The wine tasted like embers now.
Liam had finally drunk it, and the ancient vintage that should have been exquisite was just bitter on his tongue. Maybe the wine had soured over centuries.
Maybe his palate had changed along with everything else.
Maybe knowing what was coming made everything taste like endings.
Gorath sat across from him in the pre-dawn darkness, the study's windows showing the first grey hints of morning. Neither of them had slept.
Some conversations were too heavy for rest.
"The Demon Empire is doomed," Gorath said.
No preamble. No gentle lead-in.
Just the weight of certainty delivered like a executioner's blade. "Not metaphorically. Not eventually. Inevitably, absolutely, mathematically doomed."
Liam's grey eyes—flickering crimson at the edges—studied the Arch-Demon.
"Explain."
