“Hey! I’m here to pull people out of the fire, not to fit your whims. If a bear’s got you someday, and you demand I save you without scuffing its hide, I’ll point my gun at your head first.”

Alicia let the words fly like a thrown blade, cutting the pomp from that self-important King Ulu. Heat washed through her chest like a gust over coals, sharp and clean.

Gill stood stunned, a statue in a sudden frost, his tongue tied by Alicia’s lash of anger.

In the two heartbeats while he gaped, the wooden box in his hand crumbled to dust like rotted bark. Rafi’s keening cut off, that needle-sharp wail snuffed like a candle in wind.

The sound that stabbed ears vanished, and silence settled like fresh snow. Yet Alicia felt oddly adrift in that hush, as if the world’s quiet were a room with no walls.

She shook her head, clearing the stray thought like water off a sparrow’s wings. Who’s not used to silence? Must be her mind playing tricks.

A moment later, Rafi roused like a sleeper at dawn and climbed off the ground.

She tried to brace herself with the wounded hand, but the limb buckled like wet reed. Her whole body pitched back down, a felled sapling.

Smarter now, she changed hands and pushed up. She eyed the hand that wouldn’t answer, doubt rippling over her face like a shadowed lake.

“I remember this arm wasn’t hurt that bad…”

It was a murmur like a leaf’s rustle, but Alicia’s ears caught it as if the air itself carried it. She’d seen Rafi’s lips move. Reflex pulled her attention tight as a bowstring.

Alicia knew why that hand had gone weak—because of her—and a bead of cold sweat slid like ice down her neck.

Rafi wasn’t one to fuss; the thought passed her like a gust past a stone, ignored in seconds.

“Miss Demon King,” Gill called from the edge like a crow breaking cover, “look at the board. Any angle says you’re in a bad spot. Still invading our empire?”

He leapt from watching distance to be seen, a flash of feathers in a bare sky.

Rafi hesitated, a tiny hitch like a misstep in a dance. This was messy, far off Script. Time to open Plan C, then?

Her gaze flicked toward Alicia, quick as a fish beneath water. Alicia blinked back, a firefly signal in dusk—go ahead.

She folded her arms across her chest, masking her face with a controlled blaze. The anger looked real enough, like stormlight behind clouds.

“You gutter-rat! You nicked me with tricks, and now you want me to slink away empty-handed? What’s your game? My Daemons are still here. If I order them to strike, you won’t stop the tide.”

“But… we still have this lady on our side… what’s this lady’s name?”

Alicia turned her head, shuttering him out like closing a window.

“No comment.”

“Right… fine. She won’t share her name. But with her here, you can’t—”

“I refuse.” Alicia’s words slammed like a door in a storm.

Gill seemed to have lost the skill of hearing weather in a voice. He pressed on, blind to the dark on her face.

“Why? Aren’t you human? What’s wrong with serving humanity? Or do you want to help the Daemons?”

Alicia fisted his collar and hauled him close, anger blazing bright as forge fire.

“Don’t you guilt-trip me. If you’re burning to serve humanity, go throw yourself on the line.”

Gill’s mouth snapped shut like a trap going empty. Rafi took the thread as it fell.

“I am hurt by this petty man’s attack, yes. But to truly strike your empire would take time like a long winter. So I propose we talk. Let’s try peace, once.”

Gill lit up, excitement sparking like flint.

“Good, good! No problem! We’ll send—”

“I appoint this lady as your negotiator,” Rafi cut in, crisp as a blade. “Your people can roll away. I hate your base sort.”

“But she—”

“Hmm? Any objections?”

“No… I agree.”

His show of meekness pleased Rafi like a smooth move on a chessboard. She swept open a spatial gate, a doorway rippling like water under moonlight. “This lady will return with your answer later,” she said, and took Alicia through.

The gate yawned shut with a soft whoosh. Gill’s pupils flickered like stars behind mist. He lifted the Mask of Folly from his face, and the sly King of Wisdom put on his true skin.

“I should thank this odd world,” he murmured, voice like velvet over a knife. “Red-haired Alicia, the only red head under heaven—what a rare flag to spot.”

He pulled a notebook and pen from his pockets, hands moving like spiders weaving thread, and began to write:

“1) Everything unfolded too theatrically, like staged thunder.

2) Red flag: when Alicia first met the Demon King, she called her ‘little one.’ Predicts she didn’t know her title, yet when I named her ‘Demon King,’ Alicia didn’t flinch.

3) Predicts Alicia and the Demon King share ties. At least, they aren’t enemies.

…

7) …”

“In sum: the Demon King’s intent to invade is near zero. Likelihood she’s helping someone achieve a goal: 72.43%. Likelihood that someone is Alicia: 68.52%.”

He tucked the little book away like a blade under cloth and looked up. Curiosity kindled in his eyes like lanterns in fog.

“Well, well. Child of Moser. Lord of the Mystic Realm. The only red hair in the world. Ties to Daemons and spirits. Might even link with Beastfolk and Dragonfolk in days to come… I’m more and more curious about you, Alicia. Curious enough to lay you on a table and see what you’re made of.”