After three days and three nights riding through the endless wilds of Sondre Forest, the dense canopy finally broke, revealing the open sky. The scent of pine and bloodied earth faded, replaced by something... cleaner. Sharper.
From atop his stallion, Daemon's crimson eyes locked onto the skyline in the distance. Gleaming towers stood like sharpened blades against the horizon — a city wrapped in gold and light.
Aurelian.
He tugged the reins gently, slowing Caldrin to a stop at the ridge. Beside him, Nyxtriel materialized in human form — her pale hair catching the morning sun, crimson eyes flicking toward the distant city.
"Father," she said softly, "is this the next place? The one you're searching for?"
Daemon's gaze didn't waver. His lips curled into a sharp, humorless smile.
"Yeah. The fragment's here. I can feel it."
Aurelian stretched before them like a masterpiece — a kingdom so perfect it made the world around it feel like mud. The streets, the towers, even the walls shimmered, reflecting the sky so flawlessly it looked like a painting.
Daemon had heard the rumors in his past life. The city of wealth. The city of justice. The kingdom where no crime, no poverty, no war touched the streets. Aurelian was said to be a paradise.
But Daemon knew better.
Gabriel had been here once. The old Daemon never learned why — only that Gabriel had returned from this place wearing the face of a hero and the weight of a secret. Whatever had happened inside those shining walls wasn't the work of a good man.
Daemon's fingers tightened slightly on the reins.
"Let's go, Nyxtriel."
The girl nodded, her form dissolving into red-black mist as she returned to sword form — her blade resting against Daemon's back like a sleeping predator.
He spurred Caldrin forward, the stallion breaking into a smooth gallop. The closer they rode, the more the air around Aurelian felt... artificial. Clean, but too clean. Like the world had been scrubbed raw of anything human.
And Daemon, riding toward it, couldn't help but grin.
A perfect city. A perfect lie.
And soon, the perfect place for another piece of his past to fall into his hands.
Crossing the gates of Aurelian was easier than Daemon expected. No drawn-out inspections. No cold-eyed guards demanding papers or names. They barely looked at him — just waved him through like he wasn't even worth noticing.
Most cities in his past life would've barred the gate unless he had coin, status, or a forged seal. But here? They acted like letting him in was the most natural thing in the world.
And the deeper he rode into the city, the stranger it felt.
There were no beggars, no street fights, no pickpockets lurking near market stalls. Not even a drunk slumped in an alley. The streets were spotless. The people moved like clockwork, faces polite but... hollow.
Too perfect.
Nyxtriel's voice whispered from her blade form, sharp and uneasy.
"Father, do you feel it?"
"Yeah," Daemon muttered, eyes flicking from merchant to noble to child. "Not a flicker of emotion. Not even fear. It's like they're all carved from the same block of wood."
It wasn't peace. It was control.
And Daemon's gut told him whoever ruled this place didn't do it with kindness.
The sun was beginning to fall when he reached an inn tucked between two marble towers. The sign swung gently in the wind — The Glass Lily.
Daemon left Caldrin at the stable, paying the boy there with a coin and a glance sharp enough to keep the horse unharmed. When he stepped inside the inn, the air was warm, almost too welcoming. The kind of warmth that made your instincts itch.
The owner — an old man with salt-thick hair and eyes dulled by years — greeted him behind the counter.
"You traveling alone, boy?"
"Yeah," Daemon said simply, sliding a few silver coins across the counter. "Room and food."
The man nodded and offered a stiff smile, the kind that barely reached his eyes. "We've got a clean bed and tonight's stew. You won't find trouble here."
"Not planning on it," Daemon replied, glancing around the room.
He settled at a corner table, waiting for his food. Around him, the other patrons whispered low over their cups, smiles thin, posture straight. But two voices stood out.
Two men at a nearby table. Loud enough not to care, careless enough to spill something useful.
"...I heard the second prince of Varyndor was cursed at birth. Demon-blooded, they say. Reincarnation of some ancient king of monsters," one man snorted, swirling his drink.
The other leaned in. "Yeah. They say his twin's the real deal though. The Hero. Reborn, chosen by the Goddess herself. Michael, they called him."
Daemon's heart didn't skip — it slowed.
So the rumors had spread. All the way here. Across the border. Beyond his father's reach.
He hadn't thought it would happen this fast. But the world loved a good story, and nothing spread like fear.
When the two men finally paused, Daemon stood up and crossed the room, resting one hand casually on their table.
"Evening," he said smoothly, offering a faint smile. "You two seem to know a lot about the world's stories. Mind sharing where you heard that one?"
The two strangers exchanged a glance, stiff with suspicion. But coin had loosened many tongues before, and Daemon didn't look like a threat. Just another young drifter.
"Rumors like that are everywhere lately," one finally said, lowering his voice. "Some sharp-tongued brat's been spreading it. Sits around the Whispering Veil — the gambling den near the east square."
Daemon's smile sharpened. "A gambler, huh?"
"Yeah. Talks like he knows the world's secrets. Young guy. Flashy mouth, fast hands."
Daemon stood, offering a short nod of thanks. "Appreciate the tip."
As he walked back to his seat, the mask dropped. His smile vanished, his eyes darkened.
Whoever was spreading his story would regret it.
And as the city's perfect little clockwork kept ticking, Daemon leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on the east square's direction.