The black carriage rumbled slowly over the cobblestones. Inside, Lars sat in the back seat, his posture rigid against the plush leather. His right leg rested casually over his left, his hand draped over his knee. He stared out the window, though his gaze was distant, focused on something far beyond the glass. In his left hand, he held a folded piece of parchment. He raised it, smoothing out the creases, and read the words for the tenth time.

  Prince Lars, this is an official invitation to my palace. I expect you to come the moment this letter reaches you. A single royal seal was stamped at the bottom. No details. No reason. He folded the paper and tucked it away into his inner pocket.

  Outside, towering white walls embraced a city built upon rolling hills. Its red-shingled roofs stretched toward the horizon, baking beneath the midday sun. The main thoroughfare teemed with life as merchants shouted the names of their wares over the clatter of small wooden carts. The city's heartbeat bled together into a muted, chaotic symphony from every direction, carrying distant shouts, the bright laughter of running children, wheels grinding against stone, and the heavy, rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer striking an anvil.

  The crowds immediately parted the moment they spotted the crest of the Arximore Kingdom etched into the carriage doors, aided by flanking soldiers who gestured for the onlookers to step back. Soon, the palace crested the horizon. The massive estate stood as the beating heart of the city. Its walls matched the stark white of the outer barricades but towered much higher, adorned with intricate stone carvings. Countless tall windows caught and fractured the sunlight, while a vast, lush garden embraced the compound on three sides.

  The carriage slowed as it approached the wrought-iron gates and finally rolled to a halt. A light knock sounded on the wooden door before it swung open from the outside. Lars stepped down. The pristine white marble beneath his boots reflected the harsh sunlight like a mirror. Massive pillars stretched upward toward an ornate, vaulted ceiling, leading the way to the main palace doors. They were built of heavy, dark oak and etched with sweeping gold motifs.

  A woman in a sharp black military uniform stood guard to the right of the entrance. She had cropped gray hair and piercing brown eyes that assessed him with stern, calculated appraisal. She bowed deeply.

  "Welcome. The Queen is expecting you." Her voice rang clear and commanding.

  Lars offered a curt nod and followed her inside. The corridor stretched on endlessly, the thick crimson carpet swallowing the sound of his footsteps. They stopped before a heavy wooden door at the very end of the hall. The guard knocked twice.

  "Bring him in." An elderly woman's voice drifted through the wood.

  The guard opened the door and motioned for him to enter.

  The spacious room was bathed in warm light, its floors blanketed in deep crimson rugs. A small mahogany table sat in the center, bearing a fully set chessboard, a polished silver teapot, and two delicate porcelain cups. An elderly woman occupied the chair facing the door. Her snow-white hair was pulled back elegantly, and deep ravines of wrinkles mapped the heavy toll of years across her face. Yet, her gray eyes harbored a fierce, enduring strength that time had failed to steal. A soft smile touched her lips.

  "Welcome. Please, take a seat."

  Lars moved toward the empty chair. "Thank you for the invitation."

  He sat down. The pristine chessboard rested perfectly between them. Mona met his gaze calmly.

  "Let's talk while we play. You can make the first move."

  Lars reached out and advanced a pawn. Mona quietly mirrored his move before lifting her cup for a slow sip of tea. A brief, heavy silence settled over the room.

  "Lars, I have a question." She set her cup down upon its saucer. "Can you see the future?"

  Her tone was calm, but the air in the room grew instantly dense. Lars moved another piece without a flicker of emotion, then raised his eyes to meet hers.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "It's just a question. Pure curiosity. If you'd rather not answer, that's perfectly fine."

  Lars took a sip from his own cup and placed it gently on the table. "No. I don't see the future. Nobody can ever truly know it."

  "Good." Her voice cooled for a fraction of a second, and a bitter, ancient shadow crossed her eyes. "I despise those who believe they can see what is to come. Those who act so certain of what will happen, treating it as some inescapable destiny."

  Her tone softened, returning to its usual warmth. "I'll be direct with you, Lars. Word has reached me that for years now, you've been ordering the soldiers in your kingdom to train ruthlessly. You're preparing them for any conceivable type of combat. It looks exactly like you're bracing for a war. May I ask why?"

  He matched her steady gaze. "There's no harm in taking precautions."

  "Precautions are minor things. They don't look like war preparations." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes locking onto his. "Does this have anything to do with Malforos's words before his execution?"

  Lars casually advanced a knight. "Yes. I was there that day. I watched the entire trial unfold. His final sentence never left my mind."

  He closed his eyes, letting the memory wash over him. The grand, echoing courtroom. Malforos, bound in heavy iron chains, his voice ripping through the silence.

  (You're blind, Neutras. You have the power to erase it all. But believe me, the moment you die, chaos will reign.)

  Lars opened his eyes. "That's why I took precautions. I went straight to my parents and requested the authority to act. The death of King Neutras was something no one ever anticipated. He died naturally, just from old age."

  Mona moved a bishop. "Yes." A profound sorrow thickened her voice, reshaping the lines of her face. "No one expected his death. He died entirely alone. No wife, no children, nothing. And the reason was simply a woman who told him his children would destroy the world."

  Lars studied her for a moment. He slowly rolled a captured chess piece between his fingers before setting it aside.

  "Queen Mona. I've read many stories in the history books about King Neutras. The two of you hail from the exact same village. You were the only survivors. There is an old legend about two people who loved each other from childhood. When they finally wanted to marry, a mythical creature intervened and stopped them. It told them their future together would unmake the world. So they parted ways and never married." He paused, his gaze turning piercing. "I believe that story is about you."

  Mona made no attempt to deny it. She offered a slow, heavy nod.

  "It is. Neutras and I were together from the time we were children. I loved him from the very beginning. When our village burned to the ground, I saved him after he lost consciousness. We lived together, and years later, we met Zakai. The three of us fought side by side in the wars and finally brought peace to the demon territories. Because we were the oldest and the most powerful, they called us the Ancient Demon Kings. Our reputation spread across all races. It feels like an eternity ago."

  She took another slow sip of tea, her eyes distant. "But to me, it feels like it was just yesterday."

  She placed the cup down and fixed her gaze back on him. "Lars. I want to ask you something. Is this world we live in fair?" She didn't wait for his answer. "The world is divided into three territories. Why? Just because someone decided this was the only way to forge peace? Forcing people apart? Have you ever wondered what's happening on the other side of the world? The regions of the world? The races, even the shapes of the trees. What are your thoughts on this?"

  Lars closed his eyes, weighing the heavy implications of her words.

  "There's a certain logic to the concept of dividing the world. But nothing truly changed. The world wasn't split into three equal parts. Three cages were built instead. A cage for us, a cage for humans, and a cage to hold the remaining races. As for us demons specifically, my reading of history revealed a blatant, deeply rooted hatred toward our kind. Our ancestors were thrown into the harshest, most unforgiving wastelands imaginable. The excuse was always that they would adapt. Thousands of years passed, and the demon territories flourished. Yet the wars never truly ended. One conflict bled into the next until the Great War broke out. Countless lives were lost. Neutras became the hero who ended it all and united the kingdoms. But many demons never wanted peace with him. They surrendered only because they knew standing against him meant absolute annihilation. So, we have no wars today. But no one knows the future. A war could break out today, tomorrow, or next year."

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Mona slid a rook across the board. "Lars, what is your deepest fear?"

  He didn't answer immediately. He sat in silence, studying the board and sliding a piece into position.

  "Power. Power that comes without consequences." He met her quiet stare. "I asked myself a question a long time ago. If I had been born incredibly strong, would I be the man I am right now? Would I respect systems and laws? Would I hesitate and think things through before making a choice?"

  Mona advanced another piece. "My greatest fear used to be dying alone. Falling asleep and waking up with no one around me. But after everything that happened, my deepest pain was seeing Neutras almost every single day, knowing our relationship could never be more than childhood friends. I spent hundreds of years by his side. Yet I was never allowed to truly get close."

  She looked out the window for a long moment before turning back to him. "Lars, what are your feelings toward my daughter?"

  He moved a piece. Mona continued before he could speak.

  "You two have been together since childhood. You've spent so much time by her side. I don't want her to endure the same agony I lived through. She's the most precious person in my heart."

  Lars took a slow, measured breath. "You aren't asking this out of nowhere. Logically speaking, you're talking as if a catastrophe is looming over us. Your tone, your thoughts, your dwelling on the past, and now this question. These are the words of one of two types of people. Someone who is dying, or someone planning to do something with massive consequences. Or perhaps both."

  Mona took a sip of tea and smiled softly. "Should I repeat my first question? Can you see the future?"

  "I'll repeat my answer. I don't see the future. I simply think logically. Any scenario is possible."

  Her voice grew noticeably weaker, carrying the weight of a painful hypothetical. "Then I have another question. What if someone told you that staying with Yumi would cause the destruction of the world? What would you do?"

  Lars considered her words carefully. He reached out to grasp his teacup. The moment his fingers brushed the cool porcelain.

  *Lars... help me.*

  A voice shattered through his mind. His grip tightened violently, crushing the cup into jagged shards. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, and his eyes blew wide in sheer shock.

  Mona leaned forward. "Are you alright?"

  He couldn't answer. He stared at his trembling hand, warm tea dripping from his fingers, his pulse racing frantically. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, forcing his heart rate to slow and his mind to clear.

  "I'm sorry. I just felt something." His voice trembled slightly.

  He grabbed a linen napkin, wiped his hand clean, and looked up at her, regaining his composure. "Regarding your question. My answer is that I won't ever leave her. No one knows the future. The future is a road with hundreds of crossroads. All I have to do is avoid the bad path."

  Mona looked at him with exhausted, sorrowful eyes. "What if you walk down the bad path without realizing it? And only discover the truth when it's too late?"

  "Then I'll find a solution. Every problem has an answer. It's just like combat. Every single opponent has a weakness."

  Mona sighed deeply. "I wish Neutras possessed your mindset. He always took the safest route. He constantly ran from any negative scenario. Despite all his godlike power, he was always a fool in his reasoning."

  She closed her eyes slowly. "I have one final question, Lars. Word has reached me that there's a very high chance you are now the true heir to the Arximore Kingdom. The future king. If a war breaks out and you are forced to fight against Yumi, what will you do?"

  He moved his final piece. Checkmate.

  "There's no answer to that, because that scenario will never happen. I don't see the future. But I'll know exactly how to act when the time comes." He paused, locking eyes with her. "Life operates on logic. Every action leads to a specific result. Nothing spawns from thin air. So now I ask you. If Neutras returned to life and decided to kill you, what would you do?"

  Mona opened her mouth, then closed it. She had no answer.

  "That scenario will never happen, right?" Lars said. "Not just because he's dead, but even if he were alive. There's no such thing as a random 'what if' without underlying causes and evidence. There is a saying, 'I've had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened.'"

  Lars then continued speaking. "Take my concerns about Malforos, for instance. What if war comes? That thought didn't emerge from nowhere. We have active enemies. Kingdoms hostile to Arximore exist. They want to strike, but they haven't found the right opportunity or excuse yet. I've seen the raw hatred in people's eyes. That's where my idea came from."

  "You have a mind far beyond your years, Lars," Mona said softly.

  He held her gaze. "Queen Mona. A thought just crossed my mind. I have a very strong feeling you're planning something massive."

  Mona stood up. "I have no intention of starting a war." She walked toward the tall window and stared out at the sprawling, sunlit gardens. "But I do intend to expose the truth. Malforos was right. The peace we've lived in is a complete lie. And beyond that, I want to free this planet from the cage we're all trapped inside."

  "I understand." His voice remained remarkably steady and calm. "Queen Mona, there is an old saying. There is no wrong path. Whatever you intend to do, that is your own justice. I learned something very important in my childhood. I wasn't born to be responsible for the world. I'm not a hypocrite, and I'm certainly no hero. I'm just a man who cares only for the people I love. The rest of the world holds no value to me. As long as the people I cherish are safe, I don't care what happens to anyone else."

  Mona turned back to him. "I've known you since you were a child, Lars. Your intellect is terrifying. You don't see the future. You see far beyond it. But I am entirely hollow inside. Yumi was the only person who kept me grounded, and you were the one who made her smile when she was completely broken."

  She paused, drawing a quiet, shaky breath. "Thank you for coming here today. It brought me genuine joy to hear your answers and to understand you better."

  Lars bowed his head slightly. "If you'll excuse me, then."

  He walked toward the door. He reached for the heavy brass handle, stopped, and glanced back over his shoulder.

  "Queen Mona," he said, his voice carrying the heavy weight of years. "When I was a child, I was without hope, so helpless. I used to hate myself. I realized I had no choice but to simply be myself without trying to change who I was. But Yumi did the exact same thing for me that I did for her."

  He opened the door and stepped out without waiting for a reply. Mona remained by the window. A faint, fragile smile graced her lips as tears traced slow paths down her wrinkled cheeks, bathed in the golden sunlight streaming through the glass.

  Out in the hallway, a sudden wave of physical exhaustion crashed over Lars. His heart pounded relentlessly against his ribs. He braced his right hand against the cool stone wall and pressed his left hand tight against his chest. His knees buckled slightly as his breathing grew rapid and shallow. The voice he had heard moments ago echoed endlessly in his mind, scraping against his skull.

  *Mirai... That was your voice.*

  He looked toward the nearest window, staring out at the sky.

  *That voice. That sheer terror. It's exactly like what happened years ago.*

  He forced his breathing to steady, gritted his teeth, and broke into a brisk, urgent walk.

  *Please be safe, Mirai.*

  He hurried out of the palace and made his way back to his kingdom.

  *A short time ago, on the fifteenth floor of the dungeon*

  The walls were a sickly, dark gray, and the air hung heavy and terribly damp. Monsters peeled themselves from the shadows like mangled ghosts, twisted black creatures lunging from every conceivable angle. Mirai moved with blinding speed. The metallic claws of her gauntlets gleamed viciously in the dim light every time she shredded another foe. Hikari stood close by, casting brilliant diamond-based spells to guard her blind spots from sudden ambushes. They moved in flawless, lethal synchrony, fighting and pushing forward step by grueling step into the depths. The fifteenth floor was largely behind them. The sixteenth awaited just ahead.

  Mirai descended another stone step and plunged her claws deep into the chest of a massive, shadowy beast. The creature collapsed, immediately dissolving into thick gray smoke.

  Hikari stepped down beside her. "This floor feels entirely different. I sense something very wrong."

  Mirai scanned their surroundings. The walls were noticeably darker here, the corridor wider and dripping with an oppressive aura of danger. "I feel it too."

  She pressed forward. Hikari followed closely. With every step they took, the shadows thickened, as if the darkness itself was swallowing the very concept of existence.

  Then, it happened.

  The light vanished instantly. Hikari's luminous butterflies were snuffed out of reality. A suffocating, pitch-black void devoured everything, completely erasing the difference between up and down, left and right.

  Mirai froze in place. She caught a faint, shifting rustle nearby.

  "Hikari? Where are you?"

  No sound escaped her lips. It was as if the oppressive dark consumed her words before they could even reach her own ears.

  Absolute silence. No footsteps. No breathing. No heartbeat.

  Mirai raised her clawed gauntlets and dropped into a low, defensive stance. She pivoted slowly in the void, her eyes straining desperately for any hint of movement.

  Without warning, a blindingly intense white light erupted. She slammed her eyes shut and threw her arms up to shield her face from the searing brilliance.

  When the light finally faded, she slowly lowered her arms and opened her eyes, frantically looking around.

  Then she looked down.

  She stared at her hands. They were tiny. Soft.

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. She held her hands up to her face, examining the delicate, unblemished fingers of a child. All traces of the brutal years spent training and bleeding were completely gone. She touched her face with trembling fingers, feeling plump cheeks. Her body was much smaller than it should be. She looked down at her clothes and saw a loose-fitting white linen dress.

  The estate. Her family's mansion.

  A long corridor stretched out before her, lined with polished white stone walls. Oil lamps hung on either side, casting a warm glow on the plush red carpet beneath her small, bare feet.

  *What's happening? Could this just be an illusion?*

  She marched over to the wall, pulled her tiny arm back, and punched the solid stone with all her might. A violent jolt of pain shot up her arm. She let out a sharp cry, cradling her bruised knuckles.

  That hurts! This isn't just an illusion! What is going on?!

  She started walking, her panicked gaze darting everywhere. It was the exact same mansion, perfectly replicated down to the most agonizingly precise details.

  *I have to find a way out of here.*

  Faint whispers began to drift through the stagnant air. Muffled, unintelligible voices. Something massive shifted beneath the floorboards, vibrating through the soles of her feet.

  She hurried toward her parents' bedroom and pushed the heavy door open. It was the room she remembered, but it was completely empty.

  She turned and sprinted toward her own bedroom. Reaching the heavy wooden door, she grabbed the brass handle and shoved it open.

  It wasn't empty.

  Sitting dead in the center of the room was a colossal, pitch-black cube. Mirai's eyes blew wide, and her tiny hands trembled violently. Pure, primal terror spiked her heart rate, and she scrambled a step backward.

  The cube suddenly pulsed with an eerie, dark light. It split open like the gaping maw of a leviathan, and an invisible, crushing force violently yanked her forward.

  Mirai screamed. She reached out desperately, her small fingers clawing frantically into the wooden doorframe. But the magnetic pull dragged her relentlessly into the abyss, the freezing air burning her lungs. The last thing she saw was the massive cube swallowing her whole.

  Then, nothing. Just darkness. And silence.