Deamon went back to the inn and paid for an extra night.
He slid a few extra coins across the counter.
"One more night," he said simply.
The old man behind the desk, polishing a mug, gave him a friendly glance.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
Daemon didn't bother to lie.
"No."
The old man chuckled, wiping his hands on a worn cloth.
"Well, you picked a good place to rest. Aurelian's about as close to paradise as this world allows. Peaceful, safe, fair — you'll find no trouble here."
Daemon's crimson eyes flicked toward the window, watching the perfect little world outside.
"I can see that," he replied flatly.
His gaze slid back to the old man.
"You have a family?"
The man's smile softened.
"Just two grandkids now. My grandson, Toni — foolhardy boy — and his little sister, Jane. They're all I've got left."
Daemon nodded once, slow and indifferent.
"Sounds nice," he murmured, though the word felt foreign on his tongue.
A moment passed. His voice lowered, casual but sharp.
"Tell me, old man... you wouldn't happen to know much about the casino, would you?"
The shift was immediate. The warmth drained from the old man's face. His hands fumbled slightly as he wiped the counter harder, like scrubbing away the question.
"That place..." His voice trailed off.
"It's dangerous. A fool's den. People don't just gamble away their coin there — they gamble more. Reputation, loyalty, even their lives. You step inside, you may not step back out the same."
Daemon's lips twitched.
"Sounds like a lovely place," he mused.
Before the old man could answer, the door swung open. A young man stumbled in, reeking of ale and bad decisions. His orange hair stuck out in wild tufts, his eyes half-lidded and red. He dropped onto the counter like a sack of grain.
"Toni," the old man sighed, "drunk again?"
Daemon studied the boy. His disgust didn't need words.
As he turned away to climb the stairs to his room, the boy's voice slurred behind him.
"That casino... that place's paradise," Toni mumbled, more to the air than anyone. "I've won so much... all I had to do was pass them information."
The old man's voice sharpened.
"Enough, Toni. You've had too much."
But the boy kept talking, lips loose from drink.
"I told them about a prince — one of Varyndor's own — and the king paid me more than I'd ever dreamed. Word spread like wildfire. Nobles, merchants, even my pals wanted more stories."
Up the stairs, Daemon's hand gripped the rail tight enough to split the wood, sharp cracks echoing under his palm.
So this was the worm.
The drunken fool who'd whispered his name into the ears of power.
Daemon climbed the rest of the stairs slowly, a faint smile curving his lips. It wasn't warm, or pleased. It was sharp — the kind of smile a wolf wears before the kill.
"No need for bait after all," he muttered under his breath.
"The fish jumped straight into the net."
****
The evening air was thick with stillness. Daemon sat cross-legged on the worn-out bed, a needle glinting between his fingers, lazily threading it through a length of black string. Each stitch, each pull, was slow — deliberate. A predator's patience.
The window clicked open. Nyxtriel drifted in, her blade form glistening faintly with a wet sheen.
"You were quiet," Daemon said, eyes still on the thread.
"Did the kid say anything before he died?"
Nyxtriel's voice was sweet but tinged with apathy.
"He was linked to a group. Odd one. They asked too many questions, so I answered the only way I know." Her blade flickered, darkened by dried blood. "They won't be speaking again."
Daemon smiled slightly, his fingers looping the final knot.
"Good work. But there's still one more who needs a lesson tonight."
Nyxtriel tilted her head.
"Should I kill him too?"
Daemon set the needle down on the nightstand, rising to his feet. His voice dropped, sharp and venomous.
"No. Death is too merciful for rats like him. Anyone who spreads my name — who sketches my face — deserves to feel something deeper than death."
His mind flashed back to his past life.
Back then, one rumor, one drawing, had ruined him. Assassins had come one after the other like hounds, nobles had shut their doors in his face, and kingdoms hunted him like prey.
It wasn't just betrayal — it was humiliation.
But not this time.
Daemon stretched his arms, rolling his neck lazily.
This time, he would make the punishment stick.
Nyxtriel shifted into her human form, her pale face lit by the inn's dull lamps, following Daemon as he strode downstairs. The tavern was quiet, a few locals nursing drinks, all eyes subtly drawn to the odd pair a cold-eyed boy and a beautiful, eerie girl.
He could feel the shift the moment they stepped into the room. Conversations thinned, heads subtly turned, and the air grew tense ,all eyes flicking toward Nyxtriel.
Her lips curled in open disgust.
"Eugh. Humans."
Daemon caught the faint ripple of killing intent bleeding from her.
So she was the type to look down on them. A racist, huh? He filed the thought away.
"Hold it in," he muttered under his breath.
"We're not here to kill anyone — not yet. First, I want the rat named Toni."
They took a quiet table near the corner. It wasn't long before a girl appeared, her steps light and polite. She was young, orange hair framing her face, brown eyes soft but watchful. The resemblance to the drunk from earlier was easy enough to spot.
"Can I help you?" she asked, voice smooth and steady.
She must've been the old man's granddaughter.
Daemon smiled casually.
"Yeah. I'm looking for someone. Your brother — Toni. He owes me."
She tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking toward the stairs.
"He's asleep. Are you a friend of his?"
"We only met today. I just wanted to hear a little more about the tale he was telling... about the prince." Daemon's tone stayed light, almost playful.
"I'll pay him well if he comes down and finishes the story."
The girl paused, the smile flickering for just a second. She nodded.
"Alright. I'll go wake him."
As she disappeared into the back, the old man stepped out from behind the counter, wiping a glass with a cloth that barely covered how tightly he was clutching it.
"You need something, young man? Food, maybe?"
Daemon's gaze slid lazily across the old man's face.
"Not hungry. Just here for Toni. Need to settle something about the story he was so eager to spread."
The old man's hands faltered slightly. His smile stiffened.
"I... see."
His eyes wandered to Nyxtriel, who stood behind Daemon, calm and unnervingly still.
"She came with you, did she?"
Daemon nodded once.
"She's my companion."
The old man's throat bobbed, his hands tightening around the cup. Sweat beaded at his temples. The unnecessary questions, the way his gaze kept dancing away from Daemon's all of it told him the old man had already figured it out.
When the old man finally spoke again, his voice was thin, almost hollow.
"Your eyes... such an unusual color. Hers too."
Daemon's smile sharpened.
"Let's skip the small talk, old man." His voice dropped lower, colder.
"You already know who I am, don't you?"
The cup slipped from the man's fingers, shattering against the counter. His face went pale.
"If you've come for Toni..." he stammered, voice cracking under the weight of fear,
"Please — spare him. I'm begging you. Whatever it is — it was my fault. Please don't hurt him..."
Daemon leaned back slightly, as if weighing the plea in his mind.
"...Begging's a decent start," he muttered. "But I haven't decided yet."