The next chamber was quite simple. A short riddle written on the wall besides a wide stone table. On the table were four glass bottles, each with a different colored gem on top of them. The one on the furthest left was the shortest, only half filled. The second was easily the tallest, with only a tiny bit of it filled. The third was only a little taller than the one all the way on the left, but filled to the top. The one all the way to the right was a little shorter than the tallest and completely empty.

“Think you can translate that?” Joan asked.

“Maybe,” Qakog said. “Give me time.”

“Take as long as you need,” Joan said, though she already knew what it said.

‘The one who wishes to live longest must drink last.

The one who seeks balance must drink first.

The one who rises above others must drink with pause.

The one who guides must not drink at all.’

That riddle had annoyed the Hero in so many lives. Drinking from ancient bottles, not exactly a favorite past time. They were all filled with water, at least. Though, once again, the answer was one she had figured out long before she came here. It was the order they were put in that mattered. The first bottle didn’t need to move, as it was ‘balanced’ by being half filled. The second bottle had to be empty, as it was the ‘pause’. The third was the tallest one, as it ‘rose’ above the others. The fourth was the one that was filled, as you lived longer by having more water.

The biggest issue was the last line. It never made any sense, the Hero had always looked for some hidden meaning. On top of that, even when she arranged everything correctly, it always took a while for the door to actually open, usually making her second guess herself before she finally heard the click.

Always the same, arrange the bottles, argue with whoever had come here with her, then wait for it to open. So many times she had second doubted herself. As if she--

Joan stopped for a moment and narrowed her eyes on the text once more. Something about it was familiar. The way it was carved into the stone. “Qakog?”

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing back at her.

“What’s that word?” she asked before pointing at the word for ‘guide’.

“Huh?” Qakog asked. “Oh, guides. Why?”

“Is it different from the other ones?” Joan asked.

“You know, now that you mention it,” Qakog said softly. “It kind of is. Odd. I didn’t notice before. That’s not even demonic, it’s… I’m not sure. But it’s not demonic.”

Neither had she. If not for one important thing, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have noticed it at all. But it was the same strange language that had been used on the plaque back in the realm of the gods. She’d always assumed it was a strange, throwaway line that had been meant to confuse and disorient her. But what if it was the other way around?

“Okay, I think I’ve got it figured out,” Qakog said. “It’s a fairly simple riddle, but if I move the jars so the second jar is the empty one, the tall one is the third and--”

“Hold on,” Joan said, holding up her hand for him to stop.

“What? Why?” Qakog asked.

“Do we need to move them at all?” Joan asked.

“What?” Qakog asked again while he just stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“I just…” Joan trailed off before looking at the exit. Something was odd, she just couldn’t place why. She’d need to stall for a few moments. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Qakog said before he stood up a little straighter, a smile on his lips.

“What do you know about the creator?” Joan asked.

The demon deflated a little. “What? What do you mean?”

“What do you know about them? I’ve never heard much about them,” Joan said. That was only half true, though. She’d likely heard plenty about them, the Hero had just never cared.

“Very little,” Qakog said. “Only that they lived thousands of years ago and were the creator of the demons that many of us are descended from. As well as the original creators of the demonification rituals used to improve the other species.”

Joan bit her tongue to stop herself from giving her opinion on how much of an ‘improvement’ demonification could be. Selling your soul for power, becoming a monster like that? Didn’t seem like a fair trade in the slightest. “I see. That’s all you know about them?”

“Well,” Qakog said before glancing towards the door. “There’s really not much else to know. We have some tales we tell of them. Two, in fact. Some call them the ‘Mother of Demons’ and that she originally created us to fight the other demons, to keep the world safe from the things that reside deeper in the demon lands. That is what most in Kazora believe.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“And the other tale?” Joan asked.

“That they were the first Demon Lord, that the power that allows him to control the demons was also what allowed him to become the first demon of our kind,” Qakog said.

“Which do you believe?” Joan asked.

“The first,” Qakog said.

“Really? Why?” Joan asked. “Because you live in Kazora?”

“No,” Qakog said. “Because it never made much sense to me. The Demon Lord has only ever cared about ruling the world. Humans, elves, dwarves, you’re all weak. Well, most of you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Joan said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice and failing.

“Why make demons like us if he could control the other demons? Wiping out everything else would have been easy,” Qakog said. “We’re stronger, faster, more powerful. Why give us the power to overthrow him?”

Joan paused for a moment and stared at him. In a way, it did make a lot of sense. Then again, as the Demon Lord, perhaps he had believed that by mixing other species with the demons he controlled he would be able to control them as well?

“What does that have to do with the riddle?” Qakog asked.

“I don’t know,” Joan said. She’d really hoped asking him about that would buy her a little time to come up with a solution, but it didn’t. Instead she just got more myths and legends that didn’t mean anything. “I’m sorry. Just go ahead and do it.”

Qakog nodded and reached towards the bottles, but stopped himself. He slowly pulled his hand back.

“What?” Joan asked.

“Why is that word different from all the others?” Qakog said.

“I don’t know,” Joan said. “It just is. It could mean anything. Maybe it’s because that’s the line that doesn’t matter?”

“Maybe,” Qakog said. He then reached out and rubbed his fingers along the riddle. He then sighed. “It’s the same as the rest of it.”

“Probably,” Joan said. “It doesn’t look like it was--” She then stopped. “Oh, you brilliant, brilliant demon. That’s it!”

“What?” Qakog asked.

“It’s a trick, that’s the secret,” Joan said. “The throwing knife, did you bring it?”

“Yes?” Qakog said before pulling it from his sack. It was a simple enough, slightly curved, the metal tinged red. She took it and then lightly tapped the pommel against the stone. “What are you doing?”

“Listening,” Joan said. She slowly ran the knife down it, tapping on the stone and then, to her delight, the sound shifted slightly when she came to the word ‘guide’. “I knew it. Ohhhh, of course. The drinks are just the distraction. I can’t believe I fell for it so often.”

“So often?” Qakog asked.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Joan said. “How good is this knife?”

“Decent. I just grabbed one from my father’s armory. It--”

“Good enough,” Joan said before slamming the pommel of the blade into the stone, shattering the word ‘guide’. A small hollow was hidden behind the word, the rest of the stone carved around it. Behind it was a small stone button, which she pushed.

A light rumble echoed through the chamber before, rather than making them wait, the door to the next room just opened.

No wait. No clicking. It just opened. Something changed. Something here was different, she didn’t know what. But it had. Likely nothing big, but she couldn’t help feeling a rush of excitement before she ran off ahead.

“Joan!” Qakog yelled after her, but she ignored him.

How many times had she done this tomb, only to get the same result? But something, this time, was different. The same door opened, so there was definitely something new. Something had been altered. Something--

She raced into the same room she had seen so many times before. A stone cask in the middle of the room, closed. Decorated with images of countless demons. Small ‘treasures’ aligned on the left and right side of the room. Ancient books, many of which were faded. A small pouch, honestly the one thing in this little dungeon that she had wanted when she considered coming here. A necklace, a few rings, a glimmering dagger. Everything was exactly the same.

Except for one thing. One detail that hadn’t been here on any of her past lives. One tiny, itty bitty detail that made her entire body freeze and caused her to shriek before stumbling backwards into Qakog, sending them both toppling to the ground.

“Run!” Joan yelled. “Just run!”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?”

In the center of the room on a pillar that, in all of her past lives, had been empty. Now a small, red orb was resting on it. The exact same kind of orb that had been hidden inside the realm of the gods.

“Run run run!” Joan yelled. She tried to scramble to her feet and flee as well, however she made it only a few feet before she realized that Qakog hadn’t moved. She paused as well before looking back at the room.

Nothing happened.

“There’s nothing here,” Qakog said.

“But it’s not…” Joan said, trailing off. Qakog stepped in ahead of her, walking towards the casket. Joan didn’t follow him, though. Slowly she drew her sword and made her way towards the orb before, very gently, tapping it with the tip.

It rolled off the pillar and clattered to the ground. “Huh,” Joan said. “Really?”

“What?” Qakog asked.

“It’s not doing anything,” Joan said.

“Should it?” Qakog asked.

Joan lightly nudged it around with the tip of her sword. “No. I guess not.”

It hadn’t been here in her past visits, though. So whatever had happened when she had solved the riddle as the Hero had resulted in this being removed. But why? What was it? Slowly she reached down to pick it up. There was no giggles, no fire, nothing.

Just more confusion and so many, many more questions.