"Wait up, Ryugner," Linie calls, munching another apple, her pace leisurely, as if on a casual stroll.
"Linie, we're late for our audience. Do you realize that?" Ryugner snaps.
"Sure, but rushing won't help. Aura'll forgive us," she replies breezily, unfazed by his sarcasm.
Ryugner sighs. Her carefree attitude borders on disrespect toward Aura, the great demon and ruler of Freesia—a slight he, as a priest, can't ignore. Yet Linie is the exception.
No matter what I say, it's futile. Aura's favor shields her.
Their familiar banter reinforces this truth. A slight delay might earn a reprimand, but punishment? Unlikely—for Linie. Her youth belies her prowess as Aura's confidante, a bond deeper than mere favor.
Some believers whisper they're like parent and child, but that's absurd. Demons don't feel such things.
Family—a human concept—holds no meaning for demons. Born alone, they live in solitude, serving stronger demons or forming packs, but always as individuals. Yet Linie's behavior, driven by devotion to Aura, mimics a daughter's love for her mother, or so believers say.
"What's up, Ryugner? Want an apple?" Linie offers, misreading his stare.
"No, thanks. Just thinking you're as odd as ever," he replies.
"Huh, really?" she tilts her head.
Ryugner shakes his head. He's served Aura for less than twenty years, while Linie's been at her side since Aura's days of human subjugation. From birth, they lived together, forging something beyond demon loyalty—perhaps not family, but unique.
They say she's never eaten a human.
They say she's always suppressed her magic, living in deception.
They say she wields a fake sword named after a hero, despite being a demon.
Linie the Exception.
Her epithet contrasts Aura's Scales. She's an anomaly to demons and humans alike.
"Ryugner, stop zoning out. We're here," Linie says.
"Right, let's go," he replies, snapping back.
Before them stands a grand church-like castle, a scale in place of a bell—the seat of Freesia's ruler. Ryugner pushes aside thoughts of Linie. Strength defines demons; all else is trivial. He steels himself for the audience.
The chamber feels otherworldly.
Modeled after human churches for the Goddess, it exudes solemnity. Yet for demons, it's not sanctity but terror and domination. Dense magic swirls, forcing even seasoned demons to tremble. Ryugner, suppressing instinct, gazes at its source.
Aura, draped in a crimson robe, reigns from her throne. To the unaware, she's a petite woman with lavender braids, her large horns hidden by the robe. A freesia flower accessory adorns her chest. Her languid demeanor belies a commanding presence—a paradox of lethargy and authority.
This is Aura of the Scales, Freesia's apex demon.
"Aura-sama—" Ryugner begins, bowing to apologize for their tardiness.
"Get off me! I didn't do anything! I was framed!" a man's voice interrupts.
A pathetic human, hands bound, stands before Aura. Ryugner, distracted by her presence, hadn't noticed. Other priests and believers surround the scene—a trial, held due to their delay.
This farce of a trial… what's the point?
Ryugner conceals his disdain. Trials—humans judging lawbreakers—are alien to demons. The believers and priests take it seriously, except Linie, yawning beside him, apple-free for once. Her nonchalance is almost admirable.
The man's crimes are read: theft, murder. Routine for demons, but capital offenses in human law. A fugitive from a human nation, he likely thought Freesia's demon rule would shield him.
Fool. Obey Aura's doctrine, and he'd have been fine.
Humans and demons share the same flaw—uncontrollable instincts. But in Aura's presence, such defiance is futile.
"So, do you admit your crimes or not?" Aura asks, elbow on her throne.
"Admit?! A demon judging a human?! Where's the evidence?!" the man spits, defying her.
His audacity is almost praiseworthy, but insulting Aura stirs Ryugner's urge to act. He restrains himself—this is Aura's domain. Linie grips her sword but holds back.
The man rants, claiming innocence, urging believers to rise. None listen. Half are demons, deaf to human pleas; the other half, human believers, see Aura as their god.
"Fine… 'Obey me,'" Aura says, raising her scales.
A mundane-looking scale, but a cursed tool—her guillotine. A glowing orb rises from the man's chest—his soul. Aura's soul appears too, her magic at work.
Azelyuze, the Magic of Subjugation.
Her scales weigh her soul against another's. No human's magic can match Aura's, honed over five centuries. Few demons rival her, one of the Seven Sages. The scales tip heavily in her favor.
Once, she beheaded resistors, commanding an undead army—hence Guillotine. Now, her scales inspire fear differently.
"Speak the truth," she commands.
The man confesses, puppet-like, his words undeniable truth. Evidence is irrelevant; the trial, a formality to showcase Aura's power and terror.
"No… I…" the man mumbles, as if waking from a nightmare.
His pathetic state will worsen. A dagger is placed before him. He hesitates, torn between escape and confusion. A devout believer would know.
"Kill yourself," Aura orders.
This is Aura's doctrine—her death sentence.
"Good work, Aura-sama," Ryugner bows.
"Sorry for being late, Aura-sama! But I was doing my priest stuff," Linie chirps, fishing for praise.
Ryugner lowers his head. Only they and Aura remain; other priests and believers have left to handle the man's fate. Playing a priest is taxing, even for a deceptive demon.
"Thanks to you, I had to deal with an unscheduled trial. What a hassle," Aura says, tossing back her hood, her tone wearier than usual.
Linie, oblivious to the sarcasm, beams. Aura's gaze shifts to Ryugner, her eyes warning against trivial matters. He feels a chill—misstep, and even a confidant faces consequences.
"Yes, regarding the peace talks with Count Granat's domain. In three days, Linie and I are to serve as envoys, correct?" he asks calmly.
"Correct. Any issues?" Aura replies.
"No, but… do you truly intend peace? This could be a chance to deceive them, strike their weakness," he suggests.
It's a golden opportunity. Freesia doesn't openly war with other nations, but human realms don't recognize a demon state. Their forces are poised against Freesia, with skirmishes frequent. Granat's protective barrier, set by the great mage Flamme, blocks demon invasion. But this could change.
"As envoys, we could disable the barrier. After their spy's failure, they're weakened," Ryugner adds.
Linie aside, he could deceive humans and undo the barrier. A recent human spy, exposed by Aura's Azelyuze, revealed their intent: probing Freesia's inner workings, dismissing its human-demon coexistence as propaganda. But the influx of refugees—fleeing poverty or conflict—proves otherwise, straining human nations.
The spy was executed, as expected. Yet Aura freed him, will intact. Soon after, Granat proposed peace talks.
Aura foresaw this. No need for invasion—humans will come crawling. Freesia's half-human population leaves opponents without just cause, and their forces are stretched thin by infighting and demon activity post-Himmel. Humans forget, Aura said. Like they forgot Himmel, they'll forget demons' terror.
"Forcing our way is for fools. Why do we speak? To deceive humans," she says, echoing past words.
Her mastery of deception surpasses any demon. Her time among humans, though humiliating, fuels her strategy for revenge.
"My apologies for overstepping, Aura-sama," Ryugner says, bowing in awe.
"Force won't lose, but don't act rashly. Understood?" she warns.
"As you command. Without a hero, humans are no threat," he affirms.
"Yeah, Ryugner overthinks. Chill," Linie chimes.
He may have overestimated humans. The Demon King fell to Himmel's party. Without them, caution is unnecessary.
"No hero remains to stop me," Aura states, her tone flat, as if stating a fact.
Her regal presence confirms her as a true demon ruler. Serving her, honing his magic—this is Ryugner's purpose, a role Linie can't fulfill.
He departs, plotting human deception. Linie, glancing at her sword as if recalling something, follows.
In the empty castle, on the throne—
"Himmel's gone," Aura murmurs, her voice a whisper lost to the void.