The silence of the blacksmith's shed was broken only by Ethan's rhythmic, heavy breathing from the other room.
To Ava, who had spent centuries listening to the rhythmic screams of the damned and the violent roar of Inferna's magma cataracts, the sound of a human sleeping was unnervingly peaceful. It was a soft, vulnerable sound—a reminder of just how fragile the creature in the next room was.
She sat up on her straw mattress, her back aching. The straw poked through her thin chemise, a constant, nagging reminder of her "humiliation."
Six hours, she thought, staring at the moonlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden roof.
I have been in this realm for less than a day, and I have already developed a taste for boiled roots and manual labor.
If the King of the Frost Realm or the Queen of the Lightless Sea saw me now, they would laugh until the stars fell from the sky.
In the hierarchy of the 9 Realms, Ava's kingdom of Inferna was the most feared, but it was not the only one. To the North lay the Glacial Tundra, ruled by a king with a heart of absolute zero. Each ruler was a predator, watching the others for a single moment of hesitation.
If I stay away too long, Ava mused, her purple eyes glowing in the dark, the balance will shift.
The 9 Realms are a cage of tigers; the moment the strongest tiger stops growling, the others move in for the kill.
She stood up, her brown traveling cloak shimmering as it dissolved into a swirl of violet smoke. In its place, her Royal Regalia materialized—obsidian-and-crimson armor forged in the core of a dying star.
Her horns spiraled out from her forehead, sharp enough to pierce reality, glowing with a dangerous, rhythmic light.
With a flick of her wrist, she tore a jagged hole in the air.
The portal didn't smell like Oakhaven's woodsmoke; it smelled of sulfur, ancient copper, and absolute power. She stepped through.
The Royal Palace of Inferna: Great Hall
The transition was instantaneous.
One moment, she was in a dusty shed; the next, she was standing on a floor made of polished dragon-bone.
The air was thick with the "Aura of Dread" that acted as the heartbeat of her kingdom.
Korg and Zale, her most "loyal" (or perhaps just most terrified) guards, were leaning against their serrated halberds.
Their eyes were glazed over, the sheer boredom of guarding an empty throne clearly taking its toll.
"I'm telling you, Zale," Korg whispered, his voice cracking like dry parchment.
"She's gone to the Celestial Realm. She's finally decided to go pluck the feathers off the Archangels because she ran out of spicy wine. We're doomed. When the Council finds out the throne is empty, they'll turn us into decorative coat racks."
"She is not in the Heavens, you pebble-brained imp," Zale snapped, though his own grip on his spear was trembling.
"She is likely... meditating. Or perhaps she is hunting a Void Serpent in the cracks between dimensions. The Queen does not simply 'leave.'"
"The Queen hears every pathetic word that falls from your maws."
The voice didn't just fill the room; it vibrated in their very marrow.
Both guards jumped so high their helmets collided with a deafening CLANG that echoed through the vaulted ceiling.
They scrambled to turn around, tripping over their own heavy capes and clattering armor before hitting the floor in a desperate, face-first prostration.
"YOUR MAJESTY!" they bellowed in unison, their voices echoing off the obsidian pillars.
Ava walked past them, the metal of her boots clicking sharply against the bone-floor.
Each step felt heavy. After the wooden chair in Ethan's kitchen, the Titan-bone throne looked... cold. Lonely. She sat down, resting her cheek on her hand.
"Report," she commanded. "And make it brief. My patience is thinner than a human's skin tonight."
Korg looked up, a bead of sweat rolling down his grey, stony forehead. "The... the borders are secure, My Queen! General Vorath tried to enter the hall three times. He claimed he had a 'strategic vision' for invading the 3rd Realm. We told him you were deep in a 'Meditation of Eternal Agony' and that if he interrupted, you would use his spine as a flute. He seemed... disappointed, but impressed."
Ava sighed.
Vorath was a warmonger. He didn't understand that constant conquest was exhausting. "And the Council of Elders?
Have the old ghouls stopped whispering?"
Zale cleared his throat, sensing an opening to sound useful. "They are... concerned, Majesty."
"They claim the 'Aura of Despair' over the capital has dipped by 4.2%. The citizens are reportedly screaming 15% less than usual. There are rumors of... contentment in the lower districts. It's a scandal. If the other 8 Realms hear that Inferna is softening, the trade routes through the Magma Gates will be under threat."
Ava looked at her hand.
There was still a tiny, stubborn smudge of soot on her thumb from Ethan's forge. She traced it with her nail, her mind drifting back to the smell of stew.
They think 4% is a dip? she thought. If they saw me sweeping a floor with a bunch of twigs, the Aura of Despair would hit zero.
"Tell the Council," Ava said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that made the torches flicker blue, "that if they mention the word 'contentment' again, I will harvest their shadows and weave them into a rug for my bathroom. I am crafting a masterstroke of psychological terror. My absence is part of the plan."
Korg's nose suddenly twitched.
He was a tracker by nature, a beast born from the Blood-Moors.
He leaned forward a fraction of an inch, sniffing the air.
"Your Majesty... forgive my wretched existence for asking," Korg stammered, "but you smell... alien. There is a scent on your cloak. It is not blood. It is not sulfur. It is... buttery?"
Zale hissed at him, "Shut up, Korg! You'll get us killed!"
"No," Korg insisted, his yellow eyes wide. "It's definitely... yeast? And... is that carrot? Did you conquer a realm of vegetables, My Queen? Did you slay a Great Tuber and bathe in its essence?"
Ava felt a strange, terrifying urge to laugh. She had to suppress it immediately.
A Demon Queen does not giggle.
"I have been scouting the Human Realm," she said, choosing her words like weapons. "They are more complex than our scholars suggested. They have developed weapons of mass psychological warfare that bypass our magical defenses."
"Like what?" Zale asked, gripped by genuine terror. "Holy water? Sun-blades?"
"Worse," Ava said solemnly. "They call it 'Teamwork.' And 'Character Building.' It involves a wooden instrument of torture known as a 'Broom.' It is a grueling process designed to break one's spirit through the repetitive movement of dust."
Korg gasped, clutching his chest. "Such cruelty! Truly, humans are the true demons! To think, they force their own kind to move... dust? Without even using a soul-contract?"
Ava stood up, her cape billowing like a cloud of smoke. "I will return to my... investigation. If any of the Generals from the other Realms send envoys, tell them I am in seclusion, forging a spell that will blot out the sun. And Korg?"
"Yes, Majesty?"
"If anyone enters my private chambers, execute them. Except for the Silk-Weaver demons. I need my 5,000-thread-count moonlight sheets brought to the portal entrance. I cannot sleep on dried grass for another night. It is a trial even I cannot endure."
"At once, My Queen!"
As she moved toward the shimmering portal, she paused.
She reached into a hidden pocket of her cloak and pulled out a small, slightly squashed piece of the honey-bun she had hidden from the kitchen.
She tossed it toward Korg.
He caught it with trembling hands as if it were a high-grade explosive.
"Eat it," she commanded. "It is the source of their stamina. Study its properties."
She stepped through the portal, and the tear in reality zipped shut behind her.
Korg looked at the piece of bread. He looked at Zale. Slowly, he took a bite.
His eyes—all three of them—rolled back into his head. His halberd clattered to the floor.
"Zale..." he whispered, his voice trembling with a newfound religious fervor.
"What? Is it a curse? Are your internal organs melting?"
"No," Korg sobbed, a single tear of molten lava rolling down his cheek. "It's... it's a sugar-cloud. It's soft, Zale. Like a hug for my tongue. Why do we eat basalt? Why do we drink the tears of the sorrowful? We've been doing it all wrong!"
Zale looked at the tiny crumb left on Korg's finger. "Give me a piece. For... research purposes."
Back in the Blacksmith's Shed
Ava stepped back into the dusty room, her heavy armor dissolving back into the humble brown cloak. The transition from the grand, echoing halls of Inferna to the cramped, soot-stained shed was jarring.
She climbed back onto the straw mattress. It felt even lumpier now that she had the memory of her silk sheets fresh in her mind. But as she lay there, she heard a muffled thud from the other side of the wall.
Ethan had rolled over in his sleep, his hand hitting the wooden partition.
"Five more... minutes... Miller..." he grumbled in his sleep, followed by a soft, content sigh.
Ava looked at the wall. In her world, a sigh like that was a sign of a weak soul.
But here, in the dim orange glow of the dying embers from the forge, it felt like... peace.
He has no idea, she thought, her purple eyes fading to a soft human brown. He thinks he's helping a lost traveler.
He doesn't know that the guards of the Abyss are currently questioning their entire existence because of his 'sugar-clouds.'
She pulled the thin, scratchy blanket up to her chin. For the first time in a century, the Queen of Inferna wasn't thinking about border taxes, the 8 rival kings and queens, or the Council of Elders.
She was wondering if Ethan would let her try the "Character Building" stick again tomorrow.
The Midnight Queen closed her eyes and, for the first time in her long life, fell into a dream that didn't involve fire.