I like—no, I admire—those who think alone, lanterns in a fog. Whether their conclusions are foolish or self-claimed clever, they carry hot iron with bare hands.

If they're unwilling, they still drift with the current, following the road the crowd paints gold. I admire that courage, walking a ridge with wind in the teeth.

So you think Stini’s greatest worth is her proud heart, a wild hawk, and what you want is to make that hawk fold its wings.

If it were the me from a former life… no, not likely, but back then I’d have pinned her and ground her into dust, a storm over dry fields.

The key is, I’ve shed those indifferent loves. I’ve lost interest in Slaughter and ruin, ash and thunder spent, a blade sleeping in its scabbard.

I called the heart-glaive back to my side, its shape drawn tight like a moon’s thin edge, and let it sink back into Shadow like dusk on water.

I cut off my mana, released the Authority Domain technique “Night’s Tenfold Ban on Light,” letting it scatter like mist at dawn.

Slaughter is done; the Divine Being will treat me as a Hero summoned by Head, a chess piece moved under temple bells.

I unknotted the ribbon, tucked it into my pocket like a pressed petal, and met Head’s gaze, a sun rimmed in frost.

The light in His eyes still burned, but far dimmer than before, a star thinned by morning; even Dulan could look straight.

I’m not weak, so borrowed strength is a luxury. I want Stini to share my aim, know what I am, more than lend me her blade.

You don’t look like a lonely man craving approval, not a driftwood heart begging shores.

I’ve never clung to anything; I’ve always drifted, a leaf on slow water… how can you call that lonely?

You come from the future; how can you say you don’t cling, an anchor hidden under silk?

I’m just dissatisfied, a thorn under the tongue. I want a better future, so I came back, a tide reversing its pull.

For love?

Guess if you like, but you owe me. First: Raven doesn’t die, a candle kept from the wind.

No. Raven must die. The Divine Being answered like a blade dropped, clean and cold.

No hesitation in His voice; Head’s mercy didn’t tangle His hands, a surgeon cutting true.

We each have our plans, rivers that don’t cross. You won’t tell the Hero Squad who I am; I won’t expose your sins to the Divine Beings.

It’s always been that way. But this time you broke the truce first, a cup tipped; if Raven dies, all I did evaporates like rain on hot stone.

I can accept harsher terms. Even if you demand a kingdom and recognition by the youngest heir, I’d swallow it. But Raven must die.

That’s my bottom line, a red thread for me, not for you.

Head shook His head, a bell without sound.

It’s the same for me. You’ve seen Raven’s creations, storms grown in glass. For me they end hope and despair together, wildfire on both shores.

She’s more dangerous than the destined End Day, a harvest of knives.

So you fear Raven more than me? I couldn’t help laughing, cold as iron on teeth.

Born in the Golden Age, she’d be a Sorcerer Emperor, a crown like lightning. In the Bronze Age, she’d be canonized, a saint in hammered sun.

In the Black Iron Age, she’d guide the era, a North Star above anvil smoke. In the Age of Clay, she’d found truth itself, shaping law like wet earth.

She was born ill-timed, into the Silver Era where light and dark clash like monsoon and sand. I know; that sky has scars.

Even so, you still don’t understand? You stood at her side from the first day and won’t wake, a guardian asleep under banners.

Her gift is annihilation. If Abigail had bound her growth, she’d fight as a Hero, age, and pass like the last ember in a brazier.

But you freed her with your own hands, let a world-ending flower bloom without a fence; someday she’ll shatter the world, petals like blades.

You saw it?

I did, a horizon cracking.

Then I’ll replace Abigail and leash Raven. So you don’t kill her, a chain laid on a thunderhead.

I believe you have the heart to bind her, a wide bowl under rain; I doubt you have the strength, a rope that won’t snap.

This isn’t a talk or a tip or a jest. I’m blackmailing you, Head, a dagger laid on the table.

If you dare kill her, I’ll let Andreas descend now, a comet falling, and we’ll greet the end together, drums under black skies.

Are you sure?

Sure. I’ll use mutual ruin to threaten you only once, a match struck and swallowed.

Head fell silent for a breath, then nodded, a stone sinking in still water.

Then, as you wish. But if Raven truly uses world-ending magitek, I’ll descend and kill her with my own hands, thunder in a human palm.

Fine. That would mean I broke my word, failed to keep Raven bound, a leash slipped in rain.

Seeing us align, Head smiled and nodded, the calm face of a lake. No ripples to read.

Maybe there’s nothing there. Maybe He already saw we’d sign this shape, a script copied in starlight.

This is only the first part of compensation. To correct the skew of this event, I sold my holdings in the Demon Realm, barns emptied, and ate loss.

I want payback, coins weighed on frost.

Agreed. What do you want, a banner named?

I want to see my girlfriend, the Eternal God, Ferrel (Forever), a pearl at night.

Head looked troubled, a mask set for my benefit, yet it pleased me like incense in a cold room.

What, no? Carry my spirit to the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom—just one meeting. I can only speak, hands tied like silk.

Taking an enemy to tour the weapon that kills him—I can’t accept that, a wolf shown the snare.

But I’m still fixed on Raven. How about this—Head’s eyes flared for a heartbeat, the old greatness returning, a sun cutting skin.

By our contract, I would handle all the aftermath, steer Raven’s path back to normal, a river nudged by stone.

But your compensation is priced too high, like jade for straw. So I won’t interfere with matters tied to the Truth Seekers Assembly.

You, who can’t see the future, will work on your own and try to save Raven, hands in wet clay. I won’t guarantee she lives.

How’s that?

So it’s all on me. Like a corny hero-saves-the-beauty tale, a bridge crossed with no rail. I save Raven myself?

How is it? Does the World Saving Demon King have only that much grit, a cup half full?

…Agreed.

I thought a moment and agreed to Head’s terms, a coin flipped and caught.

Not because of His goading; I find this level of payback enough, a weight that balances scales.

I’d already called Dulan up, ready to move. If talks with Head collapsed, I’d go save Raven myself, a sprint through thorns.

Now Head promises not to block me. If I still can’t save her, I may as well stop being a Demon King, crown set down.

I lifted my gaze to Head; He still smiled, a stone well, no ripple.

When one negotiator can read the future and hearts, and the other stands on a sure ledge, there’s no victory—only a comedy of needs.

No victory. I just took what I wanted, a key pulled from wax.

Maybe you think I can see the future; that’s a shadowed misunderstanding. My Authority Domain, “Wisdom,” has nothing to do with “Time,” a lamp not a clock.

I can’t see the future directly. I only “know,” like a map of every tree; then I deduce the inevitable future from what’s known, a path traced through frost.

With the talk ended, Head spoke lightly, a flute over ash. But seeing Him use divine power to unravel the ruined village, dust to threads—

—and bury the bodies in the earth, bones planted like seeds, I thought His heart wasn’t as light as His tone, a cloud behind silk.

What’s that to me? Seeing the future versus inferring it—what’s the difference, two mirrors facing?

I want you to understand me, us—the Divine Beings—a little more, lanterns behind paper.

I’m not interested. Aside from the contract, I won’t take any word from you in idle talk; I’ll treat it as unheard, wind past reeds.

You don’t trust me at all?

Head smiled bitterly, the light in His pupils drawing in like a retreating tide; He grew serious, granite under rain.

You want a beautiful future; I want human peace to endure—two lighthouses on different cliffs. We both fight alone, sand in our shoes.

Our goals are so close, two lines nearly parallel; why can’t we cooperate, hands clasped over a river?

Because I don’t trust you, and you know I might betray. Head, we can’t cooperate.

We can only trade, careful and afraid, doubts like thorns, eyes on each other’s hands.

If we have mutual ruin to balance us, that’s a condition for trust, a gun on both tables.

But if you flip suddenly and take a small piece that isn’t worth mutual ruin, I can only swallow it, a bitter seed.

I think “balance” blocks trust, a rope that chafes until skin hardens.

I stretched, readying for a trip to the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom, a traveler tying boots before dawn.

Maybe later—soon, even—we can trust, two bridges nearing the middle. But not now; the mist is too thick.

If Ferrel returns to me, she can soften the blade between me—who stands for evil—and Head—who stands for good, a balm on iron.

For her sake, we wouldn’t betray, a promise knotted like red thread.

But now, it’s all too early, buds tight in late frost.