Or: "My Former Tyrant Boss Now Investigates Dark Whispers With Me and Still Annoys Me in Style"
That cloudy morning, Liora sat in the secondary hall of the cathedral library, surrounded by scrolls, pastries, and problems. One of those problems stood directly in front of her, inspecting a note like it was some kind of war declaration.
"Slanted handwriting. Firm pen pressure," Morian said, his tone serious—almost poetic. "Whoever wrote this wanted to sound threatening, but clearly has a background in ornamental calligraphy. My guess? A former poet turned cultist."
Liora stared at him in silence for a long moment. Then, without breaking eye contact, she bit into her pastry with all the elegance of passive-aggressive revenge.
You used to make me work like a cursed soul with no right to rest, she thought. I'd barely return from battle, and you were already planning the next campaign. Now you want to lecture me on cursive analysis?
"And when exactly are you going back to ruling the Underworld?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or at least leaving me alone in this new life?"
"You miss me," he replied calmly.
"I miss getting eight hours of sleep. That never happened under your command, thanks."
He ignored her sarcasm with the serenity of someone who had been called "tyrant" hundreds of times—and secretly missed it when his favorite general wasn't around to yell it.
"We should investigate the magical trace left on this note," he said, turning the parchment over. "There are signs of poorly channeled energy. Probably a novice."
"Oh, great," Liora muttered. "A poetic apprentice of darkness. Just what I needed today."
"Or someone pretending to be inexperienced. Classic move to throw off suspicion." He glanced at her. "You used that trick."
"Yeah," she grumbled, "back when I was a demon general and had to fake incompetence in meetings with idiotic nobles."
Morian raised a finger and drew imaginary notes in the air. "Reminder: Liora misses infernal military strategy. May require a nostalgia session."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"How could I not?" he said with a smirk. "You're a saint now. Eating pastries while investigating threats with your former hellish boss. It's practically a reverse celestial drama."
Following the magical trail, they descended to the library's secret floor—a quiet place where the books whispered to each other and the air smelled like old ink and judgmental silence.
"This place always feels like the books are going to get up and beat you with a sermon," Liora muttered, glancing around.
"They will," Morian said. "If you shout."
"Good to know."
In the far corner, they found unstable magical residue and a recently used quill, abandoned beside a candle still burning low. Liora crouched down, inspecting the wax with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for former war criminals with a taste for destruction.
"Unstable magical signature. Residual night essence…" she muttered. "Someone with little control, but access to the cathedral's restricted floor."
"That means…"
"It's someone from the inside," they both said at the same time.
They exchanged a look.
"If we start talking in sync," Liora said, "I want a refund on this reincarnation."
Back in the main hall, Morian poured them tea while Liora sorted through her chaotic notes—some sarcastic scribbles, a few angry hearts, and a particularly unflattering doodle of Aurelius with little horns.
"That shadow we saw yesterday," Morian said as he sat, "it seemed to recognize you. Did you feel anything familiar?"
"It felt familiar," she said, frowning. "But not from my 'favorite demons' club. Maybe one of those suck-ups you reassigned?"
"I didn't fire them," he said calmly. "I reassigned them to more... subterranean roles."
"Oh right. Classic infernal euphemism."
"You were always... a difficult student."
"And you were always... an unbearable boss."
"And yet," he said with a faint smile, "here we are."
"Yep. And you're still barging into my life like it's your personal department."
Before their bickering could escalate into a full verbal duel, a new letter appeared—floating down from the air and landing gently on the table. This one was sealed in black wax, marked with an ancient symbol.
Liora leaned in. "This symbol… I haven't seen it since we invaded the Fortress of Escarion. Remember?"
Morian's expression turned grim. "I remember. It belongs to the Order of the Shadowed Veil. But they were eradicated. Or they were supposed to be."
"Well, great," Liora said. "Season Two of 'Let's Not Die' unlocked."
She looked at the letter with a mix of dread and reluctant excitement.
All I wanted was a normal life. Pastries. Maybe a cat. Instead, I get poetic threats and an ex-boss with investigative hobbies.
With a sigh, she broke the seal and opened the letter—welcoming whatever new chaos it brought.