The classroom door slid open without warning.
Conversation died instantly.
A girl stepped inside.
She was tall, poised, her presence quiet but impossible to ignore. One glance was enough to tell—she was half human, half demon.
Small obsidian moth antenna curved gently from her head, not aggressive, more elegant than threatening.
Her hair flowed down her back in layered strands the color of deep forest twilight—dark at the roots, fading into muted emerald at the ends, as if touched by moonlight through leaves.
It suited her power perfectly.
Her uniform was modified: light, flexible fabric stitched with animal-shaped sigils, a cloak resting on her shoulders that seemed to ripple like wings when she moved.
Her eyes were striking—one soft silver, the other a warm amber—both calm, observant.
Every shadow near her subtly shifted.
A bird-shaped shadow fluttered briefly along the wall.
A wolf's silhouette stretched at her feet, then faded.
She stopped at the front of the room.
"I apologize for the interruption," she said, voice gentle but carrying authority. "There appears to be no instructor present."
No one spoke.
"My name is Shiora Amakane," she continued. "I am from AAmulet-Class."
That alone caused a ripple through the room.
Amulet-Class.
Elite. Restricted. Directly tied to demon-world affairs.
Luna straightened immediately.
Masakiro froze.
Tsuramo lifted his gaze slowly.
Shiora's eyes found them instantly.
"Tsuramo," she said. "Masakiro."
Every student turned.
"I am here on behalf of the Demon Lord," Shiora said evenly. "You are both requested at the mansion. Immediately."
The room felt smaller.
Tsuramo stood.
He bowed deeply, precise and respectful. "Understood."
Masakiro swallowed, then stood as well, bowing a second later. "Y-Yes."
They stepped into the aisle.
That was when Luna stood up.
"Wait," she said, already grinning. "Can I come?"
Shiora paused, looking at her calmly. "Only the two were summoned."
Luna clasped her hands together dramatically. "Yeah, but I want a favor from the Demon Lord. I've been waiting forever to meet him, and honestly? This is perfect timing."
A beat.
Shiora studied her.
Then she nodded once. "Very well."
Luna beamed and hopped down from her seat, moving to walk ahead of them.
Her blue-black hair bounced as she took the lead like this was a casual outing instead of a demon lord summons.
Behind them—
Virelia felt it.
A pull.
Her golden hair shimmered faintly, catching the light as something ancient stirred in her chest.
She didn't think—she just stood, slipping quietly from her seat.
No one noticed.
She followed at a distance, silent as a shadow, eyes fixed on Shiora's back.
At the doorway, Shiora raised her hand.
A portal bloomed open—not violent, not loud—shaped like the outline of a great animal gate, light folding inward like wings.
Tsuramo stepped forward without hesitation. Masakiro followed, tense but resolute. Luna grinned and walked straight in.
And behind them, unseen—
Virelia crossed the threshold too.
The portal closed.
CM Class was left in stunned silence.
And somewhere far beyond the academy—
A throne awaited.
--
Light folded inward.
The portal opened like a great animal's jaw, smooth and silent—and they stepped through.
Stone replaced air.
They appeared before the Demon Lord's mansion, its towering obsidian walls rising into a sky stained deep crimson and violet.
Ancient spires curled upward like claws, banners marked with old sigils stirring slowly as if alive.
The place radiated pressure—but not hostility. It felt old. Watching.
Shiora stepped forward first.
"Welcome," she said with a small, friendly smile, turning back to them. "Please stay close."
She began guiding them toward the gates, her steps light, almost cheerful despite where they were.
Luna whistled softly, hands behind her head. "Okay, yeah. This place is intense. Kinda love it."
Masakiro sighed.
"Why are you guiding us?" he muttered. "This is literally my home."
Shiora glanced back at him, still calm. "Because it is my duty."
Masakiro frowned. "That doesn't make sense."
"When I bring people through my portals," Shiora explained gently, "I must guide them safely to their destination. Until then, they are under my protection."
No one replied.
They continued walking.
The massive doors ahead began to open on their own.
Then—
A voice chimed in, bright and casual.
"So~ when were you guys planning to notice me?"
Everyone stopped.
Masakiro turned sharply. Tsuramo's eyes widened slightly. Luna froze.
Virelia strolled forward between Masakiro and Tsuramo, hands clasped behind her back, golden hair glowing softly like captured sunlight.
She smiled like she'd always been there.
"…When did you come?" Masakiro asked.
"When did you follow us?" Luna added, narrowing her eyes.
Virelia tilted her head. "After the classroom. Obviously."
"Obviously," Masakiro repeated flatly.
She nodded once, then stepped over to Luna, placing an arm casually around her shoulders. "Relax. I wanted to see the Demon Lord too."
Luna stiffened.
"…You're bold," she said slowly.
Virelia grinned wider. "You're fun."
Luna clicked her tongue. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."
Shiora watched the exchange, amused. "It seems the group has grown."
Tsuramo said nothing.
He simply adjusted his posture and continued forward.
The gates fully opened.
Beyond them, the throne hall waited.
And none of them—not even Masakiro—
could pretend that this visit was a accident.
The gates shut behind them with a sound like stone sealing a grave.
The throne hall stretched wide and vast, carved from obsidian and ancient bone, its ceiling lost in shadow.
Crimson veins of magic ran through the floor like living arteries, pulsing slowly beneath their feet.
Pillars shaped like twisted demons lined the hall, their empty eyes glowing faintly as if tracking every step.
At the far end—
The throne.
Lord Malakar sat unmoving, massive and coiled with restrained power, his red skin marked with old scars that time itself feared to erase. His presence alone bent the air.
Dark cloth and layered armor draped over him like a king's shadow, horns curving back like a crown carved by war.
Beside the throne stood Empress Thai.
She was calm where Malakar was overwhelming. Draped in flowing crimson and black silk, her long hair fell loose down her back, catching the hall's glow like liquid fire.
Her eyes—sharp, observant, endlessly intelligent—softened the moment she saw them enter.
Shiora stepped aside and bowed.
"Lord Malakar. Empress Thai. I have delivered them safely."
Malakar's gaze moved.
Not to Masakiro. Not to Luna. Not to Virelia.
Straight to Tsuramo.
The pressure hit instantly—heavy, suffocating, ancient.
Masakiro swallowed .Luna felt her shadows twitch uneasily. Even Virelia's smile faded just a fraction.
Tsuramo stepped forward.
He bowed—clean, precise, respectful.
"I have arrived as summoned," he said evenly.
Malakar's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So you did," the Demon Lord replied, voice low and resonant, echoing through the hall. "And you brought an audience."
Masakiro flinched. "Uh—"
Thai lifted a hand gently.
"They are welcome," she said, her voice smooth, steady. "This concerns more than one fate."
Malakar clicked his tongue softly but said nothing.
His attention returned to his eldest son.
"You continue to surround yourself with distractions," Malakar said. "Students. Weaklings. Curiosities."
Tsuramo met his gaze without flinching. "They are people."
A faint, humorless smile tugged at Malakar's mouth.
"Spoken like someone who still pretends he isn't what he is."
Tsuramo's jaw tightened—but his voice remained calm.
"I know exactly what I am."
The air grew heavier.
Thai stepped forward, placing herself subtly between them—not blocking, just balancing.
"That is enough," she said softly. "You called them here for a reason."
Malakar leaned back in his throne, fingers tapping once against the armrest.
"Yes," he said. "I did."
His gaze shifted—briefly—to Masakiro.
The younger brother straightened instinctively.
"Shadowreach is not merely a school," Malakar continued. "It is a filter. A veil. A place where truths surface whether one wishes them to or not."
Thai's eyes flicked to Tsuramo.
"If they stayed," she added quietly, "they would begin to see everything."
"And Tsuramo," Malakar said, voice darkening, "would see it first."
Tsuramo's eyes narrowed slightly. "See what?"
Malakar did not answer immediately.
Instead, he stood.
The hall seemed to shrink around him.
"When my work succeeds," he said finally, "you will all understand why I sent you away."
Thai turned to him, concern slipping through her composed expression.
"When will we see them again?" she asked.
Malakar's gaze lingered on Tsuramo—longer than necessary.
"After," he said simply. "After the path is secured."
Silence fell.
Tsuramo exhaled slowly.
"So this is about control," he said. "As always."
Malakar's eyes flashed. "This is about survival."
They stared at each other—father and son—power pressing against restraint, destiny grinding against refusal.
Then Thai spoke, softer now.
"You are not being punished," she said to Tsuramo. "You are being protected. Even if you do not yet believe it."
Tsuramo looked away.
For the first time.
"I don't need protection," he murmured.
Malakar's voice followed him like a shadow.
"That," he said quietly, "is exactly why you do."
No one spoke after that.
And somewhere deep within the throne hall, something ancient shifted—patient, waiting, already aware that none of them would leave Shadowreach unchanged.