Savior

The icy wasteland vanished in an instant, dissolving like smoke. The storm, the frozen ground, the sunlight—they all collapsed into nothingness. In the blink of an eye, Lian, Kael, and Mira found themselves once again inside the corridors of the castle, stone walls cold and damp around them.

And there he was. The magician stood in front of them, visibly shaken, his robe slightly torn from his earlier displays of power. His voice trembled as he raised his hands.
“Ehm… listen, you three… I’m really good with spells, but when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, I’m not exactly built for it… so how about—for this one time—you just let me go and we call it eve—aaaaargh!”

Before he could even finish his plea, Kael had already flicked three small pellets at him. They hit his chest and shoulders with soft cracks, releasing clouds of strange-colored smoke. The magician staggered, his eyes unfocusing. His words slurred into incoherence before he collapsed onto the floor, snoring loudly.

“Confusion pellets,” Kael explained calmly, brushing off her hands. “He’ll be in a deep sleep for hours. Won’t even remember which way is up when he wakes.”

Lian nodded, still tense, but Mira whispered, her voice thin: “Good… then he can’t interfere anymore.”

The three turned together to face the enormous double door that towered at the end of the corridor. It was carved with intricate patterns, black stone streaked with red veins, and faint traces of claw marks etched into its surface. Without another word, Lian placed both hands against it and pushed. The heavy door groaned and opened slowly, spilling light into the hall.

Inside, the throne room wasn’t what they had expected. There was no grand display of jewels, no shining banners, no golden throne raised on a pedestal. Instead, the chamber was cluttered, almost messy—yet somehow functional.

To their right, several cabinets stood with their drawers yanked open, scrolls and half-rolled parchments sticking out at odd angles. Shelves were crowded with ink bottles, some tipped over, staining the stone with black blotches. A small sofa was covered in a heap of folded cloaks and travel gear, as though the king never bothered to store them away properly.

At the far end of the room, against the wall, stood a massive desk. The thing was enormous, carved from dark wood, and it was barely visible beneath the mountain of papers stacked on top of it. Some piles leaned dangerously, ready to topple at any moment. Loose sheets littered the floor around it like snow.

And at the center of this chaos sat a demon. He wasn’t lounging on a throne—he was hunched over his desk, a quill scratching furiously across paper, signing documents one after the other. Every so often he paused to jot down a note, or to reach into another drawer for more parchment. He was completely absorbed in his work, so much so that he didn’t even lift his head when the three entered.

“Who is it?” he asked flatly, his eyes still on the page before him.

The three exchanged confused glances. None of them had expected the Demon King to greet them like a distracted scribe.

Silence stretched for several seconds until Lian, squinting, caught the sharp angle of the man’s jaw, the way his dark hair fell over his brow. His breath caught.
“…Videl?” he asked quietly.

At that, the man finally froze. His quill stopped mid-line. Slowly, he lifted his head, revealing piercing eyes that studied them with recognition.
“Ah… I remember you. Yes, that’s right. I am Videl. Or at least, that’s the name you knew me by. I even gave you an important clue at the time. ‘Videl,’ after all, is an anagram of ‘Devil.’”

Lian thought bitterly, Why is everyone in this kingdom so obsessed with anagrams?

Suspicion flared in him, and he asked sharply: “Why did you come to our home? What was your purpose in meeting us back then?”

Videl leaned back slightly in his chair, expression calm, almost casual. “Surveillance. My informants told me you three were worth watching. I wanted to see if there was danger in letting you roam free. But after sizing you up… I realized you weren’t a threat. In fact, I thought I might recruit you. You would have made fine additions to my army.”

Before Lian could respond, Mira stepped forward, her voice breaking into a furious scream. “Never! I came here to avenge my mother! I would never ally myself with you!”

Videl’s gaze sharpened and fixed on her, studying her face with a piercing intensity. His expression shifted into something colder, yet tinged with recognition. “You… you are the daughter of the woman slain by one of my former generals, aren’t you?”

Mira’s lips pressed together. Her face flushed red, trembling with both rage and grief, but she gave no reply.

The Demon King sighed, setting down his quill. His voice grew heavier, more deliberate. “I am sorry for what happened. That region of ice was under General Roven’s patrol. My order was simple: turn away any intruders. But Roven believed that any witness, no matter how harmless, was a liability. He chose execution over mercy. When I learned what he had done, I was furious. I immediately dismissed him from my service.”

Mira’s eyes widened, her chest heaving.

Videl continued, “If you want vengeance, direct it at him. But even that path has been denied you. His illness took him long ago.”

Mira’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands shook. “Then… what have I been living for all this time?!” she cried out, her voice torn apart by anguish.

The chamber fell silent. Even the scratching of the quill had stopped.

Finally, Videl spoke again, his tone more measured, though not without a strange gravity. “Roven once confessed to me… that he saw a child hiding behind a tree that day. He noticed you. But he chose not to kill you. He believed you would not survive the snowstorm alone, and so, in a twisted way, he thought fate would finish his work. It sounds strange, even cruel, but perhaps—perhaps it is thanks to him that you are alive now.”

Mira’s eyes went wide. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She stood frozen, every word sinking into her like shards of ice.

The room seemed to grow heavier with the silence that followed. The piles of papers loomed over them, and the Demon King sat back, waiting, while Mira’s world crumbled and reshaped itself in front of her.