The portal pulsed before me like a sick heart.
The red edges shone in the darkness, and the smell of sulfur, of blood, of death, came from within. Enyo, on my shoulder, squeaked softly. I touched her head.
"Let's go," I whispered. "Let's go home."
I crossed the portal.
The white light blinded me. The heat disappeared. The cold – a cutting, damp, real cold – replaced the hot, heavy air of hell.
I fell to my knees on the black sand. The first sun, pale and sad, shone in the dark sky. The agitated sea beat against the rocks. The cold wind cut my skin.
I was back.
I breathed deeply. The air smelled of salt and wind, not of sulfur. Enyo, frightened, buried her face in my neck.
"We're okay," I told her. "We're home."
I stood up. My legs, healed by Tryni, were firm. The demonic energy ran through my veins like a river of black lava, hot, heavy, strange. The sword at my waist shone with a red, pulsing light.
I looked at the horizon. The silhouette of a man approached along the beach.
Lindériu.
The holy warrior walked slowly, his blue and gold armor covered in dust and dried blood. The sword in his hand shone. His tired face showed no emotion.
"Zirinos," he said, stopping a few steps from me.
"Lindériu. Did you come looking for redemption?"
"I came looking for you."
"For me?"
"For you. And for answers."
"I have no answers."
"Neither do I. But I will find them."
The saint sheathed his sword. His tired green eyes fixed on mine.
"Sofia," he began. "Why?"
"It wasn't me. It was Treiza. The shared dreams. She makes two people dream the same dream at the same time."
"I know."
"You know, but you need to hear it."
"I need to."
The wind blew. The waves beat against the rocks. Enyo, on my shoulder, squeaked.
"What is that?" asked Lindériu.
"She was born in hell. She's mine."
"What's her name?"
"Enyo."
The saint looked at the creature. He did not ask further.
"Let's go," he said, turning around. "The world is burning."
"I know."
"And we need you."
We walked side by side along the black beach. The first sun, pale and sad, illuminated the path. Hell was left behind. Chaos had only just begun.
---
While Zirinos and Lindériu walked north, Derylini Academy buzzed with activity.
Irina Graylor gathered the students in the great hall. Her red hair with silver reflections shone in the faint light of the candles. Her hands, behind her back, were calm. Her green eyes surveyed the assembly.
"Zirinos is alive," announced the director. "He has returned from hell."
A murmur ran through the room. Sara and Ariny exchanged glances. Luna was not present – still in a coma, in Lunos. Néris, pale, clasped her hands in her lap.
Ana did not react. She only tightened her hand on her sword.
Ethan felt a relief he had not expected. Zirinos was his friend. Even if dangerous. Even if a liar. Even if he knew he shouldn't trust him.
"The kingdom is divided," Irina continued. "The Pope has decided that the succession will be resolved by a tournament of knights. The nobles prepare for war."
"And we?" someone asked.
"We wait. We train. And we protect the academy."
Ethan looked at Ana. She smiled. The smile was small, perverse, amused.
"Let's train, slave," she said. "I miss hitting you."
"You've never hit me."
"Today I will."
"Idiot."
Ana laughed. The laugh, sharp, loose, echoed off the stone walls.
---
Zirinos lost consciousness on the road to Lunos.
The fatigue, the demonic energy, the weight of the months in hell – everything converged into a black wave that swallowed him. He fell to his knees. Enyo squeaked, frightened. Lindériu caught him.
"Zirinos!"
He did not answer.
The vision came without warning.
The City of the End rose before him, white, immense, with towers that seemed to touch the dark sky. The Pope stood by the window, his hands behind his back, his deep eyes fixed on the void.
"Zirinos," said the Pope, without turning around. "The hero who killed Trussum."
"The apprentice," replied Zirinos, his voice strange, distant. "Still."
"Apprentices don't kill lords."
"This one learned fast."
The Pope turned. His deep, ancient, tired eyes fixed on his.
"You killed lords. You were reborn in hell. Now you are a demon lord."
Zirinos did not answer.
"What are you going to do with that power?" asked the Pope.
"Protect my people."
"Your people. Or those who need you?"
Zirinos fell silent. The Pope approached. His old, knotted hand touched his chest.
"Your energy is marked. Hell is inside you. But no one besides me can feel it. Keep that secret. Or you will die by the hands of those who now applaud you."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you are useful. And because monsters also deserve a chance."
The Pope stepped away.
Zirinos woke up. Lindériu was beside him, kneeling in the snow.
"Did you dream?" asked the saint.
"I don't know."
"The Pope?"
"The Pope."
Lindériu did not ask further. He helped him to his feet. They walked.
---
In the City of the End, the Pope received the envoys of Lirius and Elisa in the throne room.
The two siblings did not look at each other. Lirius, with dark hair and cold eyes, kept his habitual expression of contempt. Elisa, with black hair and green eyes, maintained her calm, her rationality, the mask of one who has already seen the worst and does not fear what comes next.
"The throne is not inherited," said the Pope. "It is conquered. The tournament begins in one month, in the capital. The winners of each house will fight each other. The last one standing will be crowned king."
"And if neither of us fights?" asked Lirius.
"Then there will be no king."
"And who will govern?"
"No one. Chaos. Death. Famine. It's the same thing."
Lirius fell silent. Elisa as well.
"The tournament decides the succession," continued the Pope. "Until then, pray."
"Pray to what?" asked Lirius.
"To what remains."
The envoys left. The Pope was left alone.
The letter he had sent to Lirius and Elisa was the same, but the words he wrote to himself, in the silence of his office, were different.
---
In Lunos, Linda Lunos received Zirinos with coldness.
The dark stone castle rose against the gray sky, its towers covered in melted ice. The wind brought the smell of smoke and fear – the fear of the peasants who had fled the coastal villages, the fear of the soldiers who watched the walls, the fear of Linda, who waited in the inner courtyard with deep eyes and disheveled silver hair.
"Zirinos," said the marchioness, her voice neutral. "The hero of Endomyar."
"The marchioness," he replied, with a bow. "Still a hero."
"Still? Heroes don't return from hell."
"This one did." He smiles.
Linda looked at Enyo, who slept on Zirinos's shoulder. She did not ask what it was. She only looked away.
"Luna is awake," she said. "But she doesn't speak."
"Can I see her?"
"You can. But don't expect her to recognize you."
Linda led him through the dark corridors of the castle. The torches flickered. The shadows danced. The smell of wax and damp stone filled the air.
Luna sat on the bed, her back against the wall, her amputated arm wrapped in clean cloths. Her silver hair, loose, fell over her shoulders. Her clear eyes, empty, fixed on nothing.
"Luna," called Zirinos, sitting on the chair beside the bed.
She did not answer. She did not move. She only looked.
"It's me. Zirinos."
Her eyes did not shine. Her remaining hand did not move.
Linda, at the door, watched.
"The doctors say the body has healed," she said. "The mind... the mind is trapped in some dark place."
"The fault is mine."
"It is. But you're not the only one."
Linda closed the door. Zirinos was left alone with Luna.
"I will return," he promised. "I will find a cure."
Luna did not answer. She knew this was just one of his many lies.
Enyo, on Zirinos's shoulder, squeaked softly.
In the castle courtyard, Alór van Decatry waited.
His silver-blue hair, dirty with dust, fell over his eyes. His hardened leather armor was stained with dried blood. The egg, placed on a pile of blankets, pulsed with a purple and red light.
"Zirinos," said Alór. "Your egg hatched."
"It hatched. In hell."
"Mine hasn't yet."
"It will hatch. When it's ready."
Alór looked at Enyo. The small, fragile creature slept.
"Are you a demon lord now?" asked Alór.
"You catch things fast, huh? Yes, I am."
"Does my father know?"
"No. No one knows. Besides the Pope."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you are Andy's son. And because I need allies I can trust."
Alór was silent. His hand touched the egg's shell.
"What are you going to do now?" he asked.
"I'm going to the capital. The tournament will begin. The nobles will choose sides. I will choose mine."
"And then?"
"Then... I'll kill my enemies."
Alór did not answer. He only pressed the egg against his chest.
---
Ierály received the news of Zirinos's return with a smile.
The tent, black and tall, rose in the middle of the Contraranures camp like the spine of a dead fish. The smell of blood and fire mixed with the smell of fear. The captains, kneeling, awaited orders.
"The monster has returned," said Ierály. "But he is on our side. Or he will be. Or he will die."
"How do you know, leader?" asked a cultist.
"Because hell marked him. And those marked by hell serve hell."
Ierály unrolled the map on the stone table. Her cold green eyes traced the routes, the villages, the castles.
"The tournament will gather the nobles in the capital. When they are distracted, we attack."
"We attack where?"
"In Eladir. In Graylor. In Mercius. Everywhere."
"And Zirinos?"
"Zirinos can take care of his own. We take care of ours."
The captains nodded. Ierály was left alone.
---
Zirinos left Lunos at dawn.
The first sun, pale and sad, was barely visible behind the low clouds. The wind blew cold. Enyo, on his shoulder, slept.
Lindériu walked beside him. The blue and gold armor shone in the scant light. The sword at his waist struck his leg with every step.
"Are you going to the capital?" asked the saint.
"I am."
"Alone?"
"With you."
"I am not your ally."
"You are. You don't know it, but you are."
Lindériu did not answer. He only quickened his pace.
The road south was long, covered in melted snow and mud. The grain fields that once turned golden in autumn were now black, frozen, dead. The cold had killed the plants. Fear had killed the peasants.
"The world is changing," said Lindériu.
"The world is dying."
"And we?"
"We are surviving. It's different."
They walked in silence.
---
Hours later, when the sun was already hiding behind the mountains, Zirinos stopped.
"The Pope told me something in a dream," he said. "He said that monsters also deserve a chance."
"And do you believe it?"
"I don't know. But I will pretend I do."
Lindériu almost smiled.
"You're strange, Zirinos. Kind of like a monster to be truthfull."
"I've been told that before."
"But you're not the only one."
Zirinos looked at the horizon. The lights of the capital, in the distance, shone faintly.
"The tournament will begin in a month," he said. "The nobles will choose sides. I shall will choose mine."
"What is your side?"
"The side of those who have no one."
Lindériu did not ask further.
They walked.