They pushed forward, drawn by the weight of the aura pressing against their senses. The path opened into a small clearing, and there, standing in the center as if they had been waiting, were three figures.
The man at the front was unmistakable. Long purple hair cascaded past his shoulders, and twin horns swept back from his temples like a crown of obsidian. His presence was dense, suffocating—an aura that pressed against the group like a physical weight, making each breath a conscious effort.
Flanking him were two women. One had silver-white hair that caught the dim light like spun moonlight, her crimson eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. The other was pale, her hair a deep crimson, a crown of thorns blooming atop her brow—each petal pulsing with a faint, inner light.
Franc's hand tightened on his sword hilt, his voice low and sharp. "Are they demons too?"
