“Hey, you two?” Edlyn watched the girl and the boy snap at each other, sparks jumping like flint in a dark cave; she tried to step in, but her feet felt rooted in ice.
She frowned, scanning around like a hunter in fog; aside from the glow around them, the world was an ocean of ink.
“Strange place,” she thought, the words cold as dew on stone.
Endless darkness wrapped the lone island of light, like night cupping a single lantern.
In that small circle stood a triangular stone table, edges even as a drawn sigil, like an altar; two sides already held figures.
She looked up, and her expression twisted, like a ripple crossing still water.
“Isn’t this where one steps into the Sacred Rank? But…”
In the Infinite Realm, you face Ego, Id, and Superego, like three legs of a tripod; if you find your best balance, your power reshapes in kind like metal in a forge.
Endure that change, and you step through the gate to the Sacred Rank, like crossing a threshold of fire.
So why am I here? The question pressed in like a heavy curtain.
She’d thought it a false dream, their faces and moods shifting like clouds, the girl and boy changing without end.
But it kept going, and her senses rang too real, like the taste of iron on the tongue.
Panic fluttered in her chest like a trapped moth, and her hands felt useless, like empty sleeves.
The only light was the triangular stone table, a quiet beacon like a hearth in winter.
The girl slammed the table, a drumbeat under her words. “In the end, it’s because you can’t control yourself. That’s why this happened.”
Across from her, the boy’s eyes narrowed, chill like a knife’s edge; he kept his silence like a closed door.
Suddenly Edlyn could move; she drifted to the third side like a leaf finding its corner and sat, asking, “What are you arguing about?”
A girl identical to her in every way but hair color glanced over, surprise flickering like a firefly. “Ego, you finally showed up.”
“Huh?” Edlyn’s mind went blank, a page washed white.
“What do you mean ‘huh’? You’re the Ego, I’m the Superego, he’s the Id. You seriously didn’t know?” The black‑haired girl settled in, conjuring a cup of tea from bare stone like mist becoming rain, and sipped slowly.
The scene shifted like a camera panning, and as Edlyn took in the now‑filled table, understanding opened like dawn.
The Ego was a white‑haired, heterochromatic her; the half nearest the boy glowed amber, the half nearest the girl shone green, like twin gems set in one face.
The Superego was the black‑haired girl, green eyes and a soft, cute look, the soul of the Eluyalf couple’s daughter who had steered this body since birth, like a steady hand on a helm.
The Id was the white‑haired boy, amber eyes and a cold air, the past life of her—Demon King Pandora—like winter sealed in human shape.
…
“…” Eli stood over the bed, staring at the unconscious Edlyn, and words scattered like leaves in wind.
To keep his state from leaking, after he’d finished questioning Angela, he’d cast a sleep spell, coaxing the little girl down like laying a blanket of snow.
Now Eli undid the bandage and set it on the chair, his gaze resting on the small figure in silence like a stone by a river.
“Mr. Eli, why won’t you let me call a doctor?” The Ninth Prince frowned, confusion rising like steam.
Eli’s eyes flickered, a shadow crossing glass; he didn’t answer, only said, “Your Highness the Ninth Prince, go arrange the plan’s details. There’s nothing more to discuss.”
“Mr. Eli…?”
“Your Highness, I know you carry no small ambition, though your birth chains you like iron; right now, we share the same storm as ruler and minister, so you don’t need the mask.”
Eli didn’t look back, but the Ninth Prince’s face smoothed, calm as a still well; he bowed. “You are formidable, sir.”
“Please. Who brings someone they met on the road home without a safety net? Even a savior could be bait in an enemy’s play, right?” Eli’s tone was light, like a tossed pebble.
He tucked Edlyn’s quilt like a quiet wing. “So rest easy, Your Highness. I’ve said it again and again—no titles, no gold.”
“…” The Ninth Prince paused, silence hanging like a curtain.
Eli rolled his eyes, the motion quick as a flicked fan. For f—’s sake, I finally get to show off—can’t the man play along?
He waited a beat, then sighed, the sound thin as smoke. “I only need one secret.”
The Ninth Prince nodded and withdrew, footsteps fading like receding tide.
After a long while, Eli bent and brushed Edlyn’s cheek, his touch light as a feather.
His face looked bad, shadowed like stormcloud. “The demon soul… why did it erupt so fast?”
He sank into the chair, heavy as a stone; the demonic aura he’d been holding down surged from Edlyn’s body like a black tide, filling the room, and a spell array penned it in like iron walls.
Watching that domineering energy writhe like a coiled dragon, Eli murmured, “What tier of the Demon Race is this, exactly?”
