They left the bar as the sky was beginning to pale.
The night was slowly unraveling above the demonic capital, chased away by a cold, diffuse light—still timid—that slipped between the snow-covered rooftops. The air bit at the lungs with every breath, yet the city itself was already awake. Doors creaked open, bundled silhouettes crossed the cobbled streets, and the vapor of breath formed fleeting clouds above lowered hoods.
She inhaled deeply.
Her body was perfectly calm.
The drunkenness of the night before was nothing more than a vague, almost theoretical memory. The alcohol had flowed, had tried to assert itself… then had vanished, dissolved, filtered, eliminated with an efficiency that was almost insulting. No heaviness, no headache, not even that gentle lethargy that usually accompanied overly generous nights.
It's a shame… not being able to truly get drunk.
She allowed herself a discreet smile as she adjusted her cloak.
But the trade-off for not suffering afterward wasn't so bad.
Around them, the districts were waking in controlled disorder. Despite the lingering cold, the city refused to freeze. Stalls were already being hastily set up, protected by thick tarps. Merchants clapped their hands together to warm themselves, while others lit small improvised braziers, spreading a welcome heat mixed with the smell of charcoal and spices.
Lily walked beside her, silent.
Her eyes scanned every street, every corner, every shadow that seemed a little too dense. She moved with constant, almost oppressive attention, as if fatigue had never existed. The sleepless night hadn't dulled her vigilance for even a moment.
They emerged onto a large market square.
Even at dawn, it was already lively.
Voices rose—deep or hoarse—sometimes punctuated by laughter. Carts creaked as they rolled over frozen stone. Stalls overflowed with goods: steaming meats hanging from hooks, thick sacks of grain, dark pottery, crude weapons, hastily engraved talismans. The packed snow underfoot had taken on that grayish hue unique to living places—trampled, inhabited.
She naturally slowed her pace.
Her gaze drifted from one stall to another, attentive, curious, absorbing details as easily as she did the books of the imperial library. Here, knowledge wasn't written. It was read in gestures, exchanges, wary or hurried glances.
A smell caught her attention.
Grilled meat.
She headed toward a stall from which thick, appetizing plumes of smoke rose.
The meat sizzled on a wide heated plate, crackling as fat slowly dripped away. Behind the counter, a massive demon handled the skewers with the precision of long habit. His bare, thick arms were marked with old scars—some clean, others jagged—obvious remnants of past battles.
In front of the stall, a small line had formed.
Nothing long. Three customers at most, bundled in thick coats, occasionally stomping their feet to fight the cold.
"One Noctyrite for that?" one of them growled, pointing at a half-eaten skewer. "You're exaggerating today."
The merchant didn't even look up.
"The price went up. Hunting was bad this week."
"Bad, bad…" another snickered, rubbing his hands over the brazier. "It was eight Gravelles yesterday."
"Yesterday was yesterday," the demon replied, flipping a skewer with a sharp motion. "Today is today. You pay, or you leave."
A brief burst of laughter ran through the line.
The first customer sighed, rummaged through his purse, and dropped the coins onto the counter while muttering. The second shrugged and walked away, clearly unconvinced but not hungry enough to argue.
She watched the scene without intervening.
The exchanges were raw, direct, without unnecessary detours. No endless haggling. Just a simple reality: supply, demand, and the cold pushing stomachs to give in.
When it was finally her turn, she stepped forward.
"Two skewers," she said calmly.
The demon looked up at her. His gaze briefly passed over her cloak, over Lily at her side, then returned to her face. He nodded without asking a question.
"Two Noctyrites."
Two Noctyrites.
She took out the money without hesitation.
The coins softly chimed in her palm before falling onto the dark wood of the counter.
She observed the coins resting there.
Here, currency had nothing symbolic or elegant about it. It was made of raw materials, drawn directly from this world. The base unit was the Gravelle: small, dark, roughly cut coins, used for everyday purchases. Bread, drink, cheap food. Ten Gravelles were enough to obtain one Noctyrite.
The Noctyrite itself was already different. A bluish-black coin, heavier, denser, not taken out for just anything. It was the currency of proper meals, tools, clothing. Ten Noctyrites made one Ferrox.
Ferrox was rare. A dark gray metal, solid, sought after. Few demons carried it on them at all times. Ten Ferrox granted access to the Deep Azurite, a dark blue crystal reserved for important exchanges, contracts, transactions between the powerful.
And at the very top, there was Obscurium.
A single Obscurium coin was worth one hundred Deep Azurites.
A simple system, she thought.
Almost primitive.
She slightly turned her gaze away from the counter.
But it works. It's based on what this world truly possesses. On what it extracts, transforms, and considers precious.
She took the still-steaming skewers and handed one to Lily.
"Eat."
Lily accepted without argument, but her gaze continued to sweep the square even as she brought the meat to her lips. She ate mechanically, never letting her attention drop.
They resumed walking.
The warmth of the food contrasted pleasantly with the biting cold. Around them, the square was now fully alive. Children ran between the stalls, chased by adults whose annoyed grunts were indulgent nonetheless. Merchants shouted their prices. Demons stopped to talk, exchange news, complain about the winter dragging on too long.
She savored every bite, every detail.
And at her side, Lily kept walking—straight and silent—the perfectly obedient shadow at her feet… yet ready to stretch at the slightest misstep.
The city was awake, and they were now part of it.
She walked in silence, the skewer still warm between her fingers. The meat faintly steamed, its greasy scent mingling with charcoal, cheap spices, and the dirty snow trampled for hours. Around them, life went on—raw, imperfect, but astonishingly resilient.
Then the rhythm changed.
A sharp sound split the air.
A blow.
Then another.
She stopped.
A few steps away, in a slightly narrower alley, the scene violently contrasted with the market's relative joviality. A massive demon loomed over a body sprawled on the ground. His dark skin was marked by thick veins, his short but heavy horns spoke of brute force rather than refinement. He raised his arm with weariness, as one would correct a stubborn animal, then brought it down without restraint.
"Even a demon brat would do better than you, you fucking human!" he spat, delivering another kick. "Move when I talk to you!"
The man groaned weakly.
He was human.
The first she had seen since arriving in this world.
His scrawny body was covered in fabric far too thin for the cold, almost transparent in places, torn in others. Nothing hid the old scars crossing his skin: burns, cuts, chain marks. Around his neck hung a crude collar made of Gravelles strung on thick cord. A stone leash. An unmistakable sign.
A slave.
She remained still, observing the scene without intervening. Not out of indifference, but because her mind had already detached from the moment and drifted elsewhere.
Here, slavery was part of the customs.
According to what she had read, for demons it was neither shameful nor cruel by nature. It was even, in a certain logic, tolerated—sometimes encouraged—by the government. Poor demons, orphans, those whom winter would have condemned to die of hunger or cold, became the property of a wealthier demon. In exchange, they were fed, housed, protected.
Demonic law also imposed strict rules. A slave had to be maintained. Beating a demon slave to death was a crime. Abuse could be prosecuted.
They were seen as labor, not as waste.
They had no freedom, certainly. But they had survival.
From that point of view… yes.
It was preferable to a slow death in a frozen alley, to stealing to eat, to killing to subsist.
But this man…
He wasn't a demon.
He fell under none of those laws.
For this empire, for its rules and customs, he wasn't even considered a fully living being. A human had no rights here. And after all, why would he? A species that demonized demons, generation after generation, despite every effort made to exist otherwise.
Why grant them any value?
The demon grunted something else and brutally yanked the chain attached to the collar. The man's body slid across the frozen stone with a dull sound.
"Get up. You're not paid to die there."
She still didn't move.
"A problem, Mother?"
Lily's voice pulled her back to the present. She had frozen without realizing it, her gaze lost on the scene.
"No," she replied calmly. "It's nothing. Let's continue."
Lily nodded without asking a question.
They resumed walking, leaving behind the alley, the blows, the muffled cries. The city swallowed them once more, with its noise, its voices, its smells. They finished their skewers in silence, watching the capital fully awaken—each for very different reasons.
A few streets farther on, the common district opened up more. The buildings were closer together, the façades simpler, but one sign caught her eye.
It stood slightly apart from the rest of the neighborhood.
The façade, without being ostentatious, contrasted with the surrounding shops through its carefully maintained dark wood and the almost elegant sobriety of its architecture. Where the other signs shouted their prices or wares, this one merely existed—upright and silent, as if assured of its place.
Above the door, a finely engraved inscription drew the eye.
The Old House of Kimonos.
The word resonated within her with a strange familiarity.
A kimono. A garment that didn't truly belong to this world, and yet something about the sign felt like a bridge stretched between two realities. A trace—faint but persistent—of what she had once known.
Without fully realizing it, her curiosity stirred.
Before reason could object, her hand had already closed around the door handle, cold beneath her fingers.
She inhaled softly.
As she pushed the door open, she immediately knew she had been right.
The shop was bathed in warm, diffuse light, very different from the harsh brightness outside. The dark wood of the walls absorbed the cold, giving off an almost intimate sense of refuge. Hanging lanterns cast soft shadows over the displayed fabrics, revealing entire rows of carefully arranged kimonos—some austere, others richly decorated.
The air smelled of new cloth, old dyes, and a hint of discreet incense.
She walked slowly, letting her fingers brush against the fabrics.
The quality was undeniable.
The fibers were dense, resilient, yet surprisingly supple under pressure. Some kimonos were designed for training, for combat, for harsh daily life. Others, by contrast, focused purely on elegance: precise patterns, fine embroidery, deep hues that caught the light without ever assaulting it.
There were garments for both men and women.
Varied cuts. Different styles.
True craftsmanship—passed down, mastered.
A familiar sensation tightened something inside her.
"You have a good eye."
The voice was steady, slightly rough.
She turned.
A demon stood a few steps away, himself dressed in an elegant kimono of dark tones, accented with discreet patterns almost invisible from a distance. The cut was impeccable, tailored without ostentation. A thin monocle rested over his right eye, held by a delicate chain that contrasted with his harsher demonic features.
He inclined his head slightly.
"The kimono you're looking at has internal magical inlays."
He stepped closer, delicately unhooked the garment from its stand, and opened it with care. Inside, where the outward eye could see nothing, fine lines and complex circles were inscribed directly into the fabric, woven into the very weave.
She felt them immediately.
Enhanced defense and self-regeneration.
"They're… masterpieces," she murmured.
They combined aesthetics, functionality, and durability.
"But what is such a shop doing in a common district?" she asked, lifting her eyes to him.
A faint smile crossed the demon's face.
"Ah… that is a long story, madam."
"I have all the time in the world. Take the girl's measurements. I'll listen while your employees handle it."
He blinked, surprised, then nodded. With a gesture, he called two young demonesses waiting at the back of the shop.
"Follow us, young lady," one of them said gently to Lily.
Lily obeyed without a word, disappearing into a small room at the back.
The demon then gestured toward a more secluded space: two sofas arranged around a finely crafted wooden low table.
"If you please."
She sat with dignity—upright, without stiffness.
He stepped away briefly and returned with a refined-looking bottle, its glass glowing amber.
"Do you drink?"
"Yes."
He poured two glasses, set one in front of her, then sat across from her.
She brought the glass to her lips, drinking slowly—outwardly indifferent, yet attentive to every detail.
"Where to begin…" he said, gently swirling his glass between his fingers.
He inhaled, took a sip, then continued.
"In my father's time, the shop was located in the wealthy districts. We were supported by the wife of the former Demon King. Nobles came for the aesthetics, the military for training commissions. We never lacked clients in those days."
He paused.
"Then the queen died. The king as well. Trends followed. At first, we endured. The faithful remained. But a century passes quickly… and habits change."
He offered a bitter smile.
"After my father's death, the last regular clients disappeared. So I took what I had left and moved the shop here. A new clientele. I could have changed everything. Followed fashion. Abandoned the kimono."
He lifted his eyes to her.
"But I chose to continue my family's legacy. Their craftsmanship. As long as some clients look at them the way you did just now… I know I didn't make the wrong choice."
Did I really look at them like that?
She finished her glass unhurriedly, letting the warmth of the alcohol slowly dissipate in her chest.
"That is the story of this shop," he concluded in a lower voice.
She simply nodded.
"Hm…"
At that moment, Lily reappeared from the back room.
The Empress then stood, her movement calm, measured, as if everything had been decided long ago. Without an unnecessary word, she slid a coin free from her ring and placed it on the wooden table.
The Obscurium immediately caught the light.
"Make good use of it," she said. "May your legacy continue to exist… and deliver a dozen kimonos to the imperial palace for the child."
She was already turning away, her cloak following the motion.
"On that note…"
The demon remained frozen, unable to respond.
Then his knees hit the floor with a dull sound.
His shoulders trembled.
She did not turn back.
Outside, the cold air seized her once more. She lifted her eyes to the dark sky, split by the distant glow of the three suns—motionless and indifferent.
"It's time to go home now, Lily."
And they resumed their path.