Sneaking Out

Morgana shut the door of her house behind her, leaning against it like she had just come back from surviving a hurricane. She slid down into her chair and tossed her cloak aside, glaring at her armor lying on the floor.

It was less armor now and more a collection of crusted demon bits glued together by blood. Dark smears and chunks clung stubbornly to the metal, and the smell hit her nose like a rotten onion.

“Oh, fantastic,” she muttered. “Demon guts. Of course it had to be demon guts this time. Do they rot faster, or is it just my luck?”

She dragged the pieces to her wash basin and dunked them in, scrubbing with a cloth. The water darkened instantly, bubbling with streaks of black-red. Morgana wrinkled her nose.

“This isn’t armor anymore. This is a biohazard. Back on Earth, this would be one call to a hazmat team, maybe two. And now? It’s just me, soap, and a prayer.”

She attacked the stains with more force, groaning as they refused to come out. “Blood is blood, but demon blood? Nope. Sticks harder than chewing gum in hair. Ten out of ten, would not recommend. At least its not as bad as goblin stuff.”

Her arms ached from the effort, and the stink clung to her skin. “I swear, if Dorrik ever invents demon-resistant armor polish, I’ll kiss him square on the forehead. Or bribe him. Or both.”

By the time she was done, the water in the basin looked like an alchemist’s failed experiment. She wrung out her rag, tossed it aside, and leaned back with a sigh.

The silence in her home wrapped around her. For a long moment, she just stared at the basin, watching the black-red liquid ripple.

Her mind drifted back to the map in the goblin general’s tent, the red circle, and the word that Avric had spoken: demon tongue. Ruins. The demons were after something down there, and not just treasure.

Working with the trio had been strange enough, but now the memory of the demon girl’s words gnawed at her. “Our last Demon Lord fell there. His death cursed the soil, but his spirit lingers. The seers say he will rise again. We cannot fail him.”

She chewed her lip. “What the hell am I supposed to do about this?” she asked herself.

Morgana dragged a hand down her face, groaning. “A Demon Lord resurrection. Because of course that’s what this mess is about. Can’t just be treasure, can it? Nooo, it has to be the apocalypse.”

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. “But is it true? Or just another scary bedtime story demons tell their kids? And if it is true…” Her thoughts stalled. A chill traced her spine.

Would the return of some Demon Lord mean another war unlike anything she had ever seen? Would humans even stand a chance?

Her jaw tightened. “And what the hell does it mean for me?”

She shook her head hard, forcing a laugh that sounded too sharp. “Nope. Not going down that road. Don’t start connecting dots that aren’t there. Just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean every creepy prophecy is about me.”

But even as she tried to push it aside, the weight of the demon girl’s conviction lingered, leaving Morgana restless.

She soaked in a bath afterward, finally scrubbing the stink of battle from her skin and hair. Her tattoos glimmered faintly under the water’s surface. She let her head rest back, eyes half-closed.

“You’re going to have to make a choice,” she told herself quietly. “Stick with the holy boy band and let them drag you into their war, or… maybe go talk to the demons. Figure out what they’re really after.”

It wasn’t loyalty that pulled her in either direction, it was curiosity. And self-preservation. If the demons were planning something big, she needed to know before it swallowed her whole.

By the time the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Morgana had made her choice.

She dressed in her freshly scrubbed armor, now shining faintly in the lamplight. Her cloak was clasped neatly at her shoulders. She grabbed a waterskin, adjusted her belt, and glanced once at her reflection in the darkened window.

“Alright, Morgana. Time for a midnight stroll.”

She slipped through the city streets with practiced ease, avoiding patrols and late-night stragglers. Her Veil of Silence wrapped around her when needed, shadows swallowing her footsteps. No one noticed the cloaked figure gliding toward the walls.

The city gates had been shut tight hours ago, heavy iron-bound wood braced with crossbars. Torches burned along the walls, and the occasional clink of patrol armor echoed above. Morgana pulled her cloak tighter, her hood deepening her shadowed face as she pressed herself into the narrow alleys that kissed the outer wall.

“Of course the gates are closed. Because slipping out in broad daylight would have been too easy,” she muttered under her breath, craning her neck until she spotted what she was looking for: a worn section of masonry, a little too old, a little too cracked. Perfect footholds.

She slinked forward, Veil of Silence wrapping around her like a second skin. Even the scrape of her boots against stone vanished into nothing. With nimble precision, she scaled the wall, her fingers finding purchase in rough grooves. 

The torchlight above painted gold streaks across her hands as she froze every time a guard shifted. One breath, two... then she moved again. When she finally rolled over the parapet and dropped soundlessly on the other side, Morgana let herself grin.

“Better than a damn lockpick,” she whispered, brushing dirt from her knees.

She walked until the city’s silhouette shrank into the distance, her boots crunching softly on the dirt path. When the last flickers of Althwyn’s torches faded, she tugged the clasp free from her cloak’s right shoulder, letting it drape over only the left.

“Okay,” she whispered, her pulse quickening, “time to test the night air.”

The disguise shimmered away, horns and wings unfurling into the cool night. Her wings flexed wide, catching the moonlight, the claws at their joints glinting sharp. For a moment she stood still, savoring the stretch. Then, with a deep breath, she bent her knees and launched herself skyward.

The first few beats were awkward, her wings fighting the rhythm, but soon she found it, the slow, strong sweep that carried her higher and higher. 

The wind rushed past, ruffling her hair and making it look like a river under the night sky. Althwyn dwindled to a cluster of lights behind her, and the world ahead spread open, vast and black.

Hovering for a heartbeat, Morgana smirked. “South it is, then. Let’s see what secrets you demons are hiding.”

And for the first time since her rebirth, Morgana wondered whether she was flying toward answers… or disaster.