of them saw it at first—a butterfly resting delicately against his left hand, its wings glowing faintly with the identical pattern. But Simon didn't even glance at it.
His mind was elsewhere.
Conflicted.
Tormented.
How desperately he wanted to turn back… to find her again. To draw her into his arms, to breathe her in. His heart wanted what his responsibilities forbade. The promises he had made to his brothers, to his realm, caged him in iron.
How he longed to break free. To soar once more. To love.
But no. If he shattered the cage, he would shatter his world as well.
When he had seen her at the lake, sitting quietly, sunlight glowing upon her skin—his entire being had stopped. For a moment the realm, the war, even his very breath no longer mattered. The pull toward her had been unbearable. A single step, one word, and everything would have spilled out. His carefully built facade would have crumbled.
And that… could never be allowed.
So he had turned away. Broken, but determined.
His thoughts tumbled like a storm. He didn't even notice the butterfly sleeping in his palm. Nature itself seemed to grant it to him, as though the world was mocking him with comfort he dared not accept.
Lucifer's sharp voice cut through his haze. "Simon. Something's wrong with you."
"He looks… sad," Blubghor added softly, unusually gentle. "The last time we saw him this way—was when Mother died…"
Mamon frowned. "But this? He looks even worse."
"Levi," Lucifer ordered, "go to him. Bring him back. Quickly."
"Yes, brother." Levi dashed forward, calling out as he ran. "Simon! Hey, Simon! Are you deaf? Are your ears even working? I've been shouting for ages!"
Simon didn't respond. His steps were slow, dreamlike, as though he were fleeing from his own thoughts more than the ground behind him.
"Simon!" Levi barked. "Wait—are you… are you hiding a butterfly from us?"
Simon halted at last, startled. He glanced down. And there it was—the butterfly, still perched gently upon his hand.
Levi's jaw dropped. "Idiot! Look at your hand! That's the butterfly with the exact same pattern as our puzzle!"
Simon stared wordlessly.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Levi demanded.
Simon's voice came soft, broken. "I… didn't realize." Then, quieter, "I was… caught off guard."
Levi blinked. "By what?"
"My emotions," Simon admitted, every word reluctant, heavy.
His brothers crowded around, their eyes narrowing.
"Simon," Lucifer said, firm yet not unkind. "We are brothers. We know you better than you know yourself. Something's tearing you apart. What is it?"
Simon looked away, his heart thundering. He wanted to confess. To open the floodgate. To tell them that her name had been carved into his every heartbeat. But not here. Not now.
"I… will tell you," he whispered finally, "but not today. Not like this. I just need… time. Please."
For a moment, silence held them. Then Levi sighed, stepping closer. "Alright. Time, we can give. But now—let's move." He carefully plucked the butterfly from Simon's hand before it could slip away.
"Come on, let's hurry before this thing escapes."
He glanced at Simon's face one last time—and shivered. There was a dangerous shadow there, a storm building behind silver eyes.