Daemon leaned silently against a cracked stone wall in one of Velmira's narrow alleyways, arms crossed. His crimson eyes scanned the street without moving.
"How long are we gonna wait?" Varian groaned, slumped on a nearby crate. "I'm itching to punch someone."
"We wait," Daemon replied flatly. "William's from Velmira. He said he'd bring us something to wear. We blend in, or we get caught."
"Tch. Boring," Varian muttered, folding his arms.
The old pirate scratched his salt-and-pepper beard and gave a disapproving grunt. "Tsk, tsk. Kids these days. No patience. Back in my day, we could wait three days under a floorboard just to slit a captain's throat."
Varian stood up and towered over him. "You say something, old man?!"
The pirate didn't even flinch. "Yeah. That you're soft."
Before it could escalate—
"I'm back!"
William came jogging around the corner, arms full of clothes.
"I'm sorry for making you guys wait so long, Prince Da—uh, I mean, Daemon!"
Daemon raised an eyebrow. "You changed too, I see. Where'd you get the clothes?"
William grinned. "I stole them. Remember? I'm a pickpocket."
Daemon let out a breath of amusement and rustled the boy's hair. "Of course you did."
The clothes were plain—worn cotton shirts, loose trousers, a few threadbare cloaks—but perfect for blending in with Velmira's working-class crowd.
Nyxtriel held up a beige blouse and a long green skirt with a look of pure distaste.
"My lord… must I wear human clothing again?"
Daemon gave her a look. "Yes. Unless you want a city-wide manhunt. We're lucky no one knows our faces yet. Let's keep it that way."
She sighed but nodded. "Fine."
Daemon and Varian turned away to change behind a stack of crates. William gestured for Nyxtriel to change behind a cloth screen hanging from a nearby balcony.
Then—William turned back, slipping his hand into his pouch.
"Oh!" He pulled out two large mana stones, gleaming with condensed energy. "Here!"
Daemon glanced over, surprised.
"You collected these?"
"I figured you'd need them. I don't know if it's enough… but I tried."
Daemon knelt down and took the stones from him. "You did well, William."
He held them in his palms, focused for a heartbeat—and absorbed the mana instantly.
No chant. No meditation.
Just consumption.
Varian turned mid-shirt-change, blinking. "Wait—what the hell?! You just absorbed that much raw mana without stabilizing your core?! Are you insane?!"
Daemon stood, wiping his hands calmly. "I'm a bit… special, remember?"
Varian stared at him like he'd grown a third horn.
Then Nyxtriel stepped out.
Daemon turned and paused.
She wore a simple green dress and short brown boots, but somehow, it didn't look plain at all. Her silver-white hair framed her face softly, and her crimson eyes stood out even more in the sunlight. The cloth hugged her figure just right elegant but practical.
Even in human clothes, she carried herself like a queen.
Daemon's gaze lingered a little longer than he meant to.
"…It suits you," he said quietly.
Nyxtriel blinked, surprised by the rare compliment—then turned her head sharply to hide the faint blush rising in her cheeks.
Varian grinned. "Wow, you clean up well."
Nyxtriel didn't reply, but her eyes flicked to Daemon with a strange warmth.
Daemon turned away quickly, cloak falling back over his shoulders.
"Let's move. The longer we stand still, the more eyes we attract."
"So… where exactly are we going?" Varian asked as the group slipped into Velmira's crowded streets, blending in with the morning bustle.
"We need to rest first," Daemon replied, keeping his hood low and his eyes sharp.
Varian blinked. "Wait—rest? We're not escaping?"
Daemon gave a faint, amused smile. "Escaping? Why would I run?"
He glanced around, eyeing the guards scattered through the city like flies on rotten meat.
"I'm not leaving until every last one of those Vaelthar guards is dead. I don't like pests following me around. And from the feel of it, there are less than a hundred here."
He turned to the group.
"We hunt tonight."
Everyone froze—except Nyxtriel. She didn't even blink.
The old pirate coughed. "You planning to cut down soldiers in the middle of a foreign city?"
Daemon nodded without hesitation.
The old man scratched his beard. "Just making sure… you're not planning to kill civilians too, right?"
Daemon's tone dropped low. "No. I'm not a monster. I don't kill the innocent."
"Thank the sea gods," the old man muttered. "If you're looking for a place to stay low, I've still got a shack near the south district. Nothing fancy, but it's hidden."
Daemon nodded. "Sounds good. What's your name, anyway?"
The old man gave a lopsided grin. "Ben. Ben Smith."
Daemon smirked. "Alright, Ben. Lead the way."
They walked in formation, blending with the crowd. Guards passed by, scanning faces—but saw nothing suspicious. William stayed close to the center, flanked by Daemon and Nyxtriel, head down.
Then—
"William!"
The group froze.
Two teenage boys stood across the street, both grubby and grinning.
"No way. It's William the rat! Thought you were dead, but look at you!"
Daemon glanced down at William, who had gone pale.
The boy forced a shaky smile. "H-Hey…"
One of them waved him over. "Come on, Will. What are you doing with all these adults?"
Varian stepped forward, frowning. "Hey, kid. Who the hell are you two?"
The taller boy raised his hands mockingly. "Relax, grandpa. We're just saying hi to an old friend."
He turned his eyes to William, the smile fading into something darker.
"Right, William? Remember who raised you?"
The other boy leaned in. "You do remember… right?"
William hesitated.
Daemon felt his body tense.
The silence dragged.
"Y-Yeah… it's true," William mumbled.
Varian's face twisted. "The hell, kid? Who are you calling old man? I'm sixteen!"
"Chill, man," one of the teenage boys said with a grin, throwing his hands up. "You don't even look sixteen. I thought you were, like, thirty."
Varian's eye twitched. A spike of bloodlust surged from him—and it was about to break loose—
Until Daemon casually reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Let it go," he said quietly. "We're drawing too much attention."
Varian looked around.
He was right.
Locals had stopped walking. Street vendors had paused mid-sale. Guards were glancing toward them from across the plaza.
"Tch…" Varian clicked his tongue and backed off, arms crossed.
The two boys snickered and bumped shoulders.
William lowered his head.
Shame curled through him like a knife in his chest. These people—Daemon, Varian, even Nyxtriel—they treated him like an equal. They didn't mock him. They didn't use him. They didn't see him as some rat hiding in the gutters.
And now, the past had come back—loud, smug, and calling him home.
He clenched his fists, trying to breathe.
"Lord Daemon…" he said softly. "Please… don't hurt them."
Daemon paused.
He hadn't even moved.
He had no intention of hurting anyone—not unless they gave him a reason. But he didn't answer William right away. He just… waited.
Then came the words.
"I'll go with them."
The group went still.
Varian's head snapped around. "What?"
Even Nyxtriel and Ben looked shocked.
Daemon didn't flinch. He had already expected this. William was still a child. Easy to manipulate. Torn between loyalty and survival. Sometimes, the best way to protect something fragile was to let it choose for itself.
He stepped forward.
And gently rustled William's hair.
"Alright then," he said softly. "I'm glad you made it out. Live a good life."
William's lip trembled. Tears welled in his eyes as he nodded. "Thank you, Sir Daemon. You were the only one who was ever… truly kind to me."
He turned, wiping his face with his sleeve, and followed the two boys into the crowd.
They vanished.
Varian stared after them, fists clenched.
"Dammit… those little—"
Daemon turned his back to the street. "Let it go."
"But why'd you let him go with them?"
"Because it was his choice."
The answer was simple.
But heavy.
Daemon didn't look back.
And neither did William.