The guest wing smelled like lavender and lies.
Seris stood in the center of her assigned chamber, boots still laced, knife still strapped to her thigh. She hadn't moved since the doors closed behind her ten minutes ago.
The room was—
Wrong.
Not dangerous-wrong.
Wrong in the way a gilded cage was wrong.
Silk sheets. Moonstone lamps. A writing desk with fresh parchment and ink. Bookshelves lined with texts in seven languages. A balcony overlooking gardens that shouldn't exist in a demon realm.
Comfortable.
That was the problem.
She'd expected chains. Cells. The aesthetics of captivity.
Instead, she got interior design.
A knock.
Three soft raps against dark wood.
Seris' hand went to her blade.
"It's Iona."
The voice was clipped. Controlled.
Seris crossed the room and opened the door.
Iona stood in the corridor, still wearing her combat leathers, monocle pushed up into her hair. She looked—
Furious.
"We need to talk," she said.
"Agreed."
Seris stepped aside.
Iona entered, already scanning the room with professional efficiency. Her fingers traced the doorframe, checking for runework. Her eyes catalogued exits. Sightlines. Potential weapons.
"Clear," she muttered. "No surveillance enchantments. No listening spells."
"You checked?"
"Twice."
Iona turned, arms crossed.
"This is a mistake."
Seris closed the door.
"Elaborate."
"We just married a demon lord who wants us to kill him." Iona's voice was sharp. "That's not strategy. That's suicide with extra steps."
"You put on the ring."
"Because the alternative was going home and explaining failure to a king who doesn't tolerate it." Iona's jaw tightened. "That doesn't mean I trust this."
"Neither do I."
"Then why agree?"
Seris walked to the window.
Outside, the gardens glowed faintly under twin moons. Flowers she didn't recognize bloomed in silver and blue. The air smelled like rain that hadn't fallen yet.
"Because fourteen people died getting that poison," she said quietly. "And it didn't even slow him down."
She turned.
"If we go home, they'll send another team. And another. And eventually someone will get lucky."
"And if he's telling the truth about the seal?"
"Then the world ends."
Iona's expression didn't shift.
"And if he's lying?"
"Then we're trapped in a political marriage with the enemy and we kill him anyway." Seris' voice hardened. "Either way, we're the only ones in position to stop this."
"That's not logic," Iona said. "That's gambling."
"No." Seris met her eyes. "Gambling is walking away and hoping someone else solves it."
Silence.
Iona exhaled slowly.
"I hate that you're right."
"I hate that I am."
Another knock.
Louder this time.
The door swung open without permission.
Rasha leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes gleaming in the low light.
"Secret meeting without me?" She bared her teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Rude."
"We were just—"
"Planning how to kill him. I know." Rasha pushed off the doorframe and stalked inside. "I've been doing the same thing."
She dropped into a chair with zero ceremony.
"Three ways so far. Decapitation during sleep. Poison in the morning meal. Ambush in the bath."
"Creative," Iona said dryly.
"Practical." Rasha's claws tapped against the armrest. "Problem is, he doesn't sleep."
Seris frowned.
"How do you know?"
"Because I've been watching his window for the past hour." Rasha jerked a thumb toward the balcony. "Light's still on. No movement. Just—sitting."
"Sitting?"
"Staring at nothing."
Iona's monocle lowered.
"Behavior analysis: catatonic? Meditative?"
"Neither." Rasha's ears flicked. "He's counting something. His lips move every thirty seconds. Same pattern."
Seris felt a chill.
"Counting what?"
"No idea." Rasha leaned back. "But it's been the same count for forty-three repetitions."
"How long is the count?"
"Ten."
Iona's eyes narrowed.
"Ten what?"
"Just—ten." Rasha's voice dropped. "He counts to ten. Stops. Starts again."
The three of them exchanged looks.
"That's—"
"Creepy as hell," Rasha finished. "Yeah."
A fourth knock.
Softer than the others.
"May I enter?"
Kaiva's voice.
Polite even now.
"Door's open," Seris called.
Kaiva stepped inside, and immediately the air felt different.
Heavier.
She still wore her vestments, but the holy scripture was gone. Her hands were empty. Red-rimmed eyes suggested she'd been crying.
"I need to tell you something," she said.
No preamble.
No hesitation.
"When I put on the ring," Kaiva continued, "I felt the seal."
"You mentioned that," Iona said.
"No." Kaiva shook her head. "I didn't just feel it. I saw it."
Silence.
"Explain," Seris said.
Kaiva's hands trembled.
"It's not a structure. Not runework. It's—alive."
"Alive?"
"Something is chained down there." Kaiva's voice cracked. "Something massive. And it's—"
She stopped.
Her breath hitched.
"It's awake."
The temperature in the room dropped.
Rasha's claws extended.
"Define awake."
"Conscious. Aware." Kaiva wrapped her arms around herself. "It felt me when the ring activated. It—it looked at me."
"How does something chained underground look at you?" Iona demanded.
"I don't know!" Kaiva's composure shattered. "But it did! And it was—"
She choked on the word.
"—hungry."
No one spoke.
Then—
A fifth knock.
Everyone turned.
Lyth stood in the doorway.
She didn't ask permission.
Just walked in, sword still strapped to her back, silver hair loose around her shoulders.
"So," she said. "We're all having the same nightmare."
"What?" Seris asked.
"The thing underground." Lyth's voice was flat. "I felt it too."
Kaiva's eyes widened.
"You did?"
"The moment the ring locked on." Lyth touched her chest. "Like something wrapped around my heart and squeezed."
"I thought I was the only one," Kaiva whispered.
"You're not." Lyth looked at the others. "Anyone else?"
Iona raised her hand slowly.
"...Pressure. Behind my eyes. Like something trying to push through."
Rasha's ears flattened.
"Constant buzzing. Low frequency. Just below hearing."
Seris said nothing.
But she felt it too.
A weight that hadn't been there before.
A presence in the back of her mind, watching through a keyhole.
"He wasn't lying," Kaiva said. "The seal is real."
"Which means the rest might be real too," Iona added.
Lyth's hand drifted to her sword hilt.
"Then we need answers."
"Agreed," Seris said. "But not tonight."
"Why not?"
"Because we're exhausted. Emotionally compromised. And if he wanted us dead, we'd already be dead."
She looked at each of them.
"We regroup. We plan. We figure out what we're actually dealing with."
"And then?" Rasha asked.
"Then we decide whether we kill him—"
Seris' gaze hardened.
"—or help him."
---
Vael stopped counting.
His lips stilled.
He sat alone in his study, surrounded by maps and texts and records that no longer mattered.
The rings had activated successfully.
Five bindings.
Five anchors.
Five chances.
He could feel them now—faint pulses of life connected to his own. Threads of fate woven into the seal's geometry.
It was working.
For now.
He exhaled slowly and resumed counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
Years left.
If he was lucky.
If they were fast enough.
If—
His chest tightened.
Blood welled at the corner of his mouth.
He wiped it away with practiced efficiency and resumed counting.
One.
Two.
Three...
---
—