Oh? Why does this place feel so changed, like a city wearing a new mask?

She walked back to the daemon city she’d broken into before, yet the streets looked reborn, like old bones wrapped in fresh skin. If not for a few landmark spires still standing like stubborn pines, Ling might not have known it at all.

So this is the city you said the Daemons live in? It looks like a slice of the Middle Ages under a cold moon.

That’s how Ling felt her first time too. These stone-and-wood facades breathe a medieval wind, the kind that sweeps you into a time of torches and iron bells.

Ling, how do we get in?

She had no grudge today, just a name to find. No reason to sneak like a shadow under rain. So she went for the front gate, like stepping through morning fog.

She lifted her hand. Tiny fists thumped the iron gate, like drumbeats on a black shield.

She did it again and again, ten times, like hail tapping a kettle.

Open the gate! If you’ve got the guts to steal a woman, then have the guts to open the gate!

Up on the wall, wind tugged at banners.

Captain, someone’s shouting down there, like a sparrow pecking steel.

One soldier heard her. In the Underworld, footsteps are rare as stars at noon, so he doubted his ears like a man doubting a dream.

You heard it too? I think I heard it, like a bell muffled by fog.

One voice can be a hallucination. Two voices cut like twin blades. They nodded, leaned out the window, and the picture stuck: an adorable little girl, lungs blazing, shouting like a firecracker under snow.

If you’ve got the guts to steal a woman, then have the guts to open the gate!

That one line snapped the soldiers back inside like turtles into shells. Cold sweat ran down their necks like icy rain.

Hey. Did you… hear that?

Yeah… I heard it, Captain. Feels like we got dragged into a war that eats men like wolves. You think we’re walking home?

…

Heh… Captain, after this shift I’m going back to my village to get married. The fields smell like rice, and she’s waiting with a lantern.

Oh? Good for you. Remember this: for yourself, for your bride back home, holding that many reasons to live means you’ve got nothing to fear. Your heart’s a drum. Let it beat.

Captain…

Their eyes softened like wet clay. Then a tiny, cutesy voice barged in like a sparrow smacking a gong.

Hey! What’re you two yammering about up here? I’ve yelled ten times and you won’t open up. You bullying me ‘cause I’m small? Bastards!

Too long without an answer, Ling had no choice. Frustration pricked like nettles, so she took the old path, sprang up, and rode the wind.

She landed on the wall. Two soldiers stood there glowing faintly purple, gossiping like moths around a lamp.

She froze for a few heartbeats, then the truth hit like a pebble in a pond—no one answered below because these two were up here cooing. Her mood soured like rainwater in a clay jar.

Hence the scene above. Maybe the threat went a little too far, like spice that overpowers the tea.

Aaaaaah! M-m-m-monster!

The Captain reacted fast, like thunder after flash. One boot sent the soldier skidding toward the stairs.

Little brother! Run!

Captain… no… don’t! Ah—

Why is your voice trembling, soldier? Stand like a pine in winter!

B-because, because—!

I am—pause like a drum—Captain of the Daemon Corps, Daemonkin Izka. Protecting my men is the oath carved in my bones.

But—!

Enough. Run. Your family and your bride… they’re waiting with warm bowls and open doors.

The soldier blinked, then tears spilled like rain off a roof. He turned and ran.

The Captain watched his back fade down the stairwell, memory rising like smoke. He closed his eyes and waited for death like a man waiting for midnight.

Don’t stop… little brother.

Ling saw the whole play, and her mouth stayed shut. Too many things to mock, like fish flashing in a river; too many to choose from, so she chose none.

Better than snark was action. Before trouble drifted in like fog, she should haul this Daemonkin back on his feet. Otherwise the air smelled like coming mess.

Uh… Mr. Daemon—sir—

A third voice crossed the stage like a cloud sliding over the moon.

Yo, Ling-chan. Rare to see you. First thing you do is set your sights on our Daemon Corps Captain?

Heh. The voice alone gave him away. Rafi. But why here? If her timing’s right, Rafi should already be the Demon King, a crown like a black flame. Why wander? Is the Demon King sitting on a cushy post?

The next heartbeat brought clarity, carried by a young man sprinting like a deer through brush.

Captain! Don’t die! I brought the Demon King, and I grabbed a Flower of Hope on the way. Eat it, and you’ll live!

He jammed the Flower of Hope into Izka’s mouth. A strange blessing swept through like spring wind, and the Captain rose from the stone like grass after rain.

Huh? I’m alive! I’m alive! Soldier, I’m alive!

Yeah! You are! Captain, you’re good for another 1,919 days!

The two clutched each other, joy bubbling like hot soup in winter.

Ling said nothing. Her face set, flat with resolve, like a blade laid on a table.

She knew words would only invite trouble, like bees to spilled sugar. So she slipped out the window, dropped, and landed beside Alicia like a cat.

Ling, handled?

Alicia looked surprised at how quickly she returned, brows lifting like feathers.

Ling didn’t answer. She walked to the gate, lifted one leg, and kicked. The iron moaned like an old bull and swung open, no resistance at all.

Ling took Alicia’s hand. They followed the stairs like a braided path, climbed to the room where the soldiers had stood, and met Rafi again. Ling’s mouth curved with a smile like a painted fan, but shadow pooled in her eyes like stormwater.

Oh my, what a coincidence, Ms. Rafi. My sister and I were just strolling like two reeds by a river. Meeting you here feels like fate playing its strings.

Second encounter, played like the first. Rafi smiled, helpless, not sure whether to curse under her breath or call it Act 3 and bow.