Kael exhaled slowly, the tension between them all simmering just beneath the surface. Then, with a wave of his hand, he broke the silence.
"…Take a walk. The gardens are quiet this time of day."
He didn't say who he was addressing—but both Amon and Virelia turned at the same time.
No one protested.
Not even Sumi.
The guards parted. Amon and Virelia stepped forward—side by side—like pieces moving across an unseen board.
They walked in silence.
Past the marble steps and polished archways.
Past the statues carved from mountain bones.
Past the whispering trees that lined the outer courtyard garden, swaying beneath the waning sun.
Not a word passed between them.
Just footsteps.
Soft.
Even.
Virelia's blindfold caught the light as she walked, her expression unreadable.
Amon didn't look at her. Not yet.
But he broke the silence first.
His voice, when it came, was soft—but surgical.
"Why do you talk like that?"
She blinked beneath the blindfold.
"Like what?"
He didn't hesitate.
"That voice. That smile. That playful tone you wear like a ribbon around your throat."
She stopped walking.
Her lips parted, confused.
"I don't understand—"
"You're faking it," he said.
Flat. Final.
"You smile while you're in pain. You laugh when you want to cry. You speak as if the world is a stage—and you're pretending it hasn't hurt you."
Her body stiffened. Her breath caught.
Amon's voice remained cold. Unflinching.
"I can see through masks. Every one of them. The proud ones. The pitiful ones. The lies people tell themselves just to survive."
He turned to face her—truly face her.
"And you…"
A pause.
"You wear yours like armor. Because you know there's no medicine for the kind of pain you're carrying. Only endurance. Only silence. Until the day it finally breaks you."
Virelia said nothing for a long time.
Then, quietly—"What pain are you referring to?"
Amon didn't answer immediately.
He walked a step forward. Then another.
And then—without looking back—
"Your eyes."
She froze.
"You hide them. Seal them. Fear them."
His voice dropped lower.
"Because they hold something… wrong. Something cursed. Something cruel."
Amon finally turned.
"You could end the world with them, couldn't you?"
Her fingers twitched at her sides.
He stepped closer.
"And if you let go—if you released everything bottled up inside—you wouldn't just kill. You'd erase."
His words were like daggers—cutting deeper with every truth she never said aloud.
"No more pain. No more loneliness. No more guilt. No more pretending."
He leaned in, just enough for her to hear the next words as if they came from the bones of the world.
"How cruel of the gods… to give that kind of burden to a girl who was still learning how to smile."
Virelia's voice trembled.
"And what am I supposed to do with it?"
Amon didn't smile.
He never did.
But his eyes—his blood-colored eyes—burned like dying stars.
"You have two choices," he said. "Destroy the world that made you this way..."
He turned.
"Or let it destroy you."
The breeze passed through the garden.
Neither moved.
Above them, the sky slowly darkened.
And heaven, as Amon said, waited to see which path she would choose.
She stood there, unmoving, her breath light but unsteady.
Then finally—softly, like a thread pulled loose—she answered.
"No… I will let it destroy me."
Her voice cracked, not from weakness—but from honesty.
"After all… what can I do against something like that? I don't have a choice. Not really."
She stepped forward, one hand gently pressing against her chest.
"I'll take it all. The pain. The curse. The fear. If it means I can protect them—my father, and Sumi…"
Her voice wavered again.
"They're part of me. The last parts that still matter. And if I lose them, if they're gone… then whatever I become after that wouldn't be a life worth living."
The breeze brushed through the leaves. Her blindfold fluttered.
"If heaven gave me this curse, then so be it. I'll carry it."
A pause.
"But fate always has an opposite, doesn't it? Something… or someone… that refuses to obey it."
She tilted her head slightly, and though he couldn't see her eyes—he could feel the quiet spark behind the blindfold.
"And I think that someone… is you."
Amon's gaze didn't shift, but his brow twitched slightly—almost imperceptibly.
"You think of me so highly?" he asked, voice tinged with dry amusement.
She smiled—faint, but real.
"Didn't you say I had a choice?"
He said nothing.
"Most people see me and only say one thing: 'She must be protected. She must be hidden. She must be contained.' Even my father—he loves me, but even he fears me."
She took another step closer.
"But you… you spoke as if I had power. As if I had will. Like I wasn't a monster—but a storm that could choose where it breaks."
Her fingers curled gently into the fabric of her gown.
"You saw through me—not just my pain, but the truth of it. That I smile so people don't worry. That I joke so Sumi won't cry. That I act like I'm fine so my father doesn't fall apart."
She looked up at him again.
"And yet… you didn't pity me. You didn't flinch."
She exhaled slowly.
"So yes. I think you have a way. I think you know a path I can take to survive this without becoming something I hate."
Silence fell between them once more—but it wasn't empty.
It was alive.
Amon's crimson eyes flicked to her horns again. Then to her trembling fingers. Then to the defiance buried beneath her soft words.
"You're not wrong," he said at last.
"But the path I offer…" His voice darkened. "...won't save your soul."
She smiled again.
"That's fine. I'm not asking you to save it."
And as the first stars blinked into the dusk sky above them—
Amon said nothing.
But deep down…
He knew.
Something had changed.
And the storm had just begun to move.
Amon's eyes held hers—unblinking, crimson, ancient in their stillness.
Then he spoke, voice steady and low, as if peeling back the veil of fate itself.
"I'm not here to protect you."
She blinked.
"I'm a Devourer," he said simply. "I consume what others fear to even touch."
Virelia tilted her head, unsure if she should step back—or forward.
"There's energy inside you," he continued. "Power you've locked away for years. It fills your body like water in a glass—so full that one more drop would make it shatter."
She went still.
Amon took one slow step toward her, the garden shadows stretching like silent witnesses.
"I can help," he said.
The air shifted.
And then—
A faint sound echoed around them.
Ding.
A translucent window opened before Amon's eyes.
[Requirement Met: 'Target of Mutation-class Bloodline Identified']
[Observation Level Reached]
[Hidden Evolution Path Unlocked]
His gaze narrowed.
Only he could see it. Only he understood what it meant.
But inside—beneath the icy surface of his face—Amon's thoughts surged.
So it really is her…
I'm quite lucky. I thought I'd have to make her reject me. That way, I could dismiss her—move on. But she's… different.
She's not just a noble's daughter. Not just a pretty face wrapped in blindfolds and tragic smiles.
She's a living weapon.
His eyes shifted slightly to her blindfold again.
I don't even know what kind of eyes those are… but they're not human. Not demonic either. Something deeper. Something alien to this realm.
A True Demon. A real one. One that doesn't belong here.
A small curl threatened the corner of his mouth—but he didn't let it show.
Her mother must've been one, then. That explains the anomaly in her horns… the power surge when I stood near her…
Good. It's good I devoured my master's memories. If I hadn't—
I would've missed this weapon entirely.
The faint light from the system window faded.
Amon blinked, slowly.
Then, to her—his tone softened, just barely.
"You're not meant to be a bird in a cage, Virelia. You were born for something far greater. But to survive it… you'll need someone even fate is afraid to chain."
She looked toward him—her voice a whisper.
"You?"
He didn't nod.
He didn't need to.
He simply said:
"I offer no safety. Only strength. And if you choose me—then your curse will no longer be a burden."
He leaned in slightly.
"It will become your crown."
Virelia stood still—silent—processing everything.
The garden was quiet, but above, the wind moved through the trees like a warning.
And the storm continued to draw closer.