Prime Minister Asibridel sighed away her nervous exhaustion. The Sanctuary delivered an occupying force to hold the theocracy's land. The cold stone contrasted the warmth of the parliament tree. Elvish archers patrolled the streets, bow in hand, and theocracy citizens huddled in their homes. The inroads between the theocracy and the Rangville Empire were likewise closed.

The elves never expected to be catapulted into a position of power over humans. Many whispered their fear of reprisal.

Walter declared the presence of Hera's temple proof the mountain range was, at least, the ancestral home of the elves. Prime Minister Asibridel felt the claim lacked merit, so she poured over the documents left behind.

Her heart sunk. Her eyes glossed over so many slave receipts that she wanted to stop reading, missing elf maidens never to be accounted for otherwise. Only Hera knew their fate now. At the least, Asibridel calculated these records proved enough harm to justify a war and the nation's seizure, should the Five Kingdom's Congress censure the Sanctuary.

Pope Althonbright purged the oldest records, which destroyed accurate historical sources. Technically, without proof, the Sanctuary assaulted the Alune Theocracy's sovereignty. She revised the declaration of ownership over the mountain range that Walter required of her, multiple times, and it remained lacking. Ultimately, she feared submitting it to the Five Kingdom's Congress for ratification. If she mailed the letter, then how far would the situation escalate?

However, no matter how badly Asibridel, or any of her sisters, feared the humans, they awed at Walter far worse. They read the reports of Walter's magic during the war; they heard it described as the manifestation of Aratron's hand. Now she experienced why. His massive mana shadow oppressed anyone nearby, he no longer suppressed it, and people avoided him because of scrambled instincts. Asibridel's house guards habitually saluted him, partly in respect for the coup and to stay in his good graces.

Asibridel ignorantly schemed to manipulate Walter once, like a rider on a horse, and she assumed she succeeded. She obtained perspective. Walter was a landslide in motion, one she coasted on, and Asibridel thanked Hera she remained uncrushed. Now Asibridel acknowledged that Walter trapped her in his momentum.

Rumors electrified the elf maidens.

The maidens noted Nix's wholly different behavior and the cup she carried, Hera's Grail. The look in Nix's eyes transformed from unhindered freedom to vast wisdom. Elves outlived their memories, so they passed through life as if navigating endless fog and recalled only the closest memories. Nix's eyes displayed unusual clarity, and she called Asibridel, with a bemused expression, 'child,' now, like an ageless priestess. There was no doubt Nix was Asibridel's elder.

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The demon-infested citizens idolized Walter. Many petitioned to drink from Hera's Grail or wished to obey. Walter used the Method of Loci to judge them and sorted them into three groups: to drink, to serve, and to be executed. Those unjudged flocked around Walter or waited outside the buildings he entered until their appointed time, to be sifted.

Asibridel objected to the use of her guards to slay humans after an illegitimate court ruling. Walter brooked no arguments and ordered its continuation. His claim not to interfere was undone. They had no choice.

Shyla entered the dead pope's dining room, now converted to Walter's temporary base of operations, and the demons he vetted rearranged it to suit his needs. She knelt and posed as if to pray, but she said nothing.

Walter incanted his spell and said, "Drink." Shyla bowed, and Nix escorted her to Hera's Grail.

Asibridel spoke up after she watched the brief event. "Please explain to me this methodology? Why do you reward some monsters and punish others?"

"Monsters don't include daemons," Walter said. "There's a difference between the two. I'm not evaluating them at any rate. I'm reading their hosts. The hosts that survived mentally are freed of their symbiosis. The hosts that mentally died can't be saved by the cup. Lastly, the executed ones raped, tortured, and murdered slaves. I'm saving the daemons, not the other way around."

"Daemon? I know not the difference."

Walter sighed. He said, "In my world, daemons are a background process on a computer, outside the control of the user. Here, in Eovamund? They're the pseudo-sentient beings responsible for channeling attributes into mana and implementing spells, kind of like Maxwell's Demon."

"While that might answer where mana originates, I must profess that explanation leaves much to be desired, Walter. How do you know this?"

"Historical memory is inscribed on the cup. I simply read it."

Prime Minister Asibridel curtsied, "It will aid the elves greatly. Thank you for obtaining it for us."

"It won't be turned over to your ownership, Asibridel. I'm sorry."

"But it's an elvish artifact, a means to repair our cursed fertility! You can't deny us this. Was this not the point of your assistance or your vow to Nix, if not for this purpose? Please reconsider!"

"Hera's Grail is a divine relic, the wedding cup of an elvish goddess and the daemon god," Nix called out as she returned. "Its use cannot be limited to a single race. There will be no discussion. So long as the Black Mage of Eovamund decrees it so, I safeguard the cup, and its sole use is conferred through me. Only the worthy shall enjoy the blessing. Even the suffering of my sisters will not sway me to misuse it."

"Walter," Asibridel felt the constriction of hyperventilation, "Are you abandoning the elves after placing us in this precarious position?"

"I am leaving, yes, today even, but your position will not be precarious. I can do no more for you."

Walter walked out of the mansion. Behind him, daemons dropped their tasks and followed him, like a rolling tidal wave. He intended to crash upon the shores of the Necropolis.