“Buckle up.” The belt should bite like a calm snake around you.

“All buckled.” The clasp clicked like a pebble tapping glass.

“Take your luggage.” Hold it like a kite string in a gust.

“Got it.” It’s already slung tight, like a swallow’s tail.

“Remember what to do after you get off the airship?”

“I do. Go home first, and wait for you!” Her voice was bright as sun on water.

I let out a breath, like steam from a kettle. Ferrel can’t grasp what evil is, and that’s fine. That doesn’t make her dumb.

I signaled to the red‑haired teen beside me, a flash like autumn maple.

“Victor, I’ll leave the rest to you. If I’m late, take Ferrel around. Anywhere that makes her smile. You know where’s in‑bounds, where’s not.”

Victor nodded, then scooped Hattie off his thigh, light as a cat.

“We’re heading out. What do we tell the boss now, Hattie?”

“Bye, Brother Andor.” Hattie grinned, waving like a windmill. Victor flicked her forehead, a quick thunderclap. “Dummy, it’s ‘boss.’”

I stopped watching that pair—father and daughter, or lovers playing at it—and slid back to my spot. I ruffled Ferrel’s hair, silver as moonlit threads, soft as spring moss.

It felt absurdly good, like warm sand between fingers.

“Eek—Andor, what are you doing?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Maybe… the face I’m wearing now is what they call a gentle smile. In front of her, my grin comes free as rain. The iron mask I wore for years drops like a shed shell. Without Ferrel, I’d think my real face was a corpse’s.

The airship sounded its wooing horn, low as a foghorn over the sea. First warning. Next one, it sails.

I should get off.

I stood, gave Ferrel’s small head a last pat, light as a moth’s wing.

“No wandering. No picking fights. If you want something, tell Victor, or tell Vega. They’ll sort it out. So—”

I poked her forehead, a comet tap that tipped her back.

“—don’t ruin good deeds with clumsy hands. Let someone with common sense handle it.”

“Got it!”

Ferrel shook a tiny fist at me, a sparrow trying to box.

I waved and headed for the gangway, wind at my back.

No aching parting, no gut‑pulled threads—just the natural tide of letting her go first.

Time—leave out the Divine Being Tim for now—time as property has always been a friend to gods and demons. It flows like a slow, loyal river.

A guard at the hatch stared, eyes round as shields.

“Sir, the ship’s about to depart. Where are you going?”

“I left my luggage at the inn. I have to grab it.”

“But sir, the ship’s leaving!”

“Then pretend I’m aboard. Don’t worry about me. I can’t lose that luggage.”

I turned my shoulder, slid into the inner corner like a shadow. The lie rolled easy as smoke. I just didn’t want Ferrel seeing it. She doesn’t even know lies exist.

I simply don’t want her seeing this part of me.

The guard sighed, a tired bellows, and lowered the chain to let me through.

“You’ll have to buy another ticket, sir.”

“Of course. Of course.”

“Airships aren’t cheap.”

“But the luggage’s worth more.”

I took off my sunglasses, the glass dark as lake ice, and stepped into the skyport. I waved goodbye to the departing airship, a gull seeing off a ship.

I couldn’t see through the windows. But Ferrel could see me. I bought her a window seat in first class, the two seats beside it as well. I wasn’t going with her, so she could lie flat if she wanted.

Though I bet halfway through she’ll hand the seats to a couple who couldn’t get adjacent spots. Or to a frazzled mother whose kid is cramped in steerage. Ferrel grants help like a wish‑machine.

I’ve done my part. The rest is hers, like wind in her own sail.

I turned toward SkywardCity. As I passed a trash can, I dropped the sunglasses in, like a dead leaf into a stream.

I put on my mask. From a corner shadow, I pulled out the small cart Vega prepped for me.

Another ringed platform outside, and beneath it, rows of bottles like a tight vineyard. The cart was a bar in miniature, crafted by the top Arcane Engineer, Maki.

What did Anna like to drink again… I chased the memory like a fish under ripples.

Ferrel’s airship slipped off not long before the next one nosed in. The drizzle of feet swelled into a river. I pushed the cart down the central avenue, and straightened my mask.

I raised my rank, like lifting a lantern above fog, and their eyes slid off me.

Mortals now needed my leave to step close. When they reached the cart, their steps parted like water around a rock, opening a circle.

Transcendents didn’t need such rules; storms recognize storms.

A girl in a beach hat paused before the cart. She pulled out a little stool, sat at the platform like a gull on a piling.

“What’ll it be, Anna… no, Miss Naiche?”

Freckles dusted her cheeks like cinnamon. They didn’t blunt her beauty. She flipped her flax hair, tugged the hat brim, and said,

“Water.”

Water? That surprised me like a cool hand on a fevered brow.

But the guest is the sky. I poured her a glass, dropped a few ice cubes that chimed like hailstones. Perfect for this blazing sun.

She downed it in one go, crunched the ice like brittle bone, even bit a chip off the rim. She chewed and swallowed, then tossed the ruined glass back.

“So? Andor, what’s the point of you jumping out now? You want to stop me from wrecking the peace summit? For that water, try to convince me. I’m listening.”

She spread her hands and blew air at me, a cat’s disdainful huff.

“Miss Naiche, you’re making this hard. I’ve planned the summit for ages. I can’t let you blow it up.”

“But you can’t stop me. You might win, but our fight will wreck this city first. You’re already losing. Once you ‘want to protect something,’ you’ve lost more than a move. You taught me that.”

The bar failed to win Anna’s favor. I shrugged, leaves in a light wind. I never meant to stop her with drinks anyway.

“So I never plan to ‘protect.’ I only offer a trade. A win‑win.”

“What’s the offer?”

“A common enemy. For mortals, for Demon Kings, for any Divine Being.”

“Oh?”

Anna tilted her head, interest sparking like a match.

“I’ll spell it out at the summit. Can you wait till then, hear me out, then decide whether to shatter it?”

Humility oils the hinges when you need a door opened.

“You don’t lose anything. You keep the initiative in your hand. I just want everyone to see we share an enemy. At least don’t force a lose‑lose board.”

The world houses many who think they’re clever. Give them a choice, and they’re less likely to torch the table. They’ll plan instead.

As I expected, Anna pretended to manicure a nail. She used a tiny sickle‑charm, Shiku, a magic blade shaped like a crescent. She guards against me like winter, yet hears no fault in my words.

“Since you put it like that… fine.”

If Anna wants to flip the table, she can at any time.

So I give her choice, slide her a few decent cards. She’ll play inside my rules, like a wolf choosing the trail. She won’t flip the table lightly.

“I’ll take you to the Council of Sages—”

“Who was that woman just now?”

The Son of the Demon King is a not‑yet‑ascended Demon King. They can sometimes peep beyond the line of sight, like owls seeing past hedges.

I wasn’t surprised. My little sister is a genius; she figured that trick ages ago.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

What surprised me was Anna’s flat tone. I thought she’d chase the first airship and cut Ferrel down like a falling star.

Anna just slumped against the counter, fog‑gray and low.

I asked her: why the change lately?

She muttered about other Demon Kings who want me dead growing more defiant. They test her, like wolves nipping the alpha.

“Mm. Have I told you ‘strength isn’t everything’?”

“You have…”

“That line came from a Divine Being who loves sleeveless hospital smocks. From a musician full of jokes. From a girl who doesn’t know what evil is. I checked it against countless suns and moons.”

“So what?”

“So it’s true. Look at me. I’m strong, right? Yet for certain goals, certain impressions, I get my face beat purple. I’m laid up months.”

I shook my head, a branch shedding rain.

“Strength has value. But beyond strength, many things still shine.”

“Ha. You’re joking. You like being seen as a perennial punching bag?”

“Don’t cut in. Listen. Here’s the thing. I do love lying—no, I love the thrill of thinking ten steps ahead and making someone step into the pit. So I lie a lot. It’s efficient, and it’s fun.”

I picked up a bottle and drank, amber falling like late light.

“But there’s a girl—the one who doesn’t know evil. I don’t like lying to her. She always believes me. No matter how crude the con, she believes again and again.”

“Maybe it isn’t her choice—she can ‘believe,’ but she can’t ‘doubt.’ Either way, it gets dull.”

Anna felt different from that old storm that only chased forward and chased power. She was thinking. Maybe she’d start to understand.

“Or you feel guilty? Like a mortal!” Anna didn’t notice her voice go up, a hawk’s cry breaking the sky. I take it back—at heart she’s unchanged. She still chases the shadow of the Shadow Demon Andor’s power.

“Think what you like. I’m saying most real problems can’t be solved by strength. In fact, no strength would be easier. Without it, you won’t reach for it first. Demon King massacres aren’t daily. Hero invasions aren’t daily. Stories compress a lifetime of legend. It looks like strength is enough.”

“It only looks that way.”

“Strength intoxicates. It’s handy. But if your first move is always ‘use strength,’ you’re poisoned. Like wine. It cures; it also kills.”

I poured the rest of the bottle in front of her, a river of gold.

Anna licked her lips, about to speak. I raised a hand, palm like a stop sign.

“Save it for the Sages. When all your convictions get refuted—or you refute all of theirs—then it’s my turn.”

She still looked ready to argue, so I moved before she could. I pulled the cart down into Shadow, and walked beside her through SkywardCity’s main street. We looked like any travelers. Like any couple in sunlight.

I was tricking Anna with words again. Everything I said is technically correct—twisted, skewed, impossible to refute. I’ve done it for a hundred years.

Talk at length about the small things. Skip the core.

I’ve met someone in a later age who lived by strength alone.

He said, “Most problems can be solved by killing. If killing can’t solve it, there isn’t any other good way.”

I won’t tell Anna that thought. It isn’t the direction I’m nudging her toward.