Seven days after the fall of the Grand Cathedral, I stood atop a stone platform hastily built in the castle's main square, looking down at a gathering far larger than I ever imagined possible when I first woke as a weak demon with no magic, no name, nothing but a rage that hadn't yet learned where to point itself.
Those seven days had passed more quietly than I'd expected—too quietly, if I was honest with myself. The tremor that struck the castle the night the Cathedral fell never came a second time. Noa Genesis reported that its distance had stopped shrinking on the second day, as if whatever was approaching had decided to stop and watch from a safe distance, waiting for something no one in this castle could yet explain—myself included. I didn't like that uncertainty, but seven days without an attack was enough to let my forces rest, and tonight was a night for celebration, not for dwelling on a shadow that hadn't yet shown its shape.
