“Hyaaah!”

With all the energy I could scrape from within, I charged forwards and onwards. The masked man in the air drew closer and closer to me, and closer to closer to my sword, thrust out, aimed at his heart. With the surety of predetermined fate written in the stars, my blade reached its mark.

A sense of victory washed over me as my estoc pierced right through his chest. At that moment, he had the deathly stillness and pallor of a corpse. The golden glow of his hair faded, turning back into jet-black strands. Before I could even crack a smile, my consciousness tumbled over.

I lost grip of my estoc, still lodged within the man. He started receding from me as if ascending into the air.

Wait.

No.

He hadn’t moved an inch.

I had lost control of my flight.

I was falling.

Before I knew it, I was on the ground. Black feathers from my wings gently hung in the air, descending gently like autumn leaves.

The world around me spun. Staggering pain rushed through me. Each arduous breath, each heavy blink reminded me of the battered state I was in.

But the price for injury surely had to be victory.

I had wo—

“” The wistful statement came from above me, from the masked man, taking me out from the brief basking in self-supposed triumph.

The golden, ethereal wings around him faded and he descended down coolly, right beside me, his sandaled feet gently making contact with the hard-packed ground. His hand intently grasped the grip of the blade deeply placed within his chest and pulled it out in one quick, fluid motion, with the grace of a duke’s bow. His grip then let the estoc loose behind him, clattering thrice as it hit the earth.

His mask had been taken off, revealing his face, looking down at me scrutinizingly. His long, wavy hair flowed down to his neck, framing his elegant, youthful features. But it was his eyes that stood out. Those gray eyes considered me with an energy that was both tempestuous and gentle, like they were the fickle, tumultuous skies themselves.

As my gaze lowered to his chest, confusion struck me. There was no wound on his chest. In fact, he looked completely uninjured.

“” I asked, each word requiring a mountain of effort to verbalize. I tried to prop myself up with an elbow, but each attempt left me to collapse back feebly.

“,” he said with genuine respect. “,” he continued as he gazed away from me, looking at where I would guess Farah still was.

“” Struggling to gather air in my lungs, I couldn’t even speak.

“” he contemplated. “” The sharper, colder tone his voice carried earlier was gone. In his words, I could almost detect a shred of sympathy.

“” I finally managed to ask.

The man listened attentively, scanning my words thoroughly as if seeking a hidden meaning behind them.

“” Breaking away from eye contact, the man began circling me, a hand on his chin, contemplating as he walked. “”

His steps came to a halt, and his eyes met me again.

“,” he said stone-faced. “” As he said those last words, he bent over to pick me up, his hand seeking to grasp me by the collar of my shirt.

“” someone interjected. The voice belonged to a certain gryphon. As it reached us, the man’s approaching hand halted and his eyes shifted to look at the newcomer. Seeing who it was, his eyes widened in surprise and… in fear? Straining to look at the voice’s source, I caught a glimpse of Shara with a sharp, knife-like smile plastered on her face. She stood in a lazy yet somehow noble stance, one hand on the hip, another holding her partisan outward.

“M-miss Shara?!” From the distance, I heard Farah’s shrill, trembling voice.

“” His neutral visage turned flustered. The confident, almost-musical ups and downs in his voice transformed into an unsure boyishness. “”

“,” she said haughtily, on top of a decorative bow, grasping the hems of her cloak in a curtsy. “”

“,” he said as he cleared his throat to compose himself. “,” he asked, quickly gesturing to me, “”

“,” she said. Despite her far-from-intimidating stature and her girlish face, even I felt it. Chilling. Her pressure felt terrifying.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“” ‘Phoebus’ scrambled to respond. “”

Shara’s eyes turned dark for a second before regaining their characteristic playfulness.

“,” she said with an exaggerated pout. “” She stressed the last sentence, slowly placing weight on each word. As she said it, Shara walked up and bent over me, her face upside down in my view. Her golden eyes carefully examined me before she stood back up to await the man’s response.

“<…Hah, I don’t understand. Could you be less obfuscating? What could you possibly want with this boy? Do you seek to do that once more, Kingmaker? As far as I understood, that did not lead to the results you wanted>,” he said forcefully. But the strained harshness in his response sounded amateurish in comparison to Shara’s measured words.

“” Shara’s wide smirk contrasted with her quietly infuriated eyes. “”

“” he responded with sudden fierceness, hunched forwards like a wolf, a guttural huskiness along his words. “,” he said as he regained his stiff, formal posture, casting away the brief anger he wore.

“” she said delightedly. I could almost picture her tail, curved upwards and thrashing about in outward joy. “”

In response, the man sighed heavily, like a son told to do chores by his mother. Shaking his head, in his hands, a lyre materialized, shining with faint, golden light. His fingers deftly plucked the strings.

At the command of the strings’ angelic melody, a golden light began enveloping me. Either my nausea and migraines were causing hallucinations or golden strings were wrapping themselves around me and closing my wounds.

Accompanying this strange effect was warm drowsiness. Giving in to the urge, my eyelids closed. A deep sleep claimed me.

***

“What happened?!” With a startle, I sat up, waking up from my dreamless slumber. I was back at the campsite, laying atop of the warm furs. I woke up refreshed, my body feeling light. The hole through my wrist was gone. In fact, I was completely uninjured.

Was that all some strange dream?

“How do you feel, Luqa?” To my left, sitting on her knees was Shara. The approaching dawn softly lit up her features. The mischievous closed smile she wore recalled the events before, of the conversation between her and that ‘Lord Phoebus.’

“I’m fine, I think,” I responded absentmindedly. “More importantly, what happened? Where’s Farah? And where’s that masked man?”

“Your little demon admirer is perfectly in health and asleep. And rejoice, I fought off your dastardly enemy in your stead,” she said, putting up her fists in a play-fight stance. “Two quick jabs and one well-placed uppercut were enough to drive off that fiend.” She displayed her fisticuffs unconvincingly.

“Heh, sure you did,” I chuckled. “But, I heard your conversation, y’know, or at least part of it. How did you convince him to let me go? And who was he?”

“Hmph, can you not humor me at least for a second, I wonder?” she harrumphed, crossing her arms and pouting in playful anger. “Simply put, since you do not seem to know, he seems to have been an enemy of your past self, or someone related as such.”

“I know that much. But saying he’s an enemy of my past self doesn’t quite narrow things down, to be honest,” I said, trying to remember the man’s appearance. “You knew exactly who he was. Where did he come from?”

“He’s a subordinate of the Dragon on this continent if my memory serves me right. He calls himself Phoebus, though he insists on an honorific such as ‘Lord’ or ‘Sir’. Quite the prideful man.”

With the revelation of her response, the puzzle pieces seemed to come together. That black hair and gray eyes — those were characteristic of the Dragon’s blessed, a humanoid race living as voluntary subjects to the Dragon, living in the far north-east corner of the demonlands. Those physical features shared a resemblance with the Champion of the Dragon three centuries before, partly responsible for my death.

“I see. So I’m still on their death list, eh?” I remarked, fear underneath my cheery tone.

“Not quite, anymore, I am happy to tell you. My diplomatic words were enough to convince at least Lord Phoebus that you were no longer the Dragon’s enemy. I told them that you did not plan to plunge the continent in war once more. Did I take liberties in saying so? If that was a lie, I could tell them otherwise,” she said teasingly with half-closed eyes and a grin.

“Please, don’t. You told no lies, I’m not out to antagonize that Dragon again,” I said through nervous laughter. “I’m still curious though, you recognized each other. And that name he called you… ‘Kingmaker’. Just who are you, Shara?”

“Simple. I am Princess Sharanna of the Gryphons, Lady of the Storms. And by whim, I am currently your companion in your journeys.” Her words rang out steadily, with practiced confidence but hollow earnestness.

“Of course. You’re entitled to your secrets,” I responded, shaking my head. “But, really, sometimes, I feel like I know nothing about you.”

“If you seek to know more about this lady, have some manners, and do not simply interrogate me with direct, brash questions,” she said, coyly hiding a smile behind a hand. “At the very least, invite me to a well-prepared banquet, break bread, and share wine before your probing questions. Or do you need someone to teach you this basic etiquette?”

“Oh, have it your way, lion girl. Maybe one day…”

“I look forward to that day then!”

Really, I forget how little I know of Nicaea. Of the long history of this continent, of the divine, immortal beings who still live on this land and rule over their followers, like that Dragon.

My eyes darted up to Shara.

Or of the wandering immortal beings, with centuries of secrets behind them. Maybe that lack of knowledge was another critical factor in the demons’ ultimate fate. We never understood what we were in for when we landed here. It needs to be different this time. This time, I’ll learn. Right. That's the minimum standard if this future Demon King wants to coexist with the other inhabitants of this continent.

And, damn, do I need to be more aware of just how many people want me dead. Well-deserved on my part, though.

Shara tilted her head in wonder as I continued staring at her while I remained in thought.

“And Shara, I almost forgot,” I said. “Thank you for saving me. Really. I mean it.” As I expressed my gratitude, my hand grabbed hers instinctively and held it firmly. To show my gratitude, of course. “You saved me from whatever that masked weirdo would do with me.”

Shara’s sly smirk faded for a few moments before curving back up into a full smile.

“Of course. Companions protect each other, do they not?” Her head tilted even more as if to punctuate her question. “Now, the sun shall rise soon. I believe it is time for us to make ourselves ready. A long, laborious day’s journey awaits us, Luqa!” Still holding my hand, she pulled me up to stand beside her, before letting go and playfully ruffling my hair.

“Yeah, gotcha. Hope no more masked super-humans come after me this time. And, for real, tell me what you talked about later with that Phoebus in full detail! I know you're leaving out a lot of important bits!”