I didn’t pick the spear up.

  Instead, I wrapped it in a dense layer of mana—built a cocoon around it—and then forced the earth itself to rise and swallow it. A massive stone sarcophagus grew right out of the road.

  “Lie here for now,” I murmured to the stone. “I’ll come back when I figure out whose blood you’re hungry for.”

  We moved on.

  Half my plan was done. The small tyrants and overseers were gone. That left only the ones people called the High Ones—the ones with the primordial “Call of the Archangel” in their veins. The last barrier before these lands could finally breathe.

  But for now…

  For now, we had the road.

  Riza kept surprising me.

  Her mind was like a sponge, soaking up not just words, but the shape of the language. We walked for hours while I told her about things she couldn’t even imagine.

  “Zenhald… what is a sea?” she asked, forcing the r sound out carefully.

  “It’s a lot of water, Riza. So much that you can stand on one shore and never see the other. And it’s salty.”

  “Why would water be salty?” she frowned, trying to apply Wasteland survival logic to the ocean. “You can’t drink it. That’s wrong water. It’s greedy.”

  I snorted.

  “Maybe. But it’s alive. It’s always moving, making noise—like it’s whispering something to the land.”

  When night fell and we lit a small fire—yes, I taught her that fire can warm, not just burn—the hardest part began.

  Fairy tales.

  I usually made them up on the spot, mixing old human legends with memories from my other life. But Riza was too smart for simple plots. She caught every logical hole.

  “Once there was a princess,” I started one evening, tossing a branch into the flames. “She was trapped in a very tall tower and couldn’t get out.”

  Riza’s head snapped up, her eyes reflecting the firelight.

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?”

  “Why couldn’t she get out?” Riza leaned forward. “Was the door locked? She has hands, right? She could break the lock. Or did she have magic?”

  “No magic,” I said. “And the door was guarded by a huge dragon.”

  “The red one you sent to the villages?” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “He wouldn’t eat her if she was polite. Also—what is a princess? Like Lord Vaal, but in a dress?”

  I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

  “A princess is… the king’s daughter. She’s supposed to be beautiful and kind.”

  “So she’s useless,” Riza concluded immediately. “If she sits and waits for someone to save her, she’s weak. Zenhald, that’s a bad story. Tell another one. About someone who builds towers, not someone who sits inside them.”

  I looked at her.

  In her six-year-old head, the world was split into those who eat and those who get eaten. The idea of a “damsel in distress” meant nothing.

  “Fine,” I said, and felt something oddly warm spread in my chest. “Then listen to a story about a girl who found an apple seed in a world where nothing grew…”

  Riza went quiet. She listened without interrupting until her head started to droop toward my shoulder.

  In those moments, the tension of the last days faded away. No Demon King. No High Ones. No cursed spears.

  Just a fire. The smell of a baked apple. And a child who finally stopped flinching at every sound.

  Do you realize what you’re doing? the voice inside asked quietly. No mockery this time. Just sadness. You’re giving her hope for a world that doesn’t exist yet. And you’ll have to create it—so she doesn’t end up hating your stories.

  “I will,” I whispered—uncertainly—pulling my cloak over sleeping Riza.

  The city rose in front of me without warning—monumental black stone biting into the mountain’s base.

  This wasn’t a pile of shacks.

  Massive walls. Watchtowers. A stream of creatures of every kind flowing through the gates. A real metropolis in the heart of dead land.

  Lizardmen met me at the gates. Not the broken ones from the wasteland—these wore good steel, their eyes sharp and experienced.

  Professionals.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  They blocked the way. I wasn’t wasting time negotiating.

  A burst of mana—blinding arcs of electricity—and they hit the ground before they could even draw.

  I walked down the central street and the city boiled.

  Guards rushed in from every direction.

  I struck first: lightning bursts dropped dozens; stone spears knocked mages off rooftops before their fireballs could form. Screams, panic, steel ringing—me at the center of it, dragging a terrified Riza through the chaos.

  Something felt off.

  I looked into the eyes of the ones I’d dropped. There was pain, rage, fear.

  But not that burned-out emptiness. Not the broken mind I’d seen in Vaal’s fortress.

  These were free.

  I reached the middle of the city when two figures stepped into my path.

  They were different.

  One tall, skin the color of storm clouds—like a dark elf with demonic traits. The other, a woman of living heat, her skin faintly glowing with it. No wings. But an aura of power.

  “We don’t want war with you,” the elf said, raising empty hands. “Our Council wants to talk.”

  “Council?” I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “Demons have a Council now? Funny. Lead the way.”

  We went deep into the mountain’s belly. The emptiness of the huge halls was insane—legions could march here, but it was quiet. We passed training grounds where hundreds of warriors froze, watching us.

  Finally, we entered a throne hall.

  A massive round table.

  Thirteen beings sat around it—different species, different shapes. When I walked in, faces twisted in disbelief and contempt.

  “You… you killed him?” a huge orc stabbed a finger at me. “You’re a whelp! And that—” his eyes snapped to Riza, “—what is she doing with you?”

  “She’s with me,” I cut in. “And that’s all you need to know.”

  “Half the human kingdom has heard a human child is cutting down the High Ones’ outposts,” said a calm demon in the center. “I speak for this Council. We’re the ones who rose up.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Where are the High Ones? Where are the ones who rule by blood?”

  “Their grip weakened after that crushing defeat against humans,” the leader said. “We used the moment and drove them out. Now they’re gathering in the shadows, preparing to take their thrones back. We want to build a new world.”

  “You?” one of the Council members shot up, face red with anger. “You come in here and demand answers? I’ll crush you like a bug! We’re supposed to fear a human boy?!”

  He laughed—and a few others joined in.

  Riza squeezed my hand tighter.

  I looked at the loudmouth. Cold. Lethal.

  “If you keep talking like that, you’ll die before you finish the sentence.”

  “Ooooh, scary,” he sneered. “You expect us to believe you’re the monster who wiped out a demon army on the border? A handful of survivors swore it was a child, but you… you’re just human trash.”

  I exhaled.

  The hiding games were getting old.

  “Not matching the description?” I asked quietly.

  I raised a hand and touched my hair.

  The illusion I’d held for weeks shattered.

  Light hair turned to heavy, ink-black. The blue eyes I borrowed from this body darkened into bottomless blackness, sparks of primordial chaos flickering inside.

  My true aura collapsed onto the hall like a falling sky.

  The candles died instantly. The air grew so heavy stone in the walls started to crack.

  The one who’d been shouting stopped mid-breath. His jaw dropped. He fell back into his chair, hands trembling uncontrollably.

  “Better?” I asked, and my voice now sounded like tectonic plates grinding.

  Silence.

  All thirteen “rulers” stared at me and didn’t see a child.

  They saw a nightmare that had come to collect what was his.

  There you go, Zenhald, the voice inside whispered, drunk on delight. The King is home. Look how they shake. Isn’t this better than feeding a girl apples?

  I didn’t answer.

  I stared at thirteen frightened shadows.

  “Now,” I said, “we’re going to talk about who’s really going to rule these lands.”

  I snapped my fingers.

  Candles flared back to life.

  My face returned to the “normal” bright-haired boy—but the air still vibrated with the echo of the darkness I’d shown them.

  “Oh, come on,” I grinned at thirteen pale faces. “Why so quiet? What is this—wedding? funeral? Let’s talk like normal beings. I hate talking to creatures shaking so hard their teeth are louder than my words.”

  I strolled along the table, hands behind my head.

  “Drink some water. Relax. I don’t bite… unless you make me. So the ‘High Ones’ ran off, huh?”

  The Council leader swallowed and pointed, trembling, to a map on the wall.

  “They went farther east. Beyond the dead peaks—there’s their citadel. Three brothers. Their power is… horrifying. They call themselves the Last Heirs.”

  “Three brothers?” I smirked. “Sounds like demon leadership is doing great. And they’re really that scary?”

  “True High Demons are almost gone,” the old orc said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Three centuries ago, the last True King died in the Great Campaign. They say he left no descendants. The blood was lost. The ones left are only shadows—but even shadows can grind us into dust.”

  I burst out laughing. Loud, real, head tipped back.

  Three centuries? No descendants?

  If they only knew that “descendant” was standing right in front of them, thinking whether Riza had eaten too many apples.

  “Alright,” I said when I finally stopped. “Leave history to historians. What’s your plan for this cozy place?”

  “We want to rebuild,” the leader began, seeing I wasn’t going to kill them. “End slavery. There are still minor lords who steal children, like Vaal… We can crush them ourselves, but the High Ones are the wall we can’t break. We’re stuck.”

  I studied them.

  Thirteen weaklings huddled together to survive.

  But in their eyes was something the High Ones didn’t have—an actual spark. They really did want something better for their people.

  “You know what?” I said, tapping the table. “I believe you. When thirteen losers group up and people follow them, it’s either the dumbest idea ever—or the start of something worth watching.”

  I held up one finger.

  “But I’ve got one condition. Just one.”

  The hall froze.

  “You open the borders to humans. You stop killing them. You stop seeing them as food or enemies.”

  The silence turned sharp.

  A few members crossed their arms on purpose.

  “Who votes to open the borders?” the leader asked.

  Nine hands rose immediately.

  One of the remaining four—a scarred demon—spat on the floor.

  “Humans are worse than demons, boy. I won’t let them harvest our fields. But…” he grimaced, “I promise we won’t kill them without reason. That enough?”

  I nodded. For a start—more than enough.

  “And what then?” the orc asked. “You kill the brothers and… become King? Take the throne?”

  I laughed again—this time pure mockery.

  “Me? King? No thanks. I don’t want to be some sad old bastard thinking about taxes and politics and whether my crown will fall into my soup at lunch.”

  I glanced at Riza.

  “I have better things to do. Like showing her the world.”

  I turned and motioned for the girl to follow.

  She’d been standing there the whole time, barely breathing, staring at me and the trembling “rulers.”

  At the doorway I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. My smile cooled, my voice dropped lower.

  “If I ever find out you decided to play war against humans… I’ll come back.”

  I winked.

  “But not for advice. For your heads.”

  Then I walked out, leaving the Council of Thirteen to swallow what they’d just heard.

  “Zenhald…” Riza hurried after me and tugged my sleeve. “Will you really kill those three brothers?”

  “Of course,” I said, slipping back into the voice of an “ordinary” boy. “And then we’ll go find the place that makes the best bread. Deal?”

  She nodded.

  And for the first time in a long time, a small, real smile appeared on her face.