Arisu folded her arms, brows twitching. "Wall? Me? I think you're hallucinating."
Maihima scoffed, flipping her hair. "Oh please. I've seen it all now. you sneak around with Uta-rin at night, I always knew there was something suspicious about you—like, how does someone so boring manage to be everywhere?"
Arisu gave her a flat look. "It's called walking. Should I file a permission request next time?"
"Ha!" Maihima pointed. "That sarcasm! That's the exact attitude of someone who doesn't want me and Uta-rin to be together!"
Shion groaned loudly, rubbing his temples. "Please don't call me Uta-rin. Wait what?!"
"See?!" Maihima gasped again. "You're embarrassed because she's here!"
Arisu narrowed her eyes. "Embarrassed? And coming between you two! Maihima have you gone mad?"
Maihima huffed, throwing her hands up. "Mad? It's you who's mad enough to sneak your little eyes onto someone else's destiny!"
Arisu immediately spun toward Shion, eyes wide and glistening. "Is it true?"
Shion blinked. "Is what true?"
"That you're her destiny?" she asked, pointing at Maihima.
Shion groaned, dragging both hands down his face in visible agony. "Miss, I have no idea what you're talking about anymore. First, you start calling me Uta-rin like we've spent our childhood running through meadows under cherry blossoms. Then you want to be 'friends' just like that—" he threw his hands up, "and now suddenly I'm your destiny?"
Maihima suddenly stepped forward, grabbing his arm. "You're just confused, Uta-rin. Give it time, you'll understand the signs. The moonlight, our timing, fate—"
"Your voice is the only sign I'm getting," Shion muttered, slowly prying her hand off him, "and it's a warning."
Arisu tried not to laugh but failed, covering her mouth.
Maihima gasped again, dramatically turning away. "Fine! Stay confused! But when the stars align and the heavens sing, you will understand yourself."
They kept bickering for several more minutes, Maihima dramatically defending destiny, Arisu throwing sharp sarcasm like daggers, and Shion groaning in between like a man caught between two rival storm gods. Eventually, all three grew exhausted from the sheer absurdity of the argument and stomped off in three separate directions—each muttering complaints under their breath.
⸻
Meanwhile…
Astra lay bundled under her blanket, her fever still lingering. The flickering lantern by her bedside had long since gone out, leaving her in half-shadow. Sweat clung to her brow as she shifted restlessly.
Then… she heard it.
A faint whisper.
At first, she thought it was the wind—but the sound grew clearer, closer. It wasn't one voice, but many. Whispers overlapping, rising, breaking into low growls… then soft sobs. A strange laugh echoed, sharp and distant. Then… a long, mournful howl.
Astra sat up slowly, heart thudding in her chest. "Hello…?" she called out, her voice dry.
Silence.
She reached for the candle by her bedside, quickly lighting it with a trembling hand. The warm glow did little to ease the chill crawling up her spine.
Carefully, she stepped down from the bed, gripping the candle holder tightly as she moved toward the door. The whispers returned, this time circling her—one moment angry, the next sorrowful. Her breath caught as a cold gust swept past her, snuffing out the flame.
Complete darkness.
And then, right by her ear… a whisper, hoarse and broken,
"Give it back…"
Astra let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the quiet inn like thunder. Everyone jolted awake in their rooms—furniture creaked, pillows were flung, and startled curses filled the halls.
Inside her room, Astra stumbled back in pure terror, the candle dropping from her hand and rolling across the floor. She backed up until she hit the wall, chest heaving, eyes wide with panic.
Within seconds, the door burst open with a loud slam.
Ryoma was the first one in, sword half-drawn, eyes sharp. "Astra?!"
Kaen was right behind him, panic flashing across his face as he rushed to her side. "Astra! What happened?! Why did you scream like that?!"
She pointed wildly around the room, still pressed to the wall, voice shaky and loud. "Th-there are ghosts here! Kaen—I swear—I heard them! Whispering and growling and laughing and howling! They were right there! RIGHT NEXT TO ME!"
Everyone else poured into the room. Seiya with his hair sticking up in all directions blinked. "Ghosts?"
Kaen gently grabbed Astra's shoulders. "Where exactly did you hear them?"
Astra, pale and trembling, pointed toward the corner of the room. "There! First a whisper… then someone cried… then someone laughed!"
Seirou stepped forward and muttered, "The curse might be reacting."
Astra's eyes widened, her face losing even more color. "Curse? You mean it's all because of that cursed flower? That's why I'm hearing ghosts?!" Her voice cracked, and she looked like her soul had just floated out of her body.
Seirou gave a solemn nod. "It's starting to react now that your body's weaker."
Ryoma rubbed his temples, clearly at the end of his patience. "It's all because of your recklessness! You never listen. Now look what you've brought on yourself—"
Astra flinched visibly.
Kaen shot Ryoma a sharp look and subtly signaled him to stop. Turning to Astra, his voice softened. "Don't worry. We've already found a way to get rid of the curse."
Astra blinked up at him hopefully. "Really? How?"
Kaen smiled gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "I'll tell you in the morning. Your fever hasn't gone down yet—you need rest. If you hear anything again, just… try not to pay attention to it, okay?"
Astra bit her lip, then nodded slowly. "Okay…"
She shuffled back under the covers, eyes still flicking nervously toward the corners of the room. Kaen waited until she closed her eyes, then quietly stood and walked out with the others. As he gently pulled the door shut behind him, he gave one last calm, reassuring smile through the gap—before the latch clicked softly into place.
———
The Emperor sat high upon the obsidian throne, its arms carved with the heads of serpents and dragons. One hand held a slender goblet, the dark wine within swirling lazily as he turned the stem between his fingers. The other hand rested wearily on his temple. Candles flickered in the vast chamber, their flames dancing along the gilded pillars and crimson tapestries of the imperial hall.
Before him, a robed High Seer stood in the Circle of Revelation a platform which allowed one to project memory and divine readings into the air. Between his hands hovered a glowing lotus-shaped projection, its petals shimmering with gentle golden light, suspended in the space before the court.
The High Seer's voice echoed in the hall, clear and reverent.
"Your Majesty, the second bloom of the sacred lotus dedicated to the God of Health has gone remarkably well." He gestured toward the floating lotus. "The divine flow was harmonious this time, especially with the Crown Prince present during the ceremony. His aura amplified the balance."
The Emperor's wine paused mid-swirling. His gaze shifted from the illusion to the Seer, the lines at the corner of his mouth unreadable.
Then the High Seer's tone lowered, more cautious now. The floating lotus dimmed, flickering into a deeper hue as the image shimmered and twisted now forming into a glowing map of ley lines, where barriers met at jagged edges.
"However…" the Seer continued, "there is something… unusual."
He raised a finger, pointing to a rift glowing faintly on the map, outlined in pulsing red.
"The gate between the mortal realm and the demon realm, it has… changed."
The Emperor sat forward, lowering his goblet. The room fell utterly still.
"For centuries," the Seer went on, "they've tried to breach the cracks." He paused, troubled. "But now… they've stopped. Entirely. The pressure at the boundary is gone as if they're no longer trying to enter."
A cold silence settled over the chamber.
The Emperor's hand tightened around the goblet.
"Demons never retreat without reason."
The Emperor rose slowly from his throne, his long crimson robes trailing behind him like flowing blood. The goblet of wine was handed off to a silent attendant without a word. His boots echoed across the stone as he descended the broad steps of the dais, each one deliberate, heavy with the weight of thought.
He came to a halt before the floating image, eyes fixed on the flickering red rift.
"They must be planning something else."
He clasped his hands behind his back as he began to pace slowly, speaking not just to the Seer, but to the watching ministers and generals standing silently along the edges of the throne room.
"After the defeat of the last Demon King, the gate was sealed again—for the second time." His gaze swept the hall. "A barrier. A miracle of divine effort and sacrifice. It was meant to block every path into our world."
He turned back to the glowing rift, a frown deepening.
"And yet, even then… they kept trying. For decades. Testing the cracks. Pouring shadow through the tiniest fractures, again and again relentless, even in defeat."
He took another step forward, now standing just beneath the floating projection, its red glow casting eerie shadows on his face.
"And now?" He narrowed his eyes. "Now they stop exactly when they should be trying the hardest?"
The chamber seemed to grow colder. He turned to the Seer again, voice sharp as steel.
"Something is wrong. This is no retreat. This is silence before a scream."
One of the generals stepped forward from the line of advisors broad-shouldered, clad in silver-trimmed armor. He knelt, one fist to the ground, and raised his voice solemnly.
"Your Majesty… it has been thirteen years since you defeated the Demon King." He paused, glancing briefly at the red glow still pulsing in the air. "And for a long time since, the demon realm has remained fractured. Without a ruler, they turned to chaos. But now seeing all this… could it be—"
He hesitated, the next words heavier.
"…..that a new one has risen?"
Silence hung in the air like a blade. The Emperor's expression did not change.
But then, he spoke.
"A new Demon King?" He echoed, voice calm but edged with disbelief. He turned fully toward the general, taking slow steps across the marble floor.
"Do you truly believe," he continued, "that in just thirteen years, a demon has emerged powerful enough to reach Tier Nine?"
He raised a hand, gesturing sharply.
"To reach that level, it takes centuries of cultivation. Most demons die before they ever touch Tier Six. Their bodies rot before their souls can even grasp higher strength."
He paused before the general, his presence commanding.
"Only those born with monstrous spiritual strength born under cursed stars or forged in hellfire have the slightest chance. And even then, only once in a thousand years does one take birth to ascend high enough to rule them all."
The Emperor's gaze hardened.
"It has not even been two full decades. Since the last Demon King fell by my blade." He swept his cloak aside with a flick.
"There is no possibility of another rising in this short gap, unless the laws of their realm have been rewritten."
The general bowed his head further.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty… I did not mean to suggest the impossible." He hesitated, then added, voice laced with unease, "But seeing all this… their silence, their withdrawal… something unnatural stirs in that void."
The Emperor didn't respond for a long moment. Then quietly,
"That's what concerns me the most."