The Ferris wheel cabin ascended, a slow, gentle climb into the twilight sky.
Below them, Homu Land transformed into a glittering tapestry of lights, a miniature galaxy of neon and cheer. The view was breathtaking.
And the atmosphere inside the cabin was painfully awkward.
For some reason, the easy, playful banter they'd had all day had evaporated the moment the doors closed. Now, they were just two people sitting across from each other in a small, enclosed space, a hundred feet in the air.
"The... the view is nice," Sirin said, her voice sounding unnaturally stiff. She was staring intently out the window, refusing to look at him.
"Yeah, it is," Mo Wang replied, staring just as intently out the window on his side. "You can see the whole city from up here."
"The lights are... very colorful."
"They are indeed. Very... light-like."
They now had devolved into NPCs, spitting out generic, pre-programmed dialogue.
The silence that followed was heavy enough to have its own gravitational pull. Mo Wang finally let out a small laugh, breaking the tension. "You know, for two people who spend most of their time trying to either kill each other or play video games, we're really bad at just sitting still."
Sirin huffed, turning her head to glare at the window. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know," he began, his voice suddenly softer, more thoughtful. "This kind of reminds me of when I was a kid."
Sirin finally turned to look at him, her curiosity piqued. "You? A kid? I find that hard to believe. I assumed you were just spawned into existence as a fully-formed slacker."
He chuckled, a real, genuine sound. "Nope. I was a kid once. A pretty annoying one, too." He leaned back, a nostalgic look on his face. "I grew up in an orphanage. Never knew my parents."
Sirin blinked, her sharp retort dying on her lips. That... was not what she expected.
"It was fine, though," he continued, sensing her sudden shift. "The place was okay, and there were a bunch of other kids. I was basically the king there."
Sirin blinked. "...What?"
"It's true," he said with unwavering confidence. "I established my reign through absolute dominance in rock-paper-scissors and seized control of the means of production—the cookie jar. The other kids were my loyal subjects. They all called me the 'Demon King'."
"You? Demon King?"
"It's true!" he insisted. "I liked the title so much, I made it my name. Mo Wang. 魔王 (Mó Wáng). The Demon King. Sounds cool, right?"
She frowned, then her eyes widened in realization. "Ohhh, right. Mo Wang... Demon King. Okay, that actually makes a lot of sense, considering what a menace you are."
Then she realized something. "But you… you didn't have a name before that? Was that even legal? And who in their right mind just picks their own name?" (A certain pink-haired elf sneezed somewhere in the Elysian Realm.)
"Of course I had a name before that," he said, rolling his eyes. "It was just... a bit of a mouthful for the other kids."
"What was it?" she asked, leaning forward slightly, her interest genuinely caught now. He had never talked about his past before.
He looked at her, a strange, unreadable glint in his eyes. "It was Mo Wang."
"..."
"That's the same name!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Are you just messing with me now?!"
He just laughed. "It's not the same. The characters are different. It's pronounced the same, but it means something else entirely. You should really pay more attention in Fu Hua's Chinese literature class. You're going to need it soon. We might be taking a trip to find some very old swords and even older people sealed away in some forgotten corner of China."
Before she could question his Spoiler, he reached out and used his finger to trace two sets of characters in the thin layer of condensation on the glass.
First, he wrote: 魔王
Then, beside it, he wrote: 莫忘
"Mó Wáng," he said, pointing to the first. "And Mò Wàng," he said, pointing to the second. "See? Almost identical pronunciation."
Sirin stared at the characters. Being a Herrscher gave her a certain innate understanding of languages, but the cultural nuance was lost on her.
Her primary source of knowledge on this subject came from Kiana's brain, which had treated every single one of Fu Hua's history and language lessons as a prime opportunity for a nap.
And yet... as she looked at the second name, 莫忘, a strange feeling washed over her. she felt like she'd heard it somewhere before, in a different context. A softer context.
Where have I... heard that name before? Who...
"What..." she began, her voice softer now, all her earlier arrogance gone. "What does your real name mean? Mò Wàng."
Mo Wang's playful expression faded, replaced by something deeper, more thoughtful. The neon lights of the park below reflected in his dark eyes, making them seem as vast and complex as the night sky.
The cabin began its slow descent, but it felt as if they were still suspended at the top of the world.
He looked at her, his gaze direct and incredibly gentle.
"It's a long story, do you want to hear it?"