The General's Tent

The tent smelled faintly of smoke, leather, and iron. A brazier glowed low in one corner, throwing long shadows across a table spread with maps. The demon behind the table's crimson eyes fixed on Morgana the moment she spoke.

If that thing isn't the general of this goddamn place, my name isn't Morgana. Look at his fucking size and the way he stands. Shit. I feel like a child standing in front of him!

“You… are not of my regiment.” His voice was deep, almost gravel. But there was a measured respect there, not accusation. “Yet you wear the shape of our kind. Who are you, stranger?”

Morgana kept her smile small, but her heart raced. Her first real face-to-face with a high-ranking demon. She saw no reason to lie, and she never liked lying anyways.

“I’m Morgana,” she said, stepping forward as if she owned the place. “And you’re right. I’m not of your regiment. I’ve never been in demon lands before tonight.”

His brows knit. “Never? And yet… you carry yourself like one of the higher blood.” He studied her carefully, eyes flicking to her horns, her wings, the way her presence seemed to fill the space. “What house claims you? Which line?”

Morgana tilted her head. House? Line? Great. Demon politics. Just what I needed. 

She shrugged, letting her smirk widen. “None. I wasn’t raised among our kind. Born recently, you could say. I’ve been living among humans in disguise.”

That earned a flicker of surprise in his eyes. The demon girl at the corner looked up sharply.

“Impossible,” he rumbled, though his tone wasn’t certain. “One of your presence, living among prey? Forgive my doubt, my lady, but I must ask… prove it.”

Morgana’s grin sharpened. She raised her hand, muttering, and let her magic wash over her body. Her horns sank, wings vanished, her form shrinking and smoothing until only the young human adventurer’s face remained. Cloak hanging loosely over her shoulders. 

She gave a few seconds to the general to observe her transformation. Then, with a lazy sigh, she let the glamour fall away, her horns unfurling, her wings stretching wide once more.

The general’s eyes narrowed. His hand twitched as if he might draw a weapon, but he mastered himself. “So. It is true.”

The demon girl’s lips parted. “She was the one,” she whispered. “She freed me. Cut my bonds while the others slept.”

Morgana waved a hand like it was a trivial matter. “I see that you managed to reach here without any problems.”

The general turned his gaze back on her, weighing her words. Suspicion and caution warred with something else... Respect. Maybe even wariness. He bowed his head slightly. 

“Then forgive me for my earlier doubt. If you are as you say… higher-born… then I will show due deference. I am General Kaelith of the Black Fang host. May I ask, what brings one such as you to this warfront?”

Morgana’s lips curled. Higher-born, huh? Guess looking fabulous has its perks. 

She paced a slow circle around the table, letting her eyes wander over the map. “Curiosity, mostly. I’ve lived among humans long enough to hear their stories about us. I wanted to hear our side.” 

Her fingers trailed idly over a dagger lying on the table. “And… I don’t particularly want that city up north trampled into the dirt. Bought myself a nice home there. Cost me a fortune. I’d rather not see it go up in flames.”

The demon girl blinked at her words. Kaelith’s eyes narrowed, though not in anger. More like consideration.

“You ask me to pull back an army’s march for the sake of a… home?”

“Not just a home,” Morgana countered lightly. “Connections. Comfort. The only decent bathhouse for leagues.” She leaned one hip against the table and tilted her head. “You know how hard it is to get hot water every day out here? Trust me, it’s a nightmare.”

Silence stretched. Kaelith’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then, after a long moment, he gave a slow nod. 

“If it is your wish, my lady, I will counsel restraint. But understand… the seers demand our advance. They believe our fallen Lord stirs beneath the ruins located up north. I may hold my blade for a time, but I cannot still theirs.”

Morgana’s smirk faded a little as his words sank in. So it’s not just rumors. They really believe someone’s coming back. A Demon Lord…? 

She frowned, tapping her fingers against the table. Sounds like religious zealotry if you ask me. But zealots with armies are still dangerous.

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Then you do what you must, General. But remember, if your seers destroy what I’ve built, they’ll answer to me. And trust me…” She let her eyes flash, shadows curling faintly around her shoulders, “…you don’t want that.”

A flicker of something crossed his face. Fear? Awe? Whatever it was, he inclined his head deeper than before. “Understood.”

Inside, Morgana’s heart was racing. 

I should be nervous. He’s twice my fucking size with arms thick as my waist, wings like a storm cloud, power radiating off him. But I’m not. Not even a little. It’s like my bones know I’m above him. That he should be careful with me.

She stopped and inspected his face for a little bit more. He looked like he was showing restrain and respect to her.

He knows it too. He fucking knows that I am stronger than him. Her eyes landed on his claw like hands, turned into fists. Otherwise, he would have attacked me already.

Morgana let the silence hang for a beat longer before she turned her gaze toward the corner of the tent where the rescued demon girl stood, head still lowered like a scolded servant.

“You,” Morgana said, pointing with one clawed finger. “Since I’m apparently ‘higher-born’ or whatever, consider this an order. Tomorrow, you’re going to walk me around camp and explain how all this demon hierarchy crap works. Who bows to who, which horn shapes make people piss themselves, the usual.”

The girl’s head snapped up, red eyes wide. “M–me?”

“Yes, you.” Morgana smirked. “You owe me for cutting those ropes. Besides, I need a guide who won’t bore me to death with military speeches. No offense, General.”

Kaelith’s jaw flexed, but his expression didn’t change. He gave the faintest shrug, as if to say if that is her wish, so be it.

The girl pressed a hand to her chest, still stunned. “If… if that is what you command, my lady, then I will do it.”

“Good,” Morgana replied, folding her arms and leaning back with satisfaction. “Because right now, I don’t know the first thing about how demons actually work. And I hate not knowing things. So tomorrow, you’re giving me the grand tour. Consider it a… cultural exchange.”

Her inner thoughts purred with amusement. And maybe then I’ll finally figure out where the hell I stand in this madhouse. Better than wandering around blind and hoping no one stabs me for having the wrong number of horns.