As the night deepened, the celebrations in Zanders erupted with renewed vigor. Music thundered through the marble halls and lanterns drifted like artificial constellations across the sky. The kingdom glowed with a fragile, radiant joy—wholly unaware that far beyond its borders, a shadow was watching.
High above the castle, perched upon a jagged, distant spire, a black bird with burning crimson eyes observed the revelry. Its gaze was unblinking, sharp, and ancient. It watched the Sages embrace; it watched the divine rings slip onto fingers; it watched the trajectory of the future shift in real time.
Then, its wings spread.
The bird took flight, soaring higher and farther than mortal sight could follow. It cut through storms like a blade of shadow for days and nights, lightning flickering around its silhouette but never touching a feather. It flew with a singular, heavy purpose—carrying a message that could not be delayed.
At last, a fortress rose from the horizon.
It was a castle carved from jagged obsidian, towering over a wasteland where the wind carried no scent and the sky held no stars. Here, the air was thick and stagnant, as if the world itself was too afraid to breathe. This was the seat of the Demon King.
The bird descended before the massive front doors, which pulsed with a cold, oppressive aura. In an explosion of black feathers, the avian form vanished. A man knelt in its place.
Clad in black metal armor etched with glowing red runes, Bantari rose slowly. His midnight hair was a mess, and his eyes burned with the same crimson fire as the bird's. He pushed the heavy doors open and stepped into a throne room defined by a silence so heavy it felt alive.
On a throne of obsidian and bone sat Ou'weii, the Demon King.
He was massive and perfectly still, his presence filling the hall like a storm waiting to break. His blood-red eyes glowed with an intensity that could silence armies.
"Speak, Bantari," the Demon King commanded, his voice echoing like distant thunder.
Bantari knelt. "The Seven Great Sages are now nine. All have been wed to Eiden."
Ou'weii exhaled—not in anger, but in a slow, heavy resignation. His red eyes dimmed as he absorbed the weight of the news.
"Also," Bantari continued, "there were no signs of Civilar. And your son is safe." He paused, a private thought flickering through his mind: I do wish he'd mentioned Morvath was his son when I first started serving him.
Ou'weii's shoulders loosened, his expression softening into a rare, quiet relief. "I feared Civilar would hunt them there. It is good he has not." His voice shifted, growing gentler. "And my wife? How is she?"
"I visited Qalidu," Bantari replied. "The village of women. It is peaceful and hidden. She is well."
A soft, rare smile touched the Demon King's lips. "I am glad."
Bantari hesitated. "Sir… how long do you and Eiden plan to play this game of 'enemies'?"
The torches dimmed as the shadows in the room deepened.
"Until Civilar is dead," Ou'weii answered, his eyes sharpening into embers. "I provide him with whatever information he seeks, but he has not visited since Yajin's fall. It is possible he has already secured the Blade of Enchantment and is planning the purge of the Council of Gods."
Ou'weii leaned forward. "Soon, I need you to go to the Land of Gods. Once inside the gates, use your ability to swap our places. I will appear within their territory; you will return here."
Bantari frowned. "Why can you not approach the gates yourself, sir?"
"Because," Ou'weii's voice dropped to a dangerous rumble, "if I did, every god but Eiden would kill me the moment they sensed my presence. Eiden knows the plan and will defend me—but for now, the others must believe we are foes."
Bantari nodded, but as he turned to leave, he froze.
A figure stood at the threshold of the massive doors. Clad in a black cloak with a hood shadowing their face, the newcomer stepped forward and pulled back the fabric.
It was Bengie.
At his waist hung the endless pocket bag. "If you are going to Eiden, take me," Bengie said. "I have items he requested long ago."
Months Ago
"I must find the Grimoire of Divinark," Eiden had said, looking toward a sun dipping behind the mountains. "But I will not have the time. Bengie—I want you to do it for me."
Bengie had raised an eyebrow, ever the opportunist. "And what do I get in return?"
Eiden had stepped forward, tapping Bengie's forehead with two fingers. Mana surged instantly, a potent, ancient power of the Redcrest Clan burning through Bengie's veins like liquid fire.
"Don't tell anyone," Eiden had whispered.
Bengie laughed, breathless at the surge of strength. "I will find the Grimoire—and anything else related to the Three Gods. But when do I deliver it?"
"First, find the endless pocket bag," Eiden commanded. "It lies within one of the ten unsearched tombs of the Ten Kings. Deliver everything a few days after I defeat Yajin. Find the Demon King—that will be the time he and I finally speak."
Bengie had blinked in confusion. "But aren't you two enemies?"
Eiden had smirked then—a look of calm, unshakable certainty. "We are declared enemies. But we are allies with one goal: the destruction of Civilar. Ou'weii fears him as much as I do."
"Why are you so confident?" Bengie asked. "Becoming a god is nearly impossible."
Eiden looked at him, his gaze piercing. "I am confident because every event of my life has been a calculated step. I have planned this so that I may join the Council... and become a god stronger than the Three themselves."