Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

— Captain… Ah, Countess. — Dargan quickly corrected himself as he approached the young woman with hair as white as snow, a stark contrast to his own dark locks. — We've got a bit of a problem here… Can you help?

The tall knight looked genuinely pleading. His eyes shone through his long bangs, and in his hands, he clutched a uniform that bore a jagged, clearly inconvenient tear from a sword. The fabric was barely holding together—one wrong move, and it would come apart completely.

With a heavy sigh, Deona Hart—the esteemed Countess—took the uniform from his hands, examined the damage, and, without rising from the couch, instructed one of the maids to bring her a sewing kit.

Knights often came to her with such requests. This habit seemed to have started back during the war when the army lacked even the most basic resources. One of the soldiers—more than once, in fact!—had managed to rip his pants, but no one cared about such a trivial matter. You either sewed them up yourself or walked around in rags.

Since Deona had a useful skill, she simply took on the task, explaining that she had taken home economics courses in her youth. Naturally, everyone believed her because of her noble status.

However, in reality, this was a skill acquired in her first life.

Kim Rok Soo—a regular boy with no money, no support, no family. The orphanage he ended up in was in a dire financial state, barely staying afloat. Those deemed promising and obedient might receive a single set of clothes for a year, while the rest had to fend for themselves.

He was lucky—a kind caretaker, who didn’t stay long at the orphanage, left behind a few belongings, and Kim Rok Soo managed to snatch some sewing supplies. That’s when he began learning on his own—through pain and countless mistakes. Needles pierced his fingers countless times, threads snapped, but in the end, he learned.

This skill not only allowed him to patch up his own clothes but also helped him earn a little money. He was no great tailor, but even this kind of work was enough to keep him from starving.

Over time, the skill proved useful in his adult life as well. How many times had he stitched up Jung Soo’s uniform while the guy loudly complained in his ear? Probably no less than a hundred.

Later, it even saved lives. On raids, when monsters tore people apart, someone had to stitch up their wounds quickly to stop them from bleeding out. He didn’t have much medical knowledge, but if a surgical needle and thread were on hand… Well, the outcome of his actions was clear.

Deona could work without specialized tools. Tweezers? The risk of infection? Well… That was for the medics to worry about. If someone couldn't be saved from blood loss, then no amount of sterility would help.

She mechanically moved the needle through the fabric, mending the tear, while her thoughts drifted to the past.

If we talk about Earth One… How was Kim Rok Soo? How was Jur? Were they safe? Had an unranked monster attacked them?

But no. She cut off those thoughts just as she snipped off the excess thread. The scissors were placed on the coffee table, while the brunette beside her openly stared at her work. Behind him, several others stood, holding torn fabric in their hands without a hint of remorse.

On the contrary, some of them were grinning from ear to ear, as if they had done it on purpose. However, with her head lowered, the young woman couldn’t see their expressions, too focused on the needle and lost in thought.

That life was long gone. There was nothing left for her in that past reality. (For those who didn’t understand, this refers to the main fanfic. There, you can find out what happened.)

Right now, she was Deona Hart. And her main task was to sew this damn uniform!

°°°

— The Honorary Countess must be into women. — With this statement, Princess Allethia shattered the morning peace of the garden.

— Kha…! — Elphidius nearly choked on his tea, coughing as he grabbed a napkin to save his clothes from stray drops. — W-what?

— Oh, think about it. — Allethia crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair. — Wherever she goes, she’s always surrounded by men. Handsome, strong, noble men… Yet she doesn’t spare them a single glance!

— But, Allethia…

— Your plan was doomed from the start! — She abruptly leaned forward, locking eyes with her brother as if she had uncovered a grand secret. Elphidius hastily leaned back, still coughing, unable to remind her that the plan had originally been her idea, not his. — I should be the one to conquer her heart!

— I think you’re mistaken… — He muttered, attempting to reason with his sister.

— No, it’s the truth! Just use your brain for a moment! — The princess smirked. — No matter how many young aristocrats proposed to her, no matter how many suitors circled around her at balls… — She made a dramatic pause, then pointed a finger at the air in front of him. — The Countess remained unshaken!

— Well… — Elphidius furrowed his brows, recalling the countless times he had tried to gain Deona’s attention. — Maybe…?

How many hours had he spent rehearsing confessions in front of a mirror? How many letters had he sent, carefully choosing every word? How many times had his efforts shattered against her cold yet polite indifference?

Every conversation with the Countess turned into a formal, businesslike exchange instead of the lighthearted flirtation he had hoped for. Every response she sent was brief, to the point, and nothing like what he had longed for. The flowers he sent bore no fruit, his compliments fell into the void.

Or so he thought.

How could he have known that her brother burned his letters? That the knights surrounding the young Countess trampled his flowers before they could ever reach her? That her replies were penned not by her, but by her butler?

How could he have realized that Deona, the most breathtaking lady in the empire, had never once experienced genuine flirtation… and simply failed to recognize his blatant advances?

He wasn’t ready to know this yet. Let him remain in the dark for now, just like all the other suitors. Perhaps being born a prince had been his salvation—because if he had been anyone else, his corpse would have been found after the very first letter, and the culprit would remain forever unknown.

What if Allethia was right?

He set his cup down, glancing at his sister, waiting for her to unveil her latest plan to claim the Countess’s heart and hand.

°°°

— This… — Cruel paused at the doorway, his gaze involuntarily lingering on the flowers in the princess’s hands. He had come to visit his younger sister, hoping for a conversation, but it seemed he wasn’t the only one who had chosen this time for a visit.

— Greetings, Sir Cruel. — Allatei greeted him cheerfully, scanning the reception hall until her golden pupils locked onto her true target.

The servants opened the doors, allowing the mistress of the estate to enter. She stepped inside with the grace befitting a royal ball. A noble lady and the Empire’s Third Hero—Deona Hart.

Her unusually colored hair cascaded freely down her back, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. A pale hand elegantly swept the strands aside, revealing her deep crimson eyes, as mesmerizing as ever. At first glance, her outfit seemed simple, yet it fit her as though crafted for the finest runway.

A loose blouse, cinched at the waist with a light corset, accentuated her slender figure without restricting her movements. Dark trousers, tailored in an unusual fashion, added to the elegance of her silhouette.

— You’re here! — The princess exclaimed excitedly, springing to her feet. She immediately held out the bouquet to Deona.

Scarlet and snow-white lilies complemented the Countess’s image perfectly—graceful, untouchable, enchanting. These flowers symbolized purity, elegance, beauty, and luxury. A fitting tribute to such a magnificent lady.

In Allatei’s opinion, she understood flowers far better than her brother. However, there was one thing she had overlooked.

Lilies carried another meaning.

In ancient Egyptian culture—something Deona was well familiar with from her previous world—they were linked to death. Fragile, cold-looking blossoms that withered quickly, associated with untimely demise.

Death. What a curious coincidence.

— It has been a while, Countess. — The blonde spoke with a smile, while Deona accepted the flowers without a change in expression. — I stopped by to bring you this bouquet. They were grown and gathered especially for today.

— And what occasion warrants such a gesture, Your Highness? — Deona arched a delicate brow, not particularly eager to dwell on the deathly symbolism.

— A gesture of congratulations, of course! You won the hunting tournament and claimed first place! — And now, onto the real topic, the princess thought as she carefully transitioned to the true reason she had spent hours pestering the best florist in the capital. — Since you have risen to an even higher status… — She continued, doing her best to appear casual. — I would love to hear your opinion on an important political matter.

— Ah… — Snapping back to the present, Deona immediately recognized the scene she had stumbled into. So my gender swap is actually affecting the plot? — And what exactly would that be? — Already knowing what was coming, the albino mentally started counting down.

Three.

Two.

One.

— What if same-sex marriage were legalized?

Den, standing nearby, and the princess’s personal knight both stared at her as if she had uttered something otherworldly.

"As expected." Deona let out a small sigh.

Sitting beside his sister, Cruel remained expressionless, though the fact that he had completely frozen spoke volumes. The news had made him forget entirely about his original reason for coming—the matter of the Demon Realm.

°°°

What Happened Earlier in the Demon Realm.

— I would like to… — A letter fell onto the desk, a short resignation statement written on it in hopes of being approved and signed. — Submit my resignation.

The girl who said this fell silent, watching the reaction of the man whose desk had just been given this piece of paper. He sat there, staring blankly at the writing before a surge of magic began to radiate from his body.

— …What did you say? — The force of the released magic sent all the documents flying, creating a small mess. — How dare you… try to leave me..?

The dark-haired man lunged toward the girl, dropping to the floor before her and wrapping his arms around her legs. Suddenly, the oppressive pressure in the room vanished, followed by the man’s frantic outburst.

— No! Never! I won’t let you go! — The Demon King, now humiliatingly clutching the albino’s knees, lifted his head and started rambling. — You’re not serious, right?! Why would you do this all of a sudden?

It couldn’t be…

His strongest card, his literal joker! The one who possessed undeniable strength unrelated to demon magic. A power that could not be attained even through sheer effort…

Her intellect surpassed that of many advisors and strategists. Even the aura she exuded…

She was his greatest ally, the first person in centuries who truly intrigued him.

So who had the audacity to approach her?! Which fool decided to test their luck?!

Could it be that she was discriminated against while he wasn’t around? Or had she grown tired of his presence and decided to leave him? Was she abandoning him?!

— My subordinates have done nothing wrong. — Before the Demon King could say anything else, Deona preemptively answered the unspoken question. — And I am treated well.

— Then what..? — Cavert couldn’t grasp her thoughts. The albino’s face was always unreadable, betraying not a hint of the emotions she truly felt. Many theories swirled in his mind, but her next action only deepened his confusion.

— It’s… — Deona hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. But seeing Cavert staring at her, tense, bracing for whatever fate had in store, she sighed.

Her gaze dropped. A dull twist of hunger coiled in her stomach.

Obzhor had warned her to eat before coming. She should’ve listened. She should’ve eaten after that recent expedition, where she had drawn upon ancient forces.

And on top of that, with these past few days…

Ugh… Again.

— Hurts… — As if on cue, she absently ran a hand over her lower abdomen, trying to soothe the discomfort.

Something clicked in Cavert’s mind at that moment.

His eyes widened, and the remaining magic lingering in the air suddenly dissipated, replaced by an entirely different emotion.

— You… — His voice wavered. At the thought of it… everything suddenly made sense.

Of course.

She wouldn’t just decide to leave for no reason. She wasn’t the type to abandon what she started.

And if that was the case… it meant she had a reason. A very important reason.

He shot up to his feet so fast that his chair crashed to the ground with a loud bang.

— Why didn’t you tell me sooner?! — His face was a mixture of shock, excitement, and a strange blend of fear and fury.

— What are you—… — Deona frowned as he cut her off before she could explain her actual reason for resigning.

— Is this why you want to leave?! — Cavert pressed on, barely listening to her. — I… I told you that you could rely on me! Do I look like someone who would abandon you in a moment like this?! I-I’ll handle everything! Just tell me what you need!

He was so serious, so earnest, that she didn’t immediately grasp what he was getting at.

— I… just need some rest? — She said, frowning uncertainly.

— Rest? Yes, that makes perfect sense! — Cavert nodded as if confirming something to himself. — We need to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible. I’ll order the best accommodations immediately!

Before she could even blink, he was already calculating something in his mind, coming up with plans on the spot.

— I’ll gather the best healers! Though… demons don’t know much about this, but still… — He tapped his lips thoughtfully. — I need to find out what kind of complications might arise.

— Complications? — She echoed, still not understanding where this was going.

— And of course, I need to inform the corps commanders! No, wait, I should keep it secret! At least for now… It’s too early!

— Keep what secret..?

But Cavert was already too deep in his thoughts. He was practically glowing with the realization of something incredibly important to him.

— This is the first case in all of history! The first known occurrence of— (Bro thinks Deona is pregnant with a half-blood. But is she really?) — He abruptly stopped himself, shaking his head. — Doesn’t matter! This isn’t even up for discussion!

— Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. — He turned back to Deona, his face filled with a mix of excitement and determination.

— …Alright? — Deona blinked in confusion but, deciding now wasn’t the time to dig into details, simply nodded.

Cavert nodded back, already lost in feverish planning.

Meanwhile, Deona quietly left his office, unaware that their conversation had just shifted into an entirely different realm of understanding.

Well, not that she cared much.

The important thing was that she was finally getting some rest for once.

A lazy life, here she comes!

°°°

That evening, a meeting was held, but Deona was not invited, with the excuse that she needed rest. She didn’t mind, and no one was going to drag her out of her room. Perfect!

At the same time, the division commanders were displeased with the sudden gathering. Things had been improving ever since Deona's arrival, so why were they summoned here?

The Demon King sat at the head of the table, looking both anxious and unusually composed. That alone was a troubling sign. Cavert rarely showed such seriousness unless it involved wars or Heroes.

"I'm glad you all made it, though some couldn't attend for certain reasons..." His gaze drifted toward the empty seats of the second, sixth, and eleventh division commanders. "Let's not beat around the bush. I've gathered you here to discuss something extremely important."

"Did something happen?" Jaykar was the first to speak, studying the Demon King intently. The others exchanged glances, waiting for an answer.

"No, no, everything is fine! Even better than you think!" Cavert grinned, but his expression betrayed the struggle to contain his emotions.

"Then why are we here?" Asild grumbled, crossing his arms. He could have been training instead of sitting here, waiting for who knows what. He had planned to spar with the strongest warrior in the Demon Realm today!

"Oh, it's very important." The Demon King stood up, looking at them with an unusual excitement. "Deona..."

The commanders tensed.

"What about the commander of the Zero Squad?" Edellia asked cautiously, idly twirling her fan.

"She’s resting," Cavert nodded, as if convincing himself that everything was going as planned. "And she should be resting!"

"Logical," Oell murmured but then added, "Although that’s strange. Deona didn’t look tired."

"Exactly!" Ririnel suddenly exclaimed, clenching her fists. "She’s our strongest ally! Why isn’t she here?"

"Because she needs rest," Cavert said firmly, his own hands clenching into fists.

"Is she injured?" Jaykar frowned.

"No."

"Was she attacked?"

"No."

"Then what?!" Asild snapped, losing patience with the King's cryptic answers.

"She..." Cavert took a deep breath and finally said it. "She's pregnant."

.

.

.

Dead silence.

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Someone choked on nothing. Someone dropped a Rubik’s cube they had planned to gift the supposed birthday girl of this gathering—who, of course, wasn’t here.

"HOW?!" Ririnel shot to her feet, her eyes burning with the excitement of a fangirl seeing her idol on stage.

"W-what…?" Edellia snapped her fan shut, her lips trembling for all to see—but no one was paying attention.

"Oh, demons…" Jaykar covered his face with his hands.

"Deona is pregnant?!" Asild repeated dumbly, staring at the Demon King.

"Yes," Cavert confirmed proudly.

"How does she have a child?" Oell blurted out before Dernivan, her second-in-command, swiftly clamped a hand over her mouth, preventing the others from hearing.

Chaos erupted in the hall.

"But that’s not—"

"How is this possible?!"

"W-who then…?"

"Who dared?!"

"What a bizarre turn of events..."

"I need to see her!" Ririnel made a move to rush out, but Cavert stopped her with a gesture.

"No. No disturbances. She must rest."

"But—"

"No buts! This is the first case of its kind! No one is to disturb her."

"We need to conduct research!"

"Oh, the Tree... Does this mean… Another problem?"

"Deona… a mother?.."

"WHO IS THE FATHER?!"

The question seemed to snap everyone out of their initial shock, and the room fell silent once more.

"Uh…" Cavert, too, was momentarily stunned, only now realizing that, for humans, conception usually required a second parent.

Though he had never been particularly interested in such matters, he at least understood the basics of human biology.

"You don’t mean to say…" Jaykar gave him a sharp look. The others followed suit, all eyes now fixed on the brunette.

"You?!" Ririnel’s eyes widened in realization.

"What?!" Edellia covered her mouth with her hand.

"Oh my." The fifth division commander also voiced her shock, though not as loudly as the others.

"Wait!" Cavert tried to intervene, but no one was listening. The room descended into panic once more.

"So this means—"

"They—"

"They were together?!"

"I'm not ready for this revelation!"

"Wait, is this why you’re so close?! Are you really that close, Your Majesty?!"

"I'm in shock."

Meanwhile, Deona peacefully slept in her chambers, completely unaware that utter chaos was unfolding in the palace. As always, she had stirred up trouble and then dozed off, leaving others to deal with the consequences.

Chapter Text

To Covert’s great relief, he managed to rein in the division commanders and convince them of his lack of involvement in the albino’s situation. It was a long process—nearly every demon refused to believe him until the very end! But he succeeded before the girl woke up, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief.

Now, he stood in front of the commander of the Zero Corps’ chambers. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the wooden door with his knuckles, even though he knew perfectly well that she was asleep. Unsurprisingly, there was no response, so the brunette opened the door without hesitation and stepped inside, carefully closing it behind him.

The main culprit of the recent chaos was still lying in bed. But as if sensing his presence, she woke up instantly, her sharp and deadly eyes snapping open.

"Did you sleep well?" Covert asked with a smile, squinting slightly.

The albino mumbled something incoherent in response, showing little interest in his presence. She only frowned irritably—her sixteen-hour sleep had been interrupted yet again.

"Great. I think you should eat first. From what I heard, you haven’t had anything since the expedition."

With a clap of his palm, demon-servants entered the room, carrying a tray of food. They placed it on a special table that sat steadily on the bed, preventing the food from falling.

A delicious aroma of seared meat coated in fragrant sauce filled the air. Beside it stood a glass of dark ruby-colored liquid.

Was this bastard testing her again? He knew she didn’t drink wine, no matter how much she wished she could. Her body was far too sensitive to alcohol, yet the finest wines produced in the Demon Realm always tempted with their taste and scent.

Or was he just messing with her?

Ignoring his smirk, she picked up her utensils and started on the main dish. But within seconds, alongside the perfectly seared steak’s scent, her keen senses detected something odd.

An unnatural sweetness.

She frowned, glanced at the glass, then at Covert, but still took a sip.

It was juice.

So… not alcohol?

She shot the brunette a strange look but continued eating, habitually ignoring his presence. In response, her companion made a mock-hurt expression.

No matter what she said, these people had feelings too.

Of course, she had always known that—even in her second life—but seeing this uncharacteristic, if subtle, behavior gave her mixed feelings.

On one hand, it showed how much she influenced others. On the other, it revealed their attachment to her, making her feel like she was ruining them with her mere existence.

Because of Cale’s interference—who, despite not knowing the full story, had read this manga—many events had changed. The biggest shift was in how other characters viewed her.

The first to note was the Demon King, Covert. In the novel, his connection with the original Deona was more of a formality—a boss and subordinate dynamic, with only superficial displays of the demon’s carelessness toward the protagonist. However, after her appearance, their interactions took on an entirely different tone.

Perhaps it was because of their first encounter. Instead of brute force, she had used ancient powers, which had clearly piqued his interest.

Regardless, she had managed to carve out the same position as the other two main characters, elevating herself from a mere pawn to a third player. That alone had drawn the Demon King’s attention.

Then there was the Emperor. Perhaps the change lay in the deal Deona had made with him within the first month after the war. Talking to him had become easier. Though… even before, she had barged into his palace without hesitation, plopped onto a plush couch, and immediately fallen asleep. At least back then, he would grumble. Now, he endured it silently.

Oh, and let’s not forget—the former duke had gone bankrupt under rather… mysterious circumstances. No one ever figured out who had been so cruel to the poor eggplant.

Ahem, but let’s not point fingers at an innocent white-haired girl whose expenses had suspiciously increased. Nor at her spatial pouch, which suddenly overflowed with gold coins, artifacts, and potions that bore a striking resemblance to the unfortunate duke’s possessions.

No matter how hard he tried to accuse her, the Emperor remained firm in his stance, siding with Deona—though, of course, solely because of their contract.

The next person whose personality had deviated from the original was her brother. He had softened and now clung to her at every opportunity, following her around like a lost puppy. He always found an excuse to visit, only to end up staying for several days. His behavior was so reminiscent of Choi Han that she couldn’t help but see him as her loyal knight from her past life.

Speaking of which…

All this time—all these six years since she had been reborn in this body—the God of Death had never once contacted her. Not a word, not a whisper. He didn’t even appear in her dreams, despite his usual habit of pestering her with his whining and endless troubles.

At least she had managed to reclaim the voices of the ancient powers, which now kept her from falling into the Recording state as often.

Still. She needed answers. Why was she here? Why couldn’t they just let her die there, with her family? They were all gone now. Damn White Star. Damn Hunters!

Her team, her family, had been killed by them. First, her youngest son, Raon Miru, whose death she had never been able to confirm. But she knew. She knew it was the work of that rotten radish.

That bastard had forced her to swallow the heart of a dragon. Her dragon. Her child. And then…

Panic started to press down on her. Through the white noise, she could faintly hear the voices of Super Rock and the other Ancient Powers, shouting something into her mind.

Trying to focus on something, Deona’s gaze instinctively landed on the plate before her—a beef steak, her favorite dish. At least, it had been until a certain moment. (After White Star had fed her a dragon’s heart, she sometimes couldn’t stand meat.)

Her stomach twisted. Nausea rose in her throat, followed by an urge to vomit.

Pushing the tray away, Deona abruptly climbed out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. The door slammed shut, muffling her footsteps. She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, gripping its edges tightly, and emptied everything she had managed to eat—along with stomach acid.

The servants standing in the shadows of the room exchanged surprised glances but didn’t make a fuss, despite the worry in their eyes. As if they already knew why their commander had suddenly fallen ill.

Kavert frowned and immediately ordered someone to summon Ben, the girl’s personal physician, whom he had appointed himself.

Once her stomach was empty, Deona struggled to her feet, rinsed her mouth, and straightened up to meet her own reflection in the mirror. Pale skin, tired eyes, damp strands of hair sticking to her temples.

Hah, how long had it been since she’d last seen herself looking this desperate?

“Go back to bed,” Ben said, his voice laced with concern and exhaustion as she finally stepped out of the bathroom.

She clicked her tongue but complied. The doctor conducted a thorough examination, carefully assessing her condition. When he was done, he nodded to himself, as if confirming something, and jotted down his findings in a notebook with a peculiar cover and the words… Female Physiology?

"Everything is fine. There’s no cause for concern," Ben announced, closing the book and stepping away from her bedside toward the Demon King.

In the minds of the demons present, only one possible explanation for the morning sickness circled, but none dared to voice it aloud—especially under the girl’s sharp, menacing gaze. Though that anger wasn’t directed at them. Her fury was reserved solely for one reincarnator.

“I’ll have them bring you something lighter to eat,” Kavert said after a brief exchange with the doctor. His voice pulled Deona back to reality, though it didn’t fully erase the memories. “By the way… you don’t happen to have any… unusual cravings? Maybe a sudden desire to try something strange?”

She shook her head silently, not paying much attention to the Demon King’s words, simply answering as it was. Kavert and the other demons eventually left her chambers, but she wasn’t given much time to relax.

New faces soon appeared in the doorway. Nearly all the corps commanders crowded at the entrance, making it clear they weren’t leaving anytime soon. Deona sighed heavily and reluctantly let them in.

"Aigoo, will they ever leave me alone?" she thought. But despite her inner grumbling, her face remained cold and expressionless, showing not even a hint of irritation.

Still, her mood was thoroughly ruined. It was evident in her aura—so drained, so tense, revealing her emotions far more than her face ever did.

And that only strengthened the commanders’ suspicions. Everything looked far too similar to the symptoms of… well, that.

Before coming, they had carefully studied all the possible signs to avoid making any mistakes. And now, looking at the Zero Corps Commander, their wariness only grew.

Because who knew what the strongest girl among them would be capable of if her mood suddenly took a turn for the worse?

°°°

Surprisingly, the walking pile of muscles named Asild didn’t challenge her to a sparring match even once. Though judging by his expression, he was barely holding himself back from blurting something out.

Under the pretext that fresh air was necessary for her proper development, Deona was sent to the garden. For what kind of development, she had no idea. And in her opinion, this wasn’t exactly the best place to relax.

Like the original Deon, she wasn’t eager to deal with the local demonic plants. According to the revered novel, these plants didn’t just grow—they moved. Some even had jaws capable of devouring an unfortunate soul who wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. The thought of spending time among such creatures didn’t bring her any joy.

But to her surprise, the plants behaved differently. It was as if they sensed her reluctance to approach and made way for her, bending aside as though clearing a path. Just like the demonic monsters—they simply obeyed her.

Demonic monsters—whether Orvi or Gnomes, whose brains worked like those of wild animals—were "defective products" created by the Demon King for submission. But, as their name implied, they were flawed, broken, and unpredictable.

She had first discovered this ancient power buff during one of her expeditions. Since then, monsters had ceased to be a problem for the Demon Realm.

Using this power in the Human World would raise too many questions. That’s why it remained one of the abilities of "Demons of Arut," the commander of the Zero Corps—her identity among demons.

It seemed the same applied to plants, which was a clear advantage for her future life as a slacker.

Deona walked slowly through the garden, allowing herself to relax for a moment. The fresh air and the scent of the plants—even demonic ones—helped clear her mind. The tall tree branches swayed in the wind, casting shifting shadows on the dark stone pathways. Strange eyes occasionally flickered among the foliage, but none of the creatures dared to attack or even come close.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the quiet sound of water, meaning there was a fountain nearby.

The garden turned out to be much larger than she had expected. It had numerous paths leading in different directions and even benches for short rests. Their familiar shape strongly reminded her of her first world.

She approached one of them and sat down. Her body was still exhausted, but she felt a little lighter. Much lighter than an hour ago.

— "I suppose it's not so bad after all." — Deona thought, deciding to close her eyes for a moment, only to instantly drift off under the peaceful sounds of rustling leaves and trickling water.

°°°

— My child…

That was the last voice Deona wanted to hear.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in a painfully familiar office—the personal domain of the God of Death. He was sitting in his chair, watching her with a hint of tension. His fingers tapped the armrest in a nervous rhythm.

— I am not your child.

Deona snapped back out of habit but quickly took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.

No matter how much anger she held, he was the only familiar being in this new life. The only one she still had any connection with. And though her voice dripped with irritation, there was a barely noticeable flicker of attachment in her eyes.

But that wouldn't spare the God from the upcoming scolding.

— You have one minute, she warned, raising a finger. Explain why I’m here.

— I-it’s my fault, I admit! Death jumped up from his seat, a cup of sweet tea and some cookies appearing in the air. Let’s talk, Cale... Deona... I’ll explain everything.

She scoffed but still sat down on the couch, which, to her surprise, was much softer than the Emperor’s. Taking a cookie, she slowly took a bite, watching the God of Death sit across from her, forcing a strained smile in his human form. Silvery hair—almost like hers—black eyes, and brownish skin. (The author isn’t sure if this is what the God of Death really looks like.)

— I suppose I should start with why you ended up in a new world.

It was a delicate subject for the albino, but the God of Death was trying his best to minimize the chances of her lashing out.

— You see… You were on the verge of death, and… I didn’t want to lose you, my child. Your plate nearly shattered…

He kept muttering under his breath, clearly struggling to find the right words. But remembering the time limit, he quickly got to the point.

— I had no choice but to make a deal with the most compatible soul. Haah…

Sighing—exhaling, even though a god didn’t need to breathe—the black-eyed man looked away.

— I found one candidate, and as you’ve probably figured out… you ended up in her body.

At that moment, Deona felt anger bubbling inside her. But before she could say a word, the God suddenly raised a hand.

— But!

He exclaimed hastily, clearly preparing to appease her with something.

— I have an offer for you.

He paused, as if bracing himself.

— I can bring your youngest son back to life.

The words came before she even had time to frown. Her heart clenched in pain, and that damn nausea rose to her throat again.

— Raon…?

Her voice broke, but she immediately pulled herself together.

— Yes. The God nodded. I can’t send him the same way I did with Lee Soo Hyuk… but there is one option.

Deona tensed, a chill running down her spine.

— And what is it?

She asked, not taking her eyes off him. Something told her that whatever came next would give her a headache. But if there was even the slightest chance to see Raon again…

— Only him? What about On and Hong?

— They must go through the cycle of reincarnation.

The man shook his head with a regretful look, while Deona bit her lip hard.

— I don’t have the power to transfer them all. Besides, Raon’s arrival will be… quite unusual.

— What are you implying?

She asked impatiently.

— Uh… here’s the catch.

Oh, she really didn’t like the sound of that. Was there some kind of obstacle?

— I managed to catch his soul, but in that world, there is no suitable body for such a powerful dragon…

The God sighed, clasping his fingers together.

— His life energy will fade if he continues to remain here, outside of space…

— Get to the point.

Her voice turned sharper, almost threatening.

— You said you could send him there. So say how, instead of playing games with me.

— He needs to be properly born.

Oh.

The God thought it would be harder to say out loud, but the consequences…

— What did you just say?

The albino swore her right eye twitched.

— Wait, you’re serious?!

— Please, Deona. If this continues, his soul will scatter.

— I…

An absurd request. Completely insane.

— Damn it. Fine.

But even after all of this, she couldn’t say no. Not because she pitied the God—he could go to hell for all she cared.

She just couldn’t lose Raon.

Her little dragon.

Raon Miru. A curious and intelligent six-year-old dragon who never got to see the world, never experienced the beauty of the continent, never fulfilled his dream of traveling with his family and discovering the unknown.

The God of Death smiled more sincerely now.

That was the last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her whole.

°°°

Covert did not find Deona in her chambers.

He had wanted to personally bring her a tray of casseroles and fruit, so he could speak with her about… what had happened. He was eager to know when and how she had managed to conceive a child. It was hard to believe, but the symptoms, as well as the girl's body language, suggested otherwise.

Yet, upon examination, Ben had barely sensed a fluctuation of a soul within the commander of the Zero Corps. That was suspicious. She couldn't have lied… could she?

Wanting to verify and interrogate her at the same time, he set out to find her.

The training grounds were empty, as was the main hall. Along the way, he ran into Ed, who pointed him in the right direction. The garden.

And there, among the shade of sprawling trees, Covert saw her.

Her pale head stood out against the dark foliage. She was dozing on a bench, basking in the gentle light of the three moons.

A light breeze carefully played with her hair, unwilling to disturb the only human in the Demon Realm.

Stepping closer, Covert froze for a few moments, unintentionally captivated by the sight of the Zero Corps commander. She looked… different.

Usually, her face was cold and serious, as if carved from marble. But now… now it was unusually serene.

Steady breathing, relaxed features, a faint hint of a blush on her cheeks. No frown, no nightmares tormenting her like they had for months.

He had never seen her like this. And the sight unknowingly drew him in, making him linger for a few moments longer, simply gazing at her tranquil expression.

His eyes drifted downward. Just below the sharp lines of her collarbones was a small mark—his mark. A tracking sigil left by the Demon King.

Deona had not objected to the tracking magic. In fact, she had readily accepted it, even if she tried to mask it with a façade of displeasure.

(For Deona, who knew certain future events, this worked in her favor. A sly smile played on her lips.)

Then, Covert's amber eyes lingered lower—on her stomach.

Still flat for now.

According to the books brought by the demons, it would start rounding soon. But when exactly? In a few months? Or sooner? Was she in her second month? Or already in her third? Fourth?..

There were so many questions.

Once again, his gaze rested on her stomach, unwilling to look away. Reaching out, he carefully placed a hand over the fabric of her clothes, barely touching the skin. A faint pulse of magic—just a fraction, to avoid harming the child.

And suddenly, before his eyes, an astonishing sight unfolded.

A soul. It was strong. Too strong for an ordinary human. And it continued to grow at an incredible pace, as if the power he sensed was merely the beginning.

"How interesting." The words slipped from his lips on their own, a faint smirk tugging at his face.

Feeling the girl begin to wake up, he removed his hand but did not pull away, deliberately remaining above her to see her reaction.

— Your Majesty. — Deona spoke calmly as soon as she opened her eyes.

— Ah, you're awake. — He replied just as casually, as if nothing had happened, moving the tray closer. — Sleeping on such a hard bench is bad for your back and neck, Aruta.

Deona sat up more comfortably, picked up one of the fruits, and took a bite. Cavert watched in silence, still smiling, but the girl successfully ignored him—until a certain moment.

— So. — He crossed his arms over his chest. — Don’t you want to answer a few questions?

— Answer what? — She paused mid-bite, lifting an indifferent gaze to him.

— Don’t play dumb, Aruta. — The demon leaned in slightly, narrowing his eyes. — I can feel that soul. An unnaturally strong soul. How in the world, oh Tree, did you manage to conceive a child?

Had he already discovered Raon? The thought crossed her mind as she tensed ever so slightly. She needed to minimize this conversation and, if possible, slip away.

— Oh. — Deona chewed slowly and pretended to think. — I didn’t do anything. It just kind of… happened on its own.

— On its own? — Cavert raised an eyebrow.

— Yep. — She nodded, taking another bite. — Like an unexpected cold. Or a parasite. (She meant the God of Death.)

The demon was momentarily at a loss for words at that comparison. He already understood she was simply avoiding the question, but he needed answers.

And she… what was she supposed to do? Tell the truth? Something like "the God of Death did it"?

Ridiculous. Who would believe that?

— I don’t want to discuss this.

— But I do.

Their eyes met once again. And once again, he was captivated.

As always, her face was impeccably calm, with a faint shadow of fatigue. Her long, snow-white hair was slightly tousled from sleep, but even that did not detract from her appearance. Her thick eyelashes cast soft shadows on her cheekbones, and her lips, slightly wet from the fruit juice, seemed just a shade more vibrant than usual, carrying a peachy hue.

How could she have let anyone near her at all?

He knew her. He had seen how she ignored men’s gazes, how she rejected any form of courtship. She never let anyone closer than the length of a sword.

And now—pregnant…

By whom? Damn it all, even the Demons' Aruta herself?!

— You can't just stay silent about this. — He finally spoke, sighing and stepping back to a reasonable distance. — This is no ordinary child. Its power…

— I know. — She interrupted.

.

.

.

And silence once more.

— So, who? — Cavert could feel his patience beginning to wear thin.

— I'm returning to the Human World. — Deona wiped her fingers with a napkin, set the tray aside, and said it—whether as a request or a statement of fact, she was going to make it happen no matter what.

— What? — His golden eyes, darkened by black sclera, narrowed.

— I'm returning. — She repeated, looking him straight in the eyes.

— You haven’t answered my question. — Cavert leaned toward her again, resting a hand on the back of the bench behind her.

— And you haven’t answered mine.

— I haven’t asked yet.

— Then don’t.

— You’re dodging the question. — He narrowed his eyes.

— How perceptive.

— You’re not leaving… — Cavert exhaled slowly, suppressing his irritation.

— Why not?

— I won’t allow it.

— How interesting. — She tilted her head slightly, as if considering his words.

It was almost a mirrored repetition of his own phrase from earlier. So she hadn’t been asleep, huh…? Hah.

Cavert knew Deona was deliberately withholding the truth, diverting his attention in every possible way. But he wasn’t going to let her disappear so easily. He would find out what was going on. And he would not let her go just like that.

But Deona had already made her decision. And nothing could change that.

She slipped out from under his arm, rising from the bench. The fruit was already eaten, and despite their little argument, she looked pleased.

— Hah… — The brunette pinched the bridge of his nose. — You're driving me insane.

Chapter Text

Baron Illistre Starbe—formerly known as a duke—sat in his modest office, which felt like a cruel joke of fate.

Once, he had unimaginable wealth, the influence of aristocratic families, and power that even some dukes envied. But now... Now he was merely a baron, stripped of all privileges, left with pathetic remnants of his former might. All because of her.

Deona. And he was certain it was her doing.

First, she had taken his treasures. Then, she destroyed his reputation, handing over documents to the Emperor that he had believed to be securely hidden. His influence had vanished in an instant. Everyone who had once aided him in his misdeeds turned their backs on him, desperate to avoid being caught in the fallout.

But he would not let this go unanswered. If brute force had failed to deal with her all these years, then he would resort to other means—more cunning, more patient, but bound to succeed.

“Report,” he snapped hastily, his gaze fixed on a figure concealed in the shadows.

“She has returned from the expedition,” the spy reported, kneeling on one knee. “With very... unexpected news.”

The silhouette began listing everything he had observed—from nausea to sudden mood swings—before he was discovered at the border of worlds.

“She was also frequently touching her stomach, though no visible injuries were detected.”

The baron blinked, not expecting such information. This detail… Could it be...?

“So, she is…” He hesitated, then slowly smirked. “Pregnant?”

The spy did not provide a direct answer, but the baron did not need confirmation. Deona had never been close to any man; no one had ever seen her involved in romantic affairs. If this rumor were to spread... If society were led to believe she was carrying a child out of wedlock...

It could ruin her reputation. (Not that Deona cared about her reputation... But he didn’t need to know that.)

“Spread the rumor,” the baron said, leaning back in his chair, a hand covering his amused smile. “Let everyone think this child is her disgrace. Let’s see how she panics when she realizes the whole world knows her secret.”

He expected Deona to rush to protect her reputation, to succumb to the pressure—perhaps even accept a "helpful" marriage proposal from some opportunist. All he had to do was nudge the situation in the right direction...

Bribe one of those fools, then have him propose to the esteemed countess. And just like that, she would be in the palm of his hand.

°°°

Deona successfully arrived at the palace to announce her return. But, of course, the Emperor found it suspicious that she had returned so early.

And Eduardo wanted to know why. What could have happened for Deona, the Third Hero of the Empire, not only to arrive ahead of schedule but also to refuse further reconnaissance? As if she no longer wished to take risks.

For a brief moment, a flicker of surprise crossed Eduardo’s golden eyes as he processed Deona’s unexpected words.

Leave. She wanted to take a "leave of absence" lasting several years. His most loyal subordinate, the one he had always kept close... The very thought of it felt as foreign to him as some of the demonic creatures lurking in the realm from which Deona had just returned.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, studying her face for any sign that this might be a joke or a test. But he found no trace of deception—only a hint of unease, carefully hidden beneath feigned indifference.

She had always faced hardships head-on, solving problems with such speed and cunning that it sometimes seemed as though she had no equal. But now... Was this truly the same Deona standing before him?

Eduardo relished moments of revelation, those glimpses into the souls of people irreversibly entangled in his web. Yet it seemed that every time he encountered this woman, he found himself caught in a similar trap.

Someone else’s web—one that, once he recognized it, would leave him no chance to resist its overwhelming influence. A pull so intoxicating, so all-consuming, that it left no room for choice. No right to refuse.

It was this feeling that mesmerized him.

The blond man rose gracefully to his feet, his cloak billowing over his shoulders. He circled around Deona, stopping right in front of her, just within arm’s reach, gazing into those cold eyes.

That was the second thing that fascinated Eduardo about her—the darkness he sensed within them. A silent confirmation that, in her own way, Deona was just as lost as he was. Just as broken, clinging desperately to the fragile thread of sanity.

He leaned in to meet her gaze, but the albino did not flinch, knowing that retreating now would mean defeat—an admission of fear. She merely brushed off his questions, making it clear that she had no intention of explaining herself.

That only deepened his suspicions.

Eduardo studied her in silence for several minutes, his mind cycling through dozens, if not hundreds, of possible reasons for her strange behavior.

Something had happened. But what?

He returned to his seat, easing the pressure he had been exerting.

"Would you like to have some tea with me?" he offered, deciding to take control of the situation.

"No," she answered curtly. "I'm tired."

The excuse was unconvincing, and the Emperor knew it. With a sigh, he ordered a servant to bring all of Deona’s favorite desserts along with tea, hoping that the treats would help her relax and open up—though he had little faith in the latter.

But the moment she took her first sip of the familiar sweet tea, she abruptly set the cup aside, a brief grimace flickering across her face.

"Something wrong?" the blond man asked, expecting to hear complaints about poorly brewed tea or a lack of sweetness.

"...I don't want it sweet," she said unexpectedly, causing his genuine surprise. "Bring me lemon tea," she added, addressing the servant directly.

The servant quickly bowed and hurried to fulfill her request. Eduardo, seated nearby, furrowed his brows.

That was strange—unnatural for her. But what did it mean?

What happened next completely stunned him.

She… She cried.

The tea that was brought to her was sour, rich with the taste of lemon. Too familiar. Too similar.

It was the very tea she drank every morning in her second life, brewed by the hands of her fearsome yet beloved butler. That taste was a reminder of the past—of something irretrievably lost.

Her emotions, already fragile, overwhelmed her entirely. The pregnancy only heightened them, turning mild longing into a slow, suffocating wave of pain and nostalgia. Deona didn’t even realize when her eyes filled with tears, nor when they spilled over, tracing transparent paths down her pale skin.

Standing behind the Emperor, Nezimus tensed, his brows drawing together at the sight of her tears—something he had never witnessed before.

The silver-haired Hero instinctively twitched forward, but as he remembered where he was, he clenched his teeth and forced himself to stay still. Memories rushed through his mind. He remembered how she had been sent to the army as a teenager, their first meeting...

(A moment of misunderstanding, where Deona had been testing whether the ancient Power of the Heart still remained within him. He had nearly cut his wrist when Nezimus appeared.)

Deona had always been steadfast, as if carved from stone. She always held her head high, never bending to anyone, never allowing the whims of others to break her.

And now… The First Hero clenched his fists behind his back, hiding the tension in his posture.

Deona didn’t realize she was crying at first. Only when she brushed her fingers over her face and noticed the dampness on her gloves did she sharply exhale, hastily wiping away any trace of weakness.

But the moment had already passed. And both men had noticed.

The Emperor took a deep breath, deciding to address this rather than sit in suffocating silence. He ordered the unnecessary servants to leave the room, leaving just the two of them.

Once again, she brushed him off. Pretended not to notice the way his gaze bore into her, trying to unravel her. Instead, she focused on the array of treats laid out before her. She was so hungry that she paid no attention to anything else, mentally agreeing with Gluttony about how delicious the snacks were.

The Emperor was not a man who made conclusions based on one or two oddities. He needed proof—solid, undeniable evidence. But now, he felt a troubling certainty.

Watching the empty plates before her, along with the additional servings she had requested, he shook his head slightly, pushing away unnecessary, baseless suspicions.

No. It was impossible.

Not her.

°°°

Rumors claimed otherwise—something the Emperor dared not even think about.

And to make matters worse, Deona had done nothing to refute them, adding fuel to the fire.

It had only been a few days since her return from the Human World, yet absurd gossip had already spread like wildfire across the Empire and even beyond its borders. Some foreigner, upon hearing these rumors, not only believed them but had the audacity to send a letter. No—a contract.

An offer... of marriage.

But really, who would pass up such a chance?

Deona was rare, like the purest lotus. One of a kind. Beautiful, intelligent—so perceptive that even the greatest minds of the five continents would envy her. Capable. Strong.

The title of the Third Hero alone was enough to attract countless suitors eager to claim such an extraordinary talent. But if marriage to her also promised political gain, a stronger connection to the Great Empire, then anyone would sink their teeth into the opportunity, competing viciously for her hand.

It had reached the point where even the Emperor himself had begun receiving these outrageous, disgustingly bold letters. Kings of foreign lands proposed peace treaties sealed through marriage, offering their sons as potential grooms to one of the Heroes. And, of course, they meant Deona—the woman unknown, pampered princes now sought to claim for themselves.

Naturally, these letters went straight into the fireplace, burning either from the flames or from the blond man's fury.

"Send word that I demand an immediate meeting with the esteemed Countess."

The trembling servant in the corner bowed deeply and left to carry out the Emperor's orders.

°°°

To say that the High Knights were angry would be an understatement. They were absolutely furious—wild, untamed wolves, just as they had always been compared to.

Some filthy hyena dared to lay its hands on their child! A vile, contemptible creature, unworthy of even being called human. A beast driven by nothing but its repulsive instincts.

They did not know who this insolent bastard was—the one who dared defile their treasure. But one thing was certain: they would sniff out every corner of the Empire and beyond until they found him.

And when they did, that bastard would learn the true meaning of enraging a wolf pack.

And yet, it had all started so well.

The captain of the section, the esteemed countess, had returned from her mission. After reporting in the capital, she arrived at her family estate. Everyone had been eagerly awaiting her return, but along with their excitement, unease lingered in their hearts.

Was she uninjured? Had her body endured the strain? What if the mission had been too exhausting and Deona had collapsed somewhere, drained of all strength? What if she had returned ahead of schedule because she had sustained a serious wound?

All they could do was guess what state she would be in upon arrival. It had been the same during the war.

None of them would ever forget the scars left on her by enemy soldiers. Nor would they forget how she hid them, as if ashamed, as if she saw them as something ugly. But if anyone had asked them, they would have answered without hesitation: Deona was the most beautiful lady they had ever met. Every imperfection on her skin, every scar, was nothing but proof of her strength, her resilience—her very essence. She was a true masterpiece, one no sculptor could ever hope to replicate.

She shouldn’t belittle herself like that.

But one particular day remained seared into their memory. The day Nezimus arrived at the camp. The day they—by chance, or perhaps by fate’s will—overheard their conversation.

The day they learned that their child had tried to harm herself.

Everything changed from that moment on. They watched over her. Guarded her. Feared leaving even a simple knife within her reach. Some of their actions might have been excessive, troublesome even, but they never once regretted meeting her.

Six years had passed. Six long years since hope had entered their lives. And that hope had never faded.

It had only grown brighter, blooming in their hearts with a soft, velvety glow. And each time their eyes fell upon that snow-white head of hair, warmth spread through them, making them stronger.

This time was no exception. The front door opened, and in stepped the countess, removing her cloak and mask as she walked. But before they could pounce on her like a pack of hungry beasts, she raised a hand, stopping them in their tracks.

“Not this time,” she said simply. “I’m in no condition to handle your ‘hugs.’”

She emphasized the last word deliberately, making it clear just how different their affection was from simple embraces. Usually, they tackled her to the ground, piled on top of her, nearly smothering her with their bodies—all while whining pitifully right next to her ear.

Remember, ever the proper butler, helped her to her chambers so she could change and rest, all while dragging the High Knights away from her door.

“Captain!”

“Huh?! What—why?”

“E-eh? What happened?”

“Countess...”

“Please don’t shut us out!”

Was she injured? Was she in pain?

A burning anxiety lodged itself in their throats, making it impossible to take a proper breath. Their minds conjured up ever more terrifying possibilities, each one worse than the last.

Later that evening, they were gathered for dinner. It was at that very moment that the countess chose to announce the newest addition to their already sizable—though not bound by blood, yet fiercely loyal—family.

Their reactions... No, this time, it wasn’t a joke.

They were in complete shock, sitting there with their mouths agape like fish pulled from water.

Milan’s brain seemingly crashed—he froze, not even twitching a fingertip. Sharky dropped the half-eaten sausage he had been about to sneak onto Dargan’s plate as a prank. And the vice-captain... Kletter was already clutching his head, as if seeing his ancestors at the end of a tunnel.

Someone could have easily quipped,

"Not enjoying old age, Kletter?"

—and been ignored by everyone at once. Any other day, the vice-captain would have simply beaten the fool who dared say it.

But today… Today, like every other man in the room, he wanted to beat something else entirely. Not just strike it. They craved a spectacle, one where they would tear apart the very being whose name Deona refused to utter.

Unfortunately for them, she never did.

°°°

That night, while everyone in the estate was deep in their slumber, a dark silhouette burst into the room without knocking. Moving with unwavering confidence, it glided through the halls and corridors, step by step closing in on its destination—one known only to itself.

The countess’s chambers.

For a brief moment, the figure paused, as if hesitating. But in the next instant, any doubts were cast aside as it stepped forward, the door creaking softly as it opened.

Deona, ever perceptive even in sleep, sensed the intrusion immediately. Her mind stirred into wakefulness, though her eyes remained shut. She waited for the intruder to make the first move, blades already gripped beneath her pillow.

She didn’t have to wait long.

The figure closed the distance in a blink, standing right beside her bed, towering over her resting form.

A single second passed, and then… she was wrapped in a gentle embrace. A familiar scent filled her senses, and Deona’s eyes snapped open, instantly recognizing who it was.

Cruel.

And indeed, it was none other than her older brother.

He sank to the floor on his knees, his face, as always, remaining indifferent and cold. Yet in his emerald eyes, barely contained rage burned, smoldering dangerously beneath his outward composure.

Deona sighed, realizing she wouldn’t be let off so easily. One of her hands gently rested on her brother’s dark hair. She patted his head, just as she did with children to calm them down faster.

Cruel settled in more comfortably, resting his head on her stomach. He didn’t press down, simply listening, as if trying to hear something of great importance.

"What are you doing here, Cruel?" Deona noticed how her touch worked—her brother was slowly softening, his temper cooling. She didn’t want to listen to him, knowing it would bring endless trouble, but what could she do when her brother barged into her room looking so broken?

"Deona..." He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep himself together. His voice was calm, but that very calmness betrayed the tension lurking within. "Who?"

"Who what?"

"Don’t play dumb." Cruel lifted his head, his green eyes—famous within their family—piercing into hers, as if trying to tear the answer out of her by force. "Who dared to lay a hand on you?"

Again. How did they all keep finding out? Did main characters have some kind of hypersensitive sixth sense? Deona mentally complained, briefly considering whether she should keep dodging the question.

"No one," she shrugged, running her fingers through his hair again, as if trying to lull him to sleep. "You’re overthinking things."

"Deona." His tone took on a sharper edge. "I heard the rumors. And right now, I can sense a foreign fragment in you..." He pulled away, sitting back on his heels.

She remained silent. What was there to say? Be surprised that her theory was partially correct, and that all these ridiculously powerful characters had something like a radar—for souls, for fragments, for whatever it was?

"It wasn’t consensual, was it?" His voice was quiet, muffled against the fabric of her nightgown.

Deona didn’t avert her gaze, but something flickered in her eyes... Something strange. Not fear. Not embarrassment. Not shame. Something else, unreadable.

"Cruel, you’re being overly dramatic," she said evenly, with even the slightest hint of a smile.

"Answer me."

"Haa..." She kept looking at him but eventually just turned away. "It’s too late. I need to sleep."

"Deona, please..."

"Good night, brother." It sounded like a final statement, but he wasn’t going to back down. He wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t blind.

And he wasn’t about to let this go. If his younger sister wouldn’t tell him, he would find that bastard himself. Sooner or later, he would.

The dark-haired man lay down beside the white-haired woman, pulling her into protective arms. Closing his eyes, he made a silent vow for vengeance—but for now, his priority was taking care of his sister.

Their parents had entrusted her to him, which meant she was under his protection. And no matter how much she wanted to seem like an adult, in his eyes, she would always be that same innocent little girl, seeking his attention and care.

°°°

A few days later, Deona received a message from the emperor. The journey to the palace would take two days, and during that time, she kept replaying possible reasons for the summons in her head. Had someone already figured out her pregnancy? Had rumors spread across the Empire faster than she had anticipated?

These damn characters truly gave her chills.

Cruel hadn’t left her side, acting like a personal bodyguard. Ever since that night, he had practically fused himself to her, refusing to let her have even a second alone. She could only sigh and resign herself to it, allowing him to sit beside her in the carriage.

When they arrived at the palace, they were greeted not only by the emperor but also by the rest of the Heroes. They stood there as if they had been waiting just for her.

The moment Deona and Cruel stepped inside, all eyes turned to them. No one even tried to hide their confusion—the skeptical looks on their faces spoke for themselves.

Deona knew what troubled them. She knew, but she didn’t let it show.

"Glory to the Empire." The sibling duo bowed, greeting the emperor.

"Today, I only summoned the esteemed countess." Eduardo lazily waved a hand, allowing them to rise. Displeasure flickered in his eyes at the presence of uninvited guests, but that no longer mattered. "How is your health, Lady Hart?"

And so, the real interrogation began.

"Everything is wonderful, Your Majesty." The albino woman forced a smile, deciding to get on the blond’s nerves since he had disrupted her blissful days of leisure. "Your radiant presence heals me by the hour just by looking at you! This unworthy one is deeply grateful for your concern, but I fear she is entirely undeserving of such an honor."

Her voice was light, casual, but the polished speech she had honed over the years couldn’t hide the tension settling in the room along with the heavy silence.

The First Hero, Nezimus, stepped closer, observing her from under his brow. He was not a man given to empty conversations, but the distance he maintained spoke louder than words. He intended to confirm something. To find something.

Stigma Piero, on the other hand, tilted his head with a half-smile, as if studying her with a newfound interest born from the circulating rumors.

"Oh? Is that so?" he murmured, shifting his gaze to Cruel before returning it to Deona. "Then, would you mind explaining one thing, signorina? Rumors can be amusing, but I keep hearing the same one over and over again."

The emperor’s sharp eyes rested on Deona. The other Heroes did the same—some with curiosity, others with mild skepticism.

"Haa…" She took a short breath, looking at each of them. They didn’t avert their gazes.

Had she hidden it long enough? Probably not. But if the rumors had already spread, what was the point in delaying the inevitable? If she spoke now, she wouldn’t have to explain anything later.

Especially knowing that, very soon, she would see Raon again…

Deona smiled softly, closing her eyes as her hands rested on her stomach. Memories of all the warm moments she had shared with children surfaced in her mind.

The emperor, who had long since left his throne and stepped closer, suddenly froze. He stared as if afraid to blink, as if one wrong move would shatter the scene before him into dust. As if this might turn out to be nothing more than an illusion. A hallucination.

But no. The Third Hero was truly smiling. Gently, sincerely. And that smile was meant for no one else but her future child.

"Hmm…" Stigma tilted his head, running his fingers along his chin. "So, it's true?"

"Yes," she answered calmly.

Once again, that deafening silence. The same one that had haunted her ever since the Demon Realm.

Nezimus frowned but remained silent as before. Stigma narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, as if weighing something in his mind.

“Congratulations,” he finally said. “But here’s what’s interesting…”

“Who’s the father?” one of the Heroes asked bluntly.

“He doesn’t exist in this world.” Deona shrugged, answering as honestly as possible.

Judging by their reactions, every man in the hall had their own interpretation. Some grimaced, others frowned, and a few even reached for their sword hilts.

It was understandable. Her words suggested only two possibilities—either the child's "father" had passed into another world, or this was the work of demons. The phrase “not in this world” was interpreted in different ways. But the real meaning? No one even came close.

(There was no father. He didn’t exist.)

And Deona just smiled devilishly. Let them think whatever they want. That wasn’t her problem anymore.

“Ahem, if you don’t want to say, so be it,” the blond said, pretending to believe she was simply hiding the identity of the other parent.

“Señorina, how far along are you?” Stigma continued questioning her without hesitation.

The smile vanished from Deona’s face. She stared at the Second Hero, and they took it as an angry glare, while in reality, she was mentally cursing the God of Death for not explaining this to her.

Thinking back, he hadn’t even transferred Raon’s soul into her body—she hadn’t seen the soul of her child at all!

Which meant… That bastard had already done it before even contacting her.

“...”

Her silence raised even more questions, and her—what they assumed to be—furious gaze only worsened the situation.

“I don’t think prying into her personal life is appropriate,” her brother stepped in, moving in front of her to shield her from the other men’s stares. “That’s enough.”

“At ease.” The Emperor agreed, nodding to allow the siblings to leave the hall. He had no intention of pressuring her further, knowing it would be a bad idea.

The dark-haired man nodded, not bothering with a farewell, and pulled his sister toward the exit. On their way out, the albino stopped him briefly to collect her reward for the recent expedition.

Money would never be unnecessary—no matter where they went.

Chapter Text

The days were passing by more peacefully than they had in the last six years—surprisingly so, but pleasantly. It turned out that being pregnant wasn’t nearly as terrible as Deona had imagined.

Sure, the mood swings could be maddening, and the morning sickness felt like punishment from those bastard gods. But after everything she had been through, this almost felt like a vacation.

Let’s not forget—throughout her three lifetimes, she had never truly known a carefree life. But now? Now, she was being doted on by High Knights, her brother fulfilled her every whim—even those she hadn’t voiced—and the Emperor, as if not wanting to be left out, regularly sent her generous sums of money, calling it “a reward for a Hero.”

Even though, in the past month, she had done nothing but take slow strolls through the garden or rest in her chambers. For the first time, she was truly living a peaceful life.

A life she would get to share with her son, Raon. She would see him be born, watch him grow up. She’d see his smile, feel the warmth of his tiny body curled up in her arms, basking in her affection.

She would shower him with all the love he had once been deprived of—thanks to certain troublesome people.

If only…
If only he lives.
If only she never has to watch him die again.
Never.

“Countess!”

A voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She had zoned out again.

“Countess, look! Aren’t these just perfect?”

Today, she had come shopping with the knights. They needed to replenish their equipment, grab some wooden swords for training, and pick up a few things for themselves. Deona, acting responsibly, had handed each of them a pouch of pocket money so they could buy what they liked.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. She knew she wouldn’t survive a full morning marathon through the market streets, so she let them roam freely.

But clearly, she should’ve known better.

They had nearly bought out the entire toy store—convinced that the baby would be thrilled with their gifts.

“Yes… I think they look great,” she murmured, nodding at Sharky, who stood proudly holding an armful of baby blankets. Lots of blankets.

And when she thought "lots," she meant an absurd number.

He had seriously tried to choose the best one—but instead of picking just one, he ended up taking all ten. Maybe even twenty.

Deona quickly realized he was the main culprit behind their toy-store takeover. And who knew where the rest of the knights were—probably busy buying out the entire shopping district.

“You do realize… this child hasn’t even been born yet?” she sighed, inhaling deeply to calm herself.

Don’t get her wrong—she wasn’t against their attention toward Raon. In fact, their affection warmed her heart. But this… this was just too much.

Just yesterday, they’d already bought everything essential for the baby—and now they were at it again.

“Yes!” Milan nodded enthusiastically, having grown quite close to the redhead. “But he will be born, so all of this will come in handy!”

As he spoke, a loud rustling followed. Several bags stuffed with baby clothes were loaded into the carriage, where the poor coachman stood frozen, mouth agape.

The others weren’t far behind, carrying just as many bags and boxes—miniature boots, pacifiers, bottles, or some kind of baby formula.

“Aigoo…”

°°°

Back to the present.

“What if same-sex marriage were allowed?” Allathea asked, glancing sideways at the white-haired girl.

Deona looked completely unbothered—unlike everyone else in the room. Cruel froze in place, and the servants stared at the princess as if she had just said something absurd about her divine nature.

“That doesn’t interest me,” the albino replied with a shrug, not the slightest bit flustered. “At least, not unless it directly affects me.”

“Oh…” Allathea sighed, clearly disappointed. So that was a rejection. She had really hoped…

How could she best describe her feelings for the Third Hero? Maybe as a tight knot woven from admiration and respect. Though there was definitely a hint of attraction tangled in there, too.

Allathea had a plan—no, more like a desire. Selfish, yes, but not in conflict with her brother and uncle’s goals: to get closer to Deona Hart.

But while Elfidius and Eduardo Dezérro were acting in the interest of the Empire, Allathea had her own reasons. She wasn’t ashamed of her desires. The blonde could easily say it outright: she wanted Deona. She wanted her, wanted to be near her.

One way to do that was to marry Deona off to her brother. That way, Allathea could spend as much time with her as she pleased without raising questions. But unfortunately…

Her brother was a complete idiot.

Not only did he have no idea how to properly court a woman, he hadn’t made a single step toward the plan they’d come up with!

So she had to take matters into her own hands. Not that it was the only reason.

Deona Hart was pregnant. The fact itself sounded so incredible that Allathea wanted to doubt it. But here, in front of her, was clear confirmation, a slightly rounded belly, changed taste preferences, a slightly increased craving for sour, the complete opposite of her favorite sweets, and, barely a change in size in the dicolte area. 

These lush breasts, as if created only to be admired, swelled even more! And the simple, but comfortable and thin preferences in the countess's outfits only aggravated the situation, forcing the princess to be on edge, not wanting to be accidentally caught in the gaze. Ugh, how she wanted to just press Deona to the couch and bury her face in ... Aaah! Don't think. Don't think, Allathea. Focus on the original thought. What was she just thinking about? Exactly. Her condition. 

 The Third Hero was about two or four months pregnant. And may God forgive her... But she is magnificent, no matter how hard she tries to deny it.

Her enchanting eyes seemed made to drown in. They could hold blood, or eternal winter—it didn’t matter. Allathea would still happily drown in that gaze.

They were as magnificent as they were cold—enough to repel any rational person. If someone had any sense, they would have fled without hesitation, recognizing the danger in her. Only complete lunatics ever found themselves drawn to her.

And if that was the case… then she was a lunatic. Her uncle was a lunatic.

It might be hard to take seriously, but she was good at noticing details.

Allathea could see not only the changes in Deona’s body, but also in Eduardo’s behavior.

At first, her uncle’s unusual behavior had been almost imperceptible—subtle, barely noticeable. But it was there.

The Emperor always carried himself with restraint and icy composure, even around those he deemed important—be they loyal vassals or his own nephews and nieces. His emotions rarely made it to the surface. He could smile, yes, but it was always a controlled, vaguely threatening smile.

Of course, Allathea had always known that was just a façade.

The only exception—perhaps a crack in that mask—came during rare moments when they met in private, without any servants around. Then, he would allow himself to smile genuinely, to gently pat her and her brother’s heads. It was pleasant. Comforting.

She wished he would allow his feelings to surface more often. To stop keeping everyone at arm’s length. And apparently, the gods had heard her.

From the moment Deona announced her pregnancy, something in him had changed.

Allathea had seen the way he looked at her, how he fell into thought after each of their meetings. Before, his gaze had been interested, but distant. Now, there was something different in it.

Softness? No, that would be too naive. Attachment? Too early to tell.

But the fact remained: he looked at Deona differently.

He started visiting the lands of the honorary countess more often. He sent funds more frequently, which the girl gladly accepted. He had even bent his principles a couple of times—something completely out of character for a man who ruled the empire with an iron fist.

Allathea saw it all… and wasn’t sure whether to be happy or afraid. Afraid that Deona might be taken away from her right under her nose.

But still—if Deona were to become Empress… Oh! If her uncle, not her hopeless brother, were the one to marry the albino girl?! Then the plan would remain the same—but would definitely come to fruition far sooner than it ever would with Elfidius!

“Sorry, brother,” Allathea mentally apologized to the crown prince, without feeling even a shred of guilt as she changed her plans. “But you’re a complete idiot for letting a lady like her slip away. Even His Majesty is doing better than you.”

Most likely, the Emperor was already crafting his own plan to win Deona over. And in that plan—as she was quite sure—the girl’s unborn child played a key role.

°°°

Deona ran her hand over her rounded belly, feeling a faint movement inside. The thirty-eighth and final week. Time had flown by unnoticed, but the child had grown... far too quickly.

She couldn’t say for sure whether it was just her imagination, or if something was truly different compared to ordinary babies. Sometimes, as she drifted off to sleep, she thought she could hear a voice calling her by the familiar nickname: “Human!”

“Raon…” she whispered, stepping away from the wardrobe. She wore a light dress without unnecessary frills or elaborate details, yet it still looked stunning on her.

Normally, she wouldn’t wear dresses or skirts, but in recent months, her belly wouldn’t allow her to fit into trousers.

So many thoughts circled in her head, but the most troubling were those about her child. Raon was a dragon—or rather, had been a dragon.

The God of Death had promised to pass on the powers Raon once possessed in the Roan Kingdom.
(Or maybe it's better to say the Roan Empire?)

And if that promise was kept... then what would Raon be in this life? A human? A half-blood? Or a full-blooded dragon? But her blood would hardly allow the latter.

She was human, and most likely, the child growing inside her was a half-blood.

Her fingers clenched the fabric of her dress as she lifted its edge to walk down the stairs.
If his magic awakened…
If his true nature became apparent right after birth...

As a majestic dragon, his mere presence would stir strong reactions from those around them.
Not that she cared what they thought.
Her only fear was that they might try to get rid of her child.

Deona closed her eyes, walking toward the library from memory. She knew how humanity viewed magic—here, it belonged solely to demons. And if they discovered even the slightest trace of it in her child…

They wouldn’t let him live.

The mere thought made her fingers dig into her skin, nails pressing hard.
She wouldn’t let that happen.
She wouldn’t lose him.
She didn’t want to see his lifeless body.
She wouldn’t let anyone take her child from her.

There was only one choice left.
She had to give birth in a secluded, uninhabited place.
Somewhere he would be safe.
The Demon Realm.

Madness? Absolutely.
But there were no other options.

The God of Death had explained that he would shoulder all burdens of childbirth once the eighth month ended. But their time in his domain would be limited—only a few hours at most. Any longer, and Raon’s soul would begin to fade again.

“My lady, you might hurt yourself,”

Opening her eyes, she saw the butler stepping out from the corner, holding a tray with rice balls and a plate of kimchi—spicy napa cabbage salad. It was a rare dish in their region, with ingredients just as hard to come by, which made the meal seem like an odd craving for a pregnant woman.

“Don’t worry so much, Remember. I’m not going to fall.”
She couldn’t help but recall how the previous Deon always managed to twist his ankle even on flat ground.
“…But I’ll accept your help.”

Taking his outstretched hand, Deona made her way to the library. Inside, rows of shelves greeted her, filled with countless books—from complex scientific treatises to lighthearted, sugary novels.

If they had to leave this world, it was better to be prepared in advance.
Maybe the books would help her take her mind off things, even for a little while. And a baby care manual wouldn’t hurt either.

Cruel was currently fulfilling an imperial mission—one she had personally requested.
Which meant she had the chance to leave unnoticed, without extra escort.

She stuffed several books into a spatial pouch and headed for the exit, pulling a cloak from the coat rack.

“Remember, take care of them while I’m gone,” she said.
She didn’t name her knights, afraid they might somehow hear her—like monsters—and appear in mere seconds.

“Lady Arut!”
At the border stood Ed, Deona’s deputy. He greeted her with a reserved but warm smile, quickly approaching the horse she had arrived on.

It was dangerous, yes. But still far safer and faster than walking for hours and risking another run-in with the baron’s mercenaries.

That rat had somehow managed to shift all the blame onto someone else during the trial, washing his hands clean and preserving a pathetic excuse for a title. But either way, Deona had little desire to waste thoughts on that rotting eggplant.

“Let’s go,” she said curtly when Ed helped her carefully dismount and get into the covered carriage.

Pain twisted in her belly, pulling down heavily. She might’ve arrived a little later than she should have. Damn… She needed to hurry.

.

.

.

“Are you sure this is the right place?..”
Ed asked a few hours later, once they reached a remote corner, well hidden from prying eyes.

They had stopped near a cliff at the end of a dense forest.

“Yes. I’ll go alone from here. Don’t follow me, Ed. That’s an order,” Deona said quietly, but firmly, already stepping out of the carriage. The pain was growing stronger, but she did everything she could not to show it.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but once their eyes met, he simply nodded. He had to trust her—no matter how much he wanted to insist on staying, especially now, when the contractions could start at any moment.

Ed left. But before doing so, he made the mistake of contacting the Demon King.

°°°

Kavert hadn’t expected to worry so much about someone.
Let alone a human.

Months had passed since they last met. He hadn’t thought her long stay in the human world would irritate him so much… or maybe it wasn’t irritation. Maybe it was bitterness. He knew she had her reasons to remain there—it was smart, even wise. But still, it stung.

Yet the moment she finally contacted him through the magic stone, saying she would arrive in the Demon Realm in a few days, that ridiculous, sulking scowl melted off his face without him even noticing.

But the carriage he’d sent never arrived at the gates.

Then came Ed’s message: the carriage had stopped mid-route. Deona had ordered him not to follow her and vanished into the woods alone. And according to him… she wasn’t well.

She wasn’t well… The thought made him uneasy, especially after how many times Ben had buzzed around him, lecturing about pregnancy and its complications.

But if she was really in pain, why didn’t she say it outright? Why stop the carriage and refuse Ed’s help?

He found himself torn between curiosity and concern.

Her way of thinking was always illogical to him. Unpredictable.
One moment she wanted to disappear, isolate herself from the world, and the next she’d throw herself straight into chaos—like she wanted to start a storm.

He sighed but didn’t waste time thinking.
The mark he had left on her was still there. The brunette easily sensed her location and could appear near her without trouble.
So he did.

Kavert appeared on a mountain slope, where she stood high above a deep gorge. The wind tugged at her clothes.
She didn’t notice him. Didn’t feel him. Or maybe she was just ignoring him.

Kavert silently stepped back, deciding not to interfere.
He just wanted to… watch. Understand. Be nearby in case she truly needed something—but not intrude too close.

Expecting any sort of outcome was something he never allowed himself.
Then she stepped forward.

“Deona!”

It burst from him before he even processed what was happening.
She was weak in that moment. Too fragile to possibly survive.

Why did she do that?
What happened?
Was it the Human World that pushed her to this?

Hah… he should’ve known. Humans only brought problems.
Those foolish creatures couldn’t even recognize the worth he saw in her.

Did those damned humans toy with her?
Did they want to get rid of her?
Ugh, he was furious. But more than that—fear was seeping into his mind.

Not fear of Deona’s power.
She had always carried the aura of an iron maiden—someone more likely to break others than be broken herself.
No… he was afraid of losing her.

For the first time.
Or… maybe not?
Maybe he had felt this before but hadn’t realized it.
Or maybe she had been this fragile all along, and he just didn’t see it?
No. What mattered now was that she was in danger.

He launched himself after her, as if the logic of the world had vanished—like this was the only thing that mattered: to reach her, to grab her, to stop her from breaking.

In freefall, he caught her, pulling her into his arms, managing to twist their bodies midair so that his back was beneath hers.
She flinched, clearly not understanding where he had come from.

“What are you doing?!”
He nearly roared, struggling to maintain balance in the air while already summoning magic to soften their fall.

But they never reached the ground.

They were taken.
Swept away by something.

The world shuddered and vanished.
A pale ash-gray fog swallowed everything, seeping into their clothes and sending an unnatural cold through their bones.

“Ugh…”
Kavert still held Deona tightly, not letting go for even a second.
“Where are we?”

They were in a place resembling an office. A small study.

A space where time stood still.
Where there was no pain.
No life.
No death.

Just him, her… and It.

A man was sitting behind the desk.
Ash-gray hair, and eyes as black as the night itself—yet they weren’t focused on him. They were focused on her.

“Deona.”
The being spoke her name with a tone of concern, like a father speaking to his child.
But, unfortunately, he couldn’t call her that in the presence of a stranger.
Deona would likely kill him if he ever tried to confirm their connection in front of someone else.
As far as he knew, she had no desire to be seen as his saint, or anything else of the sort.
His true nature would have to remain hidden as well.

But for Kael’s sake…
He would do it.

The God of Death raised his gaze, and their eyes met.
The Demon King didn’t flinch.
He didn’t trust this man. That aura… he had felt it before.
That day when the albino girl came to resign.
That moment in the garden.
The same oppressive weight.
The same suffocating darkness.

Kavert’s fingers clenched involuntarily.
Something lit up in his chest—faint, searing—but strong enough to keep him on edge.

“Who are you?” Kavert asked.

“The one who will take care of her,” the man replied briefly, rising from his seat and approaching them.
“She has earned her rest.”

With a wave of his power, the being put the girl to sleep instantly.
It would be easier this way. Painless. So believed the God.

“Lay her here,” he said softly, patting the nearby couch, noticing that the girl was still tightly held in the brunette’s arms.

“She…” Kavert didn’t move.
“She’s not okay. Are you going to—”

“Help her,” the God of Death interrupted coldly.
“Now do as I say.”

Silently, Kavert stood, still carrying her, and gently placed her down on the soft surface of the couch. He barely breathed—tension frozen in every part of him.

The god let out a faint hum, walking around to stand in front of the sleeping girl.
He extended his hands, and above Deona, a glowing circle formed in the air.
It spun slowly, like a delicate bubble, barely visible.

From Deona’s chest—without force, more like moved by the wind—a gentle light began to rise.
It drifted upward, flowing into the hands of the God of Death.

The dense glow began to take shape… forming into that of a child.
A tiny infant, silent and small, wrapped in shadows like swaddling clothes.
Its wisps of hair were dark, and its eyes remained closed.

“Raon,” the God of Death whispered, gazing down at the new life cradled in his hands.
A gift to his child.

Let her rejoice.
Let her, just once, feel the love and care stolen from her in every past life.

It was a pity he couldn’t say anything more—to the baby, or to Deona—not while that nosy mortal was present.

Said mortal looked darker than a storm cloud.
Throughout the entire process, his mind raced with questions—most of them about the being now holding the infant.

Was he the father?
Was he the one responsible for all of this?

“He will live. For her. For their future.”

“Their”—the word struck something deep within him again.
The magic being released from him surged, growing barely controllable.
Only the thought that it could harm the child—or the woman—kept him from wasting even more of his energy.

The brunette didn’t know whether he was jealous… or angry.
It was unbearable to watch that creature hold so calmly what had once been a part of her.
Her flesh and blood.

The infant stirred, letting out a soft cry.
The God of Death dropped to one knee and gently laid the bundle down beside the albino, letting the child calm down on its own.

“Take them away. As soon as you can,” the god said quietly, without glancing at the one he spoke to.
“Take care of her… if you can.”

With those words, he vanished—like melting into the darkness of the place itself.

(Though in reality, he went off to inform the Sun Goddess that he could now officially call himself a grandfather!)

“…Ha…”
Kavert stood in front of the couch, head bowed, eyes closed for a moment.
Even for him, this was too much.

What the hell had just happened?!
Why had he even thought Deona was trying to end her life?
And why, without a second thought, had he jumped after her?

He should’ve guessed her wind magic would keep her from falling to her death.
He should’ve realized what he felt for her.

Who was that man?
Her father…?

His mind struggled to process everything that had happened in the past thirty minutes.

The Demon King looked up, his gaze falling first on the sleeping Deona, and then on the infant beside her.
Raon, that creature had called him.
How dare that bastard give the child a name—without asking Deona first?!

The baby stirred again, a tiny hand brushing against the mother's wrist, as if seeking something to cling to.

Kavert’s finger instinctively lifted—
And the child grabbed it, holding on with surprising strength.

It made him smile, if only faintly. A moment of lightness, enough to let him forget everything else for just a second.

“Only just born, and already so strong, huh?” he murmured with a weak smile.
But that smile faded the moment he remembered the creature’s parting words.

He had to get out of here. Fast.

As if on cue, the darkness returned—wrapping around them once again, whisking them away to the familiar forest clearing.

In his arms was the silver-haired girl, still fast asleep.
Resting atop her chest, the child slept just as peacefully.

Kavert adjusted his grip around the legs and back of the Zero Corps commander, then began walking—
Away from the cliff’s edge, and toward whatever came next.

Chapter Text

Deona didn’t wake up to the scent of coffee or birdsong. What jolted her awake was far more effective.
A scream.
A shrill one at that—thin and loud, the kind where the vocal cords barely meet, causing only the edges to vibrate and produce a sharp, weakly resonating sound.

It was a new experience for the young woman—waking up to the cry of a baby. Her mind, free from nightmares for the first time in what felt like forever, was still disoriented, struggling to grasp what was happening. Her body responded instinctively, despite her eyes being blurry and her lashes stuck together. Her skin registered the difference in the bed beneath her, helping her brain quickly understand where she was.

(Demon Realm beds were always softer, more comfortable. Or perhaps it was just that Cavert brought only the finest materials for her?)

She stood up. Her feet touched the soft carpet, guiding her toward what she knew had once been an empty space. But now, there was a crib. And someone inside it was crying.

Now she was fully awake. The drowsiness vanished, along with any desire to dive back under the covers.
Well… not entirely vanished. That desire was always there—just lie down and never get up. It had been her dream for so long.
But it was nothing compared to the feeling surging through her now.

Raon.

Raon?

Raon!

He was alive. He was safe. He was—

Deona remembered what must have happened the day before. And if her guesses were right, the infant now lying on the soft sheets, nestled between pillows, was Raon. Her child. Her baby.

A nervous chuckle slipped from her lips before she could bite it back. She nibbled the inside of her cheek and lifted a trembling hand, brushing her fingers gently against Raon’s cheek.

“Don’t disappear…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her whole being pleading for this not to be another painfully realistic dream. One of those dreams where she was surrounded by her family, her team. Alive and happy.
Until they weren’t.

Those dreams always left her feeling worse than any nightmare. Because they were a reminder—one she didn’t want—that everyone she had loved had long been wiped away, just like Nameless-1.

(That was what Roan Kingdom’s Earth was called, right?)

She knew she would break if this turned out to be another illusion. Just another hallucination.
But no—his cheek was soft, warm, silky—just as a baby’s should be.

Raon opened his eyes, confirming her theory that the recent "birth" had indeed been successful. Crimson eyes stared up at her, brimming with crystal-clear tears. The crying stopped, and those chubby cheeks puffed adorably as he smiled.

“Gheh,” he giggled—his laugh sounding almost like his old voice, just higher and squeakier.

“Yes, Raon,” Deona smiled with him, her touch growing more confident. Her fingers moved up to fix the tousled bundle of black hair on his head. “My great and mighty one…” she murmured, as if he could understand. “Happy belated birthday. I’m sorry I couldn’t wish you one yesterday.”

“His birthday was a week ago,” someone corrected behind her.

Deona didn’t flinch. She had already sensed he’d barge into her room without so much as a knock. Not that one could call the Demon King human, anyway.

A week ago?

Had that damned god really failed such a simple task again—keeping her asleep for a whole week?
It would explain the full-body exhaustion and gnawing hunger she now felt.

Speaking of hunger…
As soon as she thought about it, her stomach growled in protest, clearly furious at being starved for seven days straight.

Cavert stepped off the railing and entered the room, stopping directly behind her.
The albino girl exhaled silently and tucked Raon more securely in his blanket before reluctantly breaking the sweet moment and turning to face the brunette.

Now they were face to face—though given Cavert’s height, he had to lean down, his nose nearly brushing hers.
It was an odd kind of closeness. He rarely used it unless he was pressuring her for answers.

Only this time, it didn’t feel like intimidation.
It felt… different.
The kind of closeness that made her insides crawl in warning. Something inevitable and troublesome was about to happen—if it hadn’t already. And she trusted her instincts; they’d never failed her, even if she wasn’t always great at heeding them.

“Are you that hungry? Should I call the servants?”
The question felt oddly misplaced after everything, but Cavert didn’t seem to care. He looked uncharacteristically anxious, like he was trying to let her decide instead of doing it his way.

“Yes, that would be nice,” she replied calmly—her outer serenity silencing the inner cynic screaming to take over her face.

Raon, not fond of being ignored for some demon, let out another squeal to get her attention.
Deona picked him up, settling him on her lap in a nearby chair, one arm wrapped protectively around his tiny body while the Demon King issued orders to his subordinates.

The preparations didn’t take long.
Within ten minutes, what lay before her looked more like a royal feast than breakfast.

Still, something about it felt… off.
The servants were staring at her with even more reverence than before. Unblinking, as if trying to confirm something. To uncover a truth.

What’s going on?

Her eyes dropped to the beautifully arranged dishes and bowls.
The main course was a nourishing soup—meatless, free of any ingredients that might remind her of… never mind.

To the side lay fruits, peeled and sliced with care, glazed in caramelized sugar.
The drink? A vivid, non-alcoholic juice—clearly some sort of sweet nectar.

During the meal, Cavert didn’t say a single word beyond a courteous “Enjoy.”
He watched her.
So did the servants.
And it was starting to get on her nerves.

Only when the unnecessary demons finally left, taking the empty dishes with them, did Deona allow herself a relieved breath.
She leaned back into the chair, just about to prepare for the barrage of questions she knew was coming.
When—

“Baa!” came the baby’s coo.

It was Raon stirring in her arms. The albino quickly caught him with both hands, pulling him close. Judging by his movements, the infant was hungry too—he was already reaching his chubby hands toward her chest.

And she wasn’t the only one who noticed. The brunette stood up and left the room, soon returning with a bottle in hand.

But he barely took a step before the half-blood caught the scent of milk. Green sparks flared around the Demon King's hand, and he was forced to loosen his grip as his fingers uncurled. The bottle flew across the room, wobbling and flipping in the air as Raon’s magic clumsily guided it, leaving a trail of spilled drops on the floor.

The Demon King didn’t seem angry about the mess at all. On the contrary—he looked far too pleased for someone who had just been “robbed” of a bottle by a newborn.

But how could he be angry, when he had already seen with his own eyes how the child had improved his powers in just a few days? This magic was unusual, unlike anything else—yet it felt deeply familiar, just like the baby himself. It was born from Deona’s blood, after all, so it was only natural to expect as much.

Unlike his mother’s elemental strength, Raon seemed to control the very fabric of reality. Even now, the infant could make objects fly, teleport them, or even change their shapes.

One day, he would learn to master the power gifted to him by his mother. And when that day came, the world wouldn’t be a threat to him. It would be his foundation—something he could shape and bend to his will.

At last, the bottle reached its target. With a cheerful sound, Raon grabbed it and eagerly brought it to his mouth. Such innocence—so wildly at odds with the talent he held inside.

°°°

Timeskip — a couple of months later.

Staying in the Demon Realm was exhausting. Eyes filled with reverence and hidden curiosity followed Deona everywhere she went. It felt like every demon already knew that she was… the Chosen mother of a special child. And worst of all—they believed Raon had been conceived out of love between her and Cavert.

What kind of nonsense was that?

...I mean, everyone already knows how ridiculously clueless demons are when it comes to something like reproduction, right? They were all created by the Demon King's magic and had served him since the moment they came into existence. Naturally, they knew nothing about such things.

But still!

How the hell did they even come up with that idea?! And the funniest part? Cavert never denied it! Every time someone asked about that absurd rumor, he would just smile mysteriously. That sly smile didn’t give her any sense of trust or comfort—it only made her headache worse.

So, measures had to be taken. She decided to return to the Human World. And no, not to stay there. Even if Raon had learned to understand her pleas not to use magic, it still wasn’t a safe place for him.

But she needed to prepare—for the coming catastrophe. She didn’t know exactly what was coming, as the last pages had been torn out, and it was unclear if they still existed. But one word remained on a scrap of torn paper: catastrophe. The destruction of the empire… and the Demon King along with it. Who was responsible? Unknown. And there were no hints about how to stop it.

Maybe she could have tried earlier—but not now. Not while her child’s life was in her hands. He was only six months old. Still tiny, yet so clever already.

In short, if she wanted to protect her child, she needed a sanctuary. A place unconnected to either the empire or the Demon Realm. Far away from others, far away from danger.

And so, that’s what she did. First, she had to leave the borders of the Demon Realm, gather everything necessary from the estate, and stop by to meet the High Knights. After that, she would figure out where to go. Her knowledge of the nearby kingdoms was extensive. All she had to do was choose the one most suitable for her—and perhaps for her loyal knights too.

Of course, no one would let her leave easily if they saw a large group consisting of noisy, crazy men and a baby. But she’d come up with something. She always did.

As if sensing her tension, Raon stirred in her arms, pulling one tiny hand free from the blankets and placing it gently on her cheek. And just like that, the pressure on her shoulders eased. As if some invisible weight had vanished with that simple gesture. It gave her the strength to keep moving forward.

There was no horse, but a demonic carriage had taken them close enough to the border to give her some comfort. And now she walked on foot.

.

.

.

"Countess!"
On her way to the border, she ran into none other than Milan.
"It is you! Why didn’t you warn us, Countess?! How could you—?"

He rushed toward her, ready to grab her and toss her onto the grassy ground in frustration, but stopped a meter away when he noticed one of the baby blankets he'd once bought from a children's store. It was wrapped tightly around something—or someone—in the girl’s arms.

"Hey, idiot! Why are you just standing there? We need to keep moving—find the captain!"
Another voice. A few seconds later, Sharky appeared in her field of vision. He came from the same direction as Milan, brushing leaves off himself.
"Huh? Captain?!"

"Shut it!" Milan snapped out of his frozen state and hissed at the redhead like a deer caught in headlights.

"Captain!" But Sharky wasn’t listening. He shoved the brunette aside to stand in front of Deona.
"You could’ve at least sent a letter! Where have you been? That creepy butler of yours mumbled something weird. But how could he let you leave like that?!"

"Show some respect to the young lady, idiot," Milan muttered, elbowing the sharp-toothed one in the side to reclaim his spot.

"Where did those two go—"
Ah, the rest of them. Following the trail left by the missing duo, they found someone far more precious, at least in their eyes—the one they had fled the estate for, crossed nearly the entire empire and beyond, just to find.

"Young lady!"
More voices rang out, and the noise clearly annoyed the little one in Deona’s arms. He stirred again, drawing everyone’s attention.
They froze, wide-eyed, staring at the small creature.

"Uh-uh, C-Captain—" Sharky stammered, his mouth agape. The words wouldn’t come out. His tone alone made his nervous excitement obvious.
"Let me… Let me see him!" he finally blurted, shoving lightly through the crowd.

"You can see him later. I’m first!"

"Enough, all of you. Can’t you see the baby doesn’t like your yelling?"

"Heh, look how he’s hiding against the young lady’s chest!"

"Aww! So cute! He’s frowning!"

Raon frowned at the loss of warmth as his mother gently pulled him away from her chest, revealing his face to her knights.
He looked exactly like Deona—only younger, with black hair.

His grumpy little face only made the men coo more, gathered close to get a glimpse.
Those furrowed brows, those chubby cheeks! And his eyes—an exact copy of his mother’s.

"His name is Raon. Raon Hart," Deona introduced her son to the ones she—if only in her thoughts—could almost call family.

"Can I…?"
Clitter didn’t even finish the question, too focused on the baby’s face. He knew how to hold an infant properly—especially one so fragile.
"Welcome to the family, Raon."

Taking the baby from the albino’s arms, the oldest man gently rocked the gloomy child once or twice, smirking at his serious expression.

Unfortunately, the peaceful moment didn’t last as long as she would’ve liked.

"You’ve had your turn! Give him to me!"

"Just for a minute! Let me hold him!"

"Get in line! We already agreed—so back off!"

"Since when?! Stop lying!"

"Would you all just shut up already?!"

Oh gods.
She never thought she’d miss the quiet Demon Castle so soon…

°°°

Eduardo Deserro was sitting at his desk, buried under a mountain of paperwork, when he suddenly felt someone’s intense stare on him.

“Uncle…” drawled Alletele in a familiar tone, giving him a meaningful look. “You promised!”

He didn’t even lift his head, already well aware of the expression she must’ve been wearing. The princess, who had been lounging on the couch, stood up and slammed her hands on the desk. A few signed documents flew to the floor, while others were left scattered haphazardly across the table. He wasn’t angry at her antics—but it was time to rein her in a little.

“That’s not a valid reason to use the highest form of magical communication,” he said evenly.

“Not a valid reason?! She just came back! We haven’t heard a single word from her, and she has a child now!” The blonde didn’t hold back, jabbing a finger toward him as she reminded him of the baby that had long since been expected. “You’re the one who said she was a valuable asset. Shouldn’t the Emperor at least make sure his subject is alright?”

“I was planning to summon her for a report,” he replied, restrained as always, but still reached for the communication stone. “You’re being far too pushy.”

“Just try being a bit more human, please!” Alleteya waved her hands and ducked out of the crystal’s field of view. “Ask how she’s feeling. Smile... at least a little!”

The Emperor sighed. The stone lit up, and a few seconds later, a holographic projection of Deona appeared before him. She looked exactly as he remembered her from their last meeting—still the stunning, ice-cold beauty of the Empire.

She was calm and composed, as always. The only thing out of place was the background—a room filled with toys, colorful wallpaper, and soft decorations. There wasn’t a single sharp edge in sight. Everything looked safe, childish, even… homely.

He never would’ve imagined the words Deona and family life in the same sentence. And yet—there it was. A living example.

Though, to be fair, he wasn’t in much of a better situation himself. If he lowered the stone just a bit, the mess of scattered documents across his desk would be visible. Thank the gods he held it steady, giving no hint of the chaos just beyond the screen.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted politely—the woman who had occupied his thoughts for months. Not because of anything personal, of course. No. It was solely because Alleteya had been gnawing his brain every day, asking when the esteemed Countess would return. Absolutely nothing else. Nope.

“What is the purpose of this call?” Deona asked.

“...” He hesitated for a moment. A sharp elbow to the ribs from Alleteya fixed that.

“I wanted to know… how you’re feeling.” It didn’t even sound like a real question.

Deona blinked. Pause. A long pause.

“I’m fine,” she replied succinctly. “If you’re looking for information, I’m ready to report—for a certain price.”

The Emperor gave a nod, recalling that price, and she began to share what she had learned in the Demon Kingdom. There wasn’t much intel, and nothing particularly urgent—understandable, given that no full-scale war had been declared yet. No major challenges, especially after the demonic monster issue had been resolved.

He listened without interrupting, though he caught himself realizing that the words were slipping past him. Instead, he found himself scanning the albino woman for any changes—whether in the length of her hair or the tone of her skin.

She hadn’t changed much on the outside, but… there was something softer about her now. Something deeper, something that hadn’t been there before. And yet, something remained the same inside her—calm, logical, emotionally detached when delivering a report. And still…

“What about the child?” The question escaped him unexpectedly. It wasn’t part of the script. It wasn’t like him… to ask something like that.

Deona paused, her brow twitching slightly—a movement that was almost an expression. Almost. The kind of thing he wished he could see in real life, not just behind a hologram.

“He’s doing well. Thank you for your concern,” she replied with that same detached tone, though at the mention of her child, the albino woman seemed to brighten ever so slightly.

Before he could say anything else, a high-pitched squeal rang out from just offscreen, and a tiny face flashed into view for a split second. Someone was clearly struggling to hold the child, who was apparently determined to escape and get a closer look at the “shiny thing”—the magical communication crystal.

“He loves anything that sparkles,” the woman added with the faintest trace of a smile, recalling how she used to give Raon gold coins for running errands.

The Emperor gave a small nod, allowing himself a brief exhale—and a faint smile. Offscreen, Alleteya flung up her hands and nearly squealed in delight, clapping a hand over her mouth.

The connection soon ended.

“See?!” his niece immediately pounced, beaming at what she saw as the first step in her uncle finally executing her plan. Ahem—their plan. Yes. “You smiled! You—”

“That’s enough,” he cut her off wearily, refusing to admit that she was right. It really had been easier than he expected. “I have work to do.”

“Hmm… I can help you, if you want. But Uncle… you do like her, don’t you?” The princess smirked, narrowing her eyes. She was itching to press his buttons again—just enough to get him to admit it, at least to himself if not to her. It might take time and effort, but she was determined to break through! For Deona’s sake!

He didn’t answer. He simply looked back at the now-dark crystal.

And was it just him… or had the room gotten a little warmer?

°°°

A Little Earlier.

Everything must be prepared, Deona decided as soon as she reached the estate. There was no time to waste. The first thing she needed was people—those with strength and loyalty, those who would follow her wherever she went, no matter what she did.

And the first ones that came to mind were, of course, the High Knights. Who else had stood by her through an entire war, fighting, defending, and worrying by her side? Six years with them hadn’t gone to waste. She had grown attached to them and didn’t want to lose a single one. Was that such a bad thing?

During dinner, she decided it was the right moment to tell them. They had already known, after all, that their young lady was a double agent. She had never felt the need to hide it from them. But this time, she wanted to share something else—something that had troubled her to this very day.

“This empire will fall soon,” the albino said, closing her eyes as she stabbed a piece of sausage with her fork. Ever since Raon was born, her appetite for meat had returned. “According to the information I’ve found, it’s inevitable. But I don’t know what will cause it.”

Her knights listened in silence. All the noise and fuss faded away as her firm voice delivered the facts—just like she used to present strategies on missions.

After dinner, a small meeting was held where they discussed where to go next, and where it would be best to set up a shelter. It was clear they needed a safe place.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t all leave together. That would draw too much attention. So it was reassuring when seven of the knights volunteered, along with the butler, to take on the task. Deona handed them pouches of money to fund their journey to the location marked on the map.

“Countess…”
The way they looked at her reminded her of how Choi Han had looked at Cale when he was first sent off to find Lock and Rosalyn.
Wait—no. No thinking about the past now. She had to stay focused. The mission. Focus on the mission.

The plan was simple.
First: Cross into a neutral kingdom that no one cared much about.
Second: Hire a team of local craftsmen—preferably unaffiliated with any guilds.
Third: Oversee construction and erase all traces to keep the base hidden from everyone else.
The entire process would take at least a year, maybe two.

“We swear we’ll do everything as thoroughly as possible.”
The men stood in a row, each placing a right hand over their heart like an oath.
“We won’t let you down!”

“Haah… Just go already.”
Despite her words, something in her couldn’t stop watching them as they said their goodbyes. There was something about it…

Once she made sure they had left without any unwanted shadows—like Baron’s men—trailing them, Deona returned inside. Her mood had soured, no matter how much she tried to justify or ignore it.

She should find Raon. Being with him always made her feel better.

Only, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold him—considering how the other knights had practically formed a line for the chance to carry the baby. Her thoughts were interrupted by voices coming from Raon’s room.

“No! You’ll ruin everything if you hang it there!”
One of the High Knights, with dark blue eyes, groaned in frustration, clutching his head.

“And what if he wants to look at stars instead of clouds, huh?”
Another knight—blond, with a mischievous smile—was bouncing around the room, stringing together glittering feathers cut in the shape of stars.

Last time, they didn’t just buy out all the nearby shops—they went as far as hunting rare creatures to gather the best materials. Whether common or incredibly rare, they collected anything they thought would make suitable decorations for their nephew… Er, young master.

Phoenix feathers warmed the room. The horns of a moon-deer glowed gently at night, so they’d been crafted into stars and other shapes to decorate the walls and ceiling.

“Hm? Where’s Raon?”
Deona looked around the room but didn’t see her child.

“With Milan, my lady,” the blond knight replied, glancing up from a pile of wooden planks that were meant to become a crib.
“I think they’re in the next room.”

Sure enough, the brown-haired man and the baby were in the neighboring room, with Kletter beside them, teaching him how to properly hold an infant. It was an oddly heartwarming sight—men who had been through hell, now fussing over a child.

“Look here, young master.”
Kletter spun a gold coin in his fingers to catch Raon’s attention and soothe his crankiness, while Milan struggled to find a comfortable way to hold him. He was terrible at it.

But still… it calmed her, even as it made her anxious. She’d long since learned life’s cruel patterns—especially when things were just starting to feel peaceful.

“I don’t want to.”
Accepting something didn’t mean she’d gotten used to it.
“Not this time… I don’t want to just sit back and watch.”

Chapter Text

It had been six months since Deona returned to her family estate. And you know what? Everything was going just fine.
Keyword: was.

The Baron had been unusually quiet — which was very unlike him. Perhaps it was due to his limited influence now, or maybe it was the watchful eyes of the Emperor, but the rotten eggplant had finally left her alone.

(Just a note: the Revolutionary Army, now under the command of the former Duke, never caused her any trouble — unlike in the original timeline, where she was labeled “the Emperor’s dog.” You can learn more about that in the main fanfic, though this part works on its own too.)

No one bothered her. Everything was perfect. Almost too perfect.

Remember sent her monthly letters with updates and reports about potential problems — not that there were many. The plan was working, and if things continued this well, their new base might be ready by next year.

But that wasn’t today’s concern.
Well — it mattered, yes — just not today.

Because today was Raon’s birthday.

A special day that Deona was more than willing to dedicate entirely to her little one. Raon was about to turn one year old, and the entire estate — if not the whole empire — was buzzing with excitement.

The Countess had no plans for a grand ball or inviting nobles. Her wishes were far simpler: a small celebration with those who truly cared — those she considered family.

The servants were decorating the main hall, while the estate’s chefs prepared a grand feast to fill every belly with warm meals and sweet desserts. The head chef put his heart into a creamy birthday cake topped with ripe strawberries. The frosting turned out light and fluffy, and the berries — freshly picked by a local farmer — had never tasted sweeter.

The knights had gone to buy ribbons and supplies for decorations. They planned to hang a banner with cheerful messages to mark the young master’s first birthday — just like they once did for the young lady’s first birthday, all those years ago.

(A little callback to the main fanfic.)

It was a warm memory — one of those rare, precious ones. Back then, they had started preparing for the celebration months in advance, since it was nearly impossible to find the right ingredients or decorations in a military camp.

Oh, and how much trouble they got into for ruining the medical bandages — which, as it turned out, had been “repurposed” and hidden by Deona herself. The bandages had crooked letters scrawled across them: “Happy Birthday!” A bit messy, a bit misspelled — but most of them had been orphans or poor commoners. Few even knew how to write properly.

But the love and care behind it — that was what truly mattered. The punishments — like running laps around the camp — were soon forgotten. What stayed was the memory of young Deona, just sixteen at the time, breaking down for the very first time. The pressure of hopelessness, of loss, pain, scars, and a shattered future had all come crashing down — undone by a simple, heartfelt gesture of affection.

The knights had gathered the last of the supplies and returned to the estate just as the sky began to darken. Everything was ready. The long banquet table was set to the brim — all that remained was to bring out the main dishes and the cake, and quickly finish decorating the banner to hang on the wall.

“Move it, we’re running late,” Kletter barked, leading the group through a hallway full of busy servants rushing around with trays.

Some passing maids and guards near the front gate spotted a few figures standing outside. As they got closer, it became clear — they were envoys.

“Did the young lady invite anyone?” one of the maids asked, glancing between her friend and the guards.
The guards shook their heads, blocking the way. It turned out that, even without invitations, the gifts kept coming — one after another.

Yes, the nobles had found a loophole — a way to “attend” the event even without an official invite.

They sent books, fine fabrics, lucky charms, rare sweets. Nearly every gift came with a beautifully written message — each carefully worded, but clearly aimed at winning the Countess’s favor… or at least dazzling little Raon with shiny, expensive things.

Deona ignored most of it. She tossed the gifts into a magical storage bag, planning to pass them on to Raon when he was older.

Naturally, the Emperor didn’t stay out of it either. His personal knight — the First Hero — delivered a pristine white box tied with a golden ribbon.
Inside was a child’s cloak made of the softest fabric, embroidered with the imperial crest and a single line:
“For the one who may shelter the world beneath their wings.”

Strange words — but Deona paid them no mind. She tossed the note into the growing pile of letters for the servants to sort through.
The only one that truly stood out was a five-page-long letter from the Emperor’s niece.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

Apparently, the Demon Realm hadn’t forgotten about this special day either. Every few minutes, more and more gifts appeared at her doorstep. The knights guarding the gate had stopped reacting with surprise after the first ten deliveries.

Among the many items, she recognized elegant yet practical children’s clothes from Devalina, a protective charm from Ririnelle, a handcrafted miniature sword by master blacksmith Asild, and many more presents from corps commanders.

The last gift was a box wrapped in a silver cloth, tied with a black ribbon. Inside it was a tiny musical instrument — a wind-up music box that played a gentle lullaby when the crank was turned. Alongside it was a note.

As usual, the servants collected the letters (Deona couldn’t be bothered to read them all). Their job was to sort through the irrelevant ones and pass along anything important or interesting to the knights or to the Countess herself.

But what could have possibly been written on this slip of paper to make the knights come running — their expressions stunned, their presence charged with an almost murderous tension?

She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to dig into whatever it was her subordinates had read.

“Countess…” Sharky sniffled like a child. The others followed his lead, murmuring something under their breath with strange, uneasy looks on their faces.
No one asked questions. No one explained what they’d seen. Instead, they offered quiet words of comfort — as if they hadn’t just stormed in with panic on their faces moments ago.

“What is it?” she finally asked, even though every part of her didn’t want to know.
Some instinct warned her that they wouldn’t tell her. And in a way… that was fine. But something felt off, didn’t it?

As expected, no clear answer came. At most, they said they wouldn’t leave her side. The rest either brushed it off or muttered something like,
“We won’t let the same mistake happen again.”

What mistake?

Again — no details.

.

.

.

Meanwhile, one of the knights standing behind them clenched his fist around the very same letter.
It crumpled in his hand, and later that evening, it was tossed into the fireplace along with the other discarded papers.

But unlike the rest, this one didn’t burn.
It remained whole, untouched by the flames, as if protected by some kind of enchantment.
The knights didn’t like that. They found the note still sitting there in the ashes — completely intact.

“How is that even possible…” someone muttered, pulling the stubborn thing from the fireplace.

“So? What do we do with it now?”

“What else? Just rip it,” another knight said, snatching it with both hands and trying to tear it in half.
It didn’t budge — as if mocking him.

“Seriously…?”

“You can’t even handle a scrap of paper?” a third knight scoffed, amused. “Give it here.”

And so it went — one after another — until the Countess herself entered the room.
She stopped in the doorway, waiting to be noticed.

A few knights stood around the fireplace in a loose semicircle.
Some averted their gaze the moment they saw her. But it was too late — she had already seen one of them hastily hide something behind his back.

“What is that?” she asked — calm, but with that sharp edge in her voice that made others obey without question.

“It’s nothing, Countess. Just a piece of paper,” someone lied — poorly.
Another coughed. A third stepped back abruptly.

“Show me,” she said, firmer now. One step. Then another.
Now she stood before them, hand outstretched.

For a moment, no one moved. Then, at last, someone pressed the crumpled note into her palm, jaw clenched.

The paper was cool. Thick.
And it carried a faint scent of… sulfur.

She carefully unfolded the note.
Simple in style, written in the neat, elegant script befitting nobility.

Happy birthday, Raon Hart.
You are only one year old — the beginning of a path that leads to an unknown, but undoubtedly great future.
I look forward to seeing you grow up, just like your mother.

From the one you may come to call your father.

Silence thickened in the room — heavy and suffocating, as if it could be sliced with a knife, like the birthday cake on the table.
Someone swallowed hard.
One of the knights exhaled sharply, then muttered a curse under his breath.

And Deona… said nothing.
She lowered the letter slowly, but the slight tremble in her fingers betrayed what the others mistook for fear.

How amusing. Because the emotions boiling inside her were nothing like what they assumed.

That bastard…

It was him. Kavert.
She was absolutely certain of it.

Only he would dare write such nonsense so boldly. And the way he claimed it — so openly, as if he wanted everyone to see.
As if he wanted the whole world to know and wonder just who the boy’s father was.

What was he hoping to achieve?

Deona knew one thing for sure: Kavert never did anything without a reason.
Not a single letter, not a single gesture of his was ever spontaneous — not when it involved something he considered an “interesting toy.”

This gift — beautiful and meticulously crafted — wasn’t a symbol of love. It was a mark.
A mark meant to be seen.

A warning, perhaps — to the Emperor.

(She would always believe, deep down, that Kavert and Eduardo were still trying to win her over to their side. Even if one day they changed… even if they truly sought redemption.)

Deona felt irritation rising — no, anger.
And while others only saw the coldness in her eyes, while they assumed she might cry or faint — in truth, she was imagining ripping the Demon King's hair out by the roots.
The same way she’d once tried with the White Star.

And though she failed back then — this time, she would make sure it happened.

Alright. Breathe.

If it wasn’t too late, she could still order the servants to keep their mouths shut — say nothing about the letter.
Unless… it was already too late?
Surely the maids hadn’t spread the story beyond the estate?

A weary sigh broke the silence.
Deona slipped the note into her pocket as she left the room.

In moments like this, she missed Remember. Or Ron.
She needed to take care of this — cut off the spread of this vile lie.

And while she was at it…
Teach one arrogant bastard a lesson.

°°°

A “Mini” (definitely not mini) scene for a character the author completely forgot about (Sorry):

Cruel’s Paradise.

Oh no — you misunderstood. He’s not in a paradise.

He’s in his paradise.

Because for him, true paradise is one thing, and one thing only — his family.
His little sister, Deona.
His tiny angel.

An angel who gives him a reason to live.
An angel who, despite the cruelty of the world and the frailty of her body, still shines brighter than any star in the sky.

Let others stay blind to her light — Cruel would drag the moon down from the heavens if it meant making her smile.
Even for a moment.
A single smile, untouched by pain, by exhaustion…

Ever since Deona was sent to war in his place, Cruel had completely unraveled.
He shattered everything he could get his hands on.
Refused to eat for days, until the healers had to force soft, easily digestible food into him just to keep him alive.

Sleepless nights became his norm — the dark bruises beneath his eyes made that very clear.
He stopped speaking to their parents, blaming them.
Or worse — exploded in fits of rage, trying to sneak into the Imperial Palace just to ask the Emperor himself:

“Why? Why did you send her and not me?”

The knights at the gates never let him near. Every outburst was swiftly and brutally put down.

He was weak.
So damn weak.
A disgrace of a brother. The worst example Deona could ever have.
A coward — spared from war, untouched by death.
So why? Why couldn’t he feel grateful? Why didn’t he smile knowing he was safe?

Because what happiness could there be, when he knew that his sister — his baby sister — was out there fighting for her life?

Starving.
Freezing.
Bleeding.

Maybe, right now, she was lying somewhere in the dirt, choking on her own blood, unable to even lift herself off the ground…

While he lay wrapped in warmth.

He hated himself.

What a pathetic excuse for a brother. What useless trash he was.

Oh, how badly he wanted to run — to follow his heart, wherever it led, straight to where Deona was.
To hold her. To protect her.
To comfort his little girl — because in his eyes, that’s what she still was.
Just a child.

She was only fourteen.

Fourteen — the age when children first begin to find themselves, to understand who they are and how the world works.

And she…
She was being crushed.

Broken in the most horrifying way imaginable.

She was just a child — a child who had the terrible misfortune of being thrown into the heart of war.
A place where, at any moment, she could be stabbed, beaten, or — far worse — violated.

That was his greatest fear.

Cruel would jolt awake, gasping, haunted by visions his own mind created — Deona, so small, so delicate she might shatter at the slightest touch, standing at the manor gates with lifeless eyes.

Eyes that others might see as soaked in blood, but he — he, along with the Count and Countess — had always seen something else.
The light of innocence.
A silent plea for love and warmth.

But now... those same eyes were cold. Fragile.
Eyes that longed for death.

He feared she would break.
That she would be forced to do unforgivable things — far away from him, far from where he could reach her.
To hit, to kill, to be used for someone’s vile desires.

He feared that when she finally came back home, she would wish she hadn't.
That even in the safest place imaginable, she wouldn’t feel safe anymore.
That peace would never feel real to her again.

And in the end — his fears came true.

There she stood, in the guest room.
Her hair had grown long over the six years, once soft and fluffy, now straighter, falling to her waist.
Her bangs, unevenly trimmed, nearly veiled her expression.

So much time had passed. So much had happened.

Cruel had trained every single day since she left — desperate to become strong enough to protect her.
He wanted to tell her this.
Wanted to say how hard he had worked to pull her out of that hell.

But when he looked into her eyes… and saw how dim the flame had become, how close it was to going out completely…
He fell silent.

Not a single word escaped him.
What could he say in his defense?

Despite all his hopes, all his effort — he had done nothing.
She had climbed out of that abyss alone.
No one had helped her.
He hadn’t helped her.

And in that moment, he was ready for anything — anything that might bring her even a sliver of relief.

Let her blame him.
Let her hate him.
(AU: in this version, the parents were already killed by the Duke — it’s hard to write characters I don’t fully know.)

Let her hit him. As many times as she wanted.
Let her scream, tear things apart, anything — anything but…

Not this.

Deona greeted him like nothing had happened.

No — more accurately, it was as if she barely recognized him.
Her face was tired, her expression holding only one wish — to be anywhere but here.
Not in a place that made her feel like a stranger.
Not where she was always the one who didn’t belong.
Not where they locked her in a room like some porcelain doll.

(Though, to be fair — Cruel had probably made all that up in his head. In truth, Eyl simply hadn’t wanted to interfere with the family’s emotional mess — as told from Deona’s own POV in the novel. She, of course, had no idea her family truly loved her. That they really did love him — or rather, her.)

At first, the silence was deafening — coffin-like.

No one wanted to speak.
Cruel was paralyzed with guilt and shame.
He didn’t know where to look, where to stand.

But he also couldn’t let the silence last forever.
Not when his sister had finally come back.
Maybe… just maybe… this was his last chance.

His last chance to make things right.
To explain.

Deona had come to the estate for one reason only: temporary residence.

The Emperor had been willing to grant her one of his villas, along with a one-time honorary countess title — a reward for her service and sacrifices in the war. But the villa was still far from ready, and worse, it was located a considerable distance away.

And since Deona was still legally considered part of the Count's household, she had no choice but to return here — to this place.

She wasn’t exactly sure what kind of relationship her new self’s "family" had with the previous owner of this body. And frankly, she didn’t care to find out. All she hoped for was that this "older brother" wouldn’t cause trouble or try to interfere in her life.

To her relief — he didn’t.

A lot had changed in a short time, once they began living under the same roof again.
Cruel had taken cautious steps toward her — slow, careful interactions, always watching her reactions, always stopping whenever she seemed even slightly uncomfortable.

And eventually… things began to shift.

Time passed since her return, and so did the walls between them.
Their relationship began to mend. And Cruel was grateful beyond words.
She was opening up again. Smiling again. Shining again — like the moon lighting his way through the darkness of his days.

It felt like a miracle.

A miracle that he now had not just one, but two precious people in his life.
Two beings he would gladly burn the whole world for — and do it with a stupid grin on his face.

Deona was pregnant.

And from the moment he found out, everything changed.

At first, there was shock.
Utter disbelief.
The kind of stunned silence that only gossip could deliver.

Cruel didn’t want to believe the rumors. Refused to believe them.
His first instinct had been to go straight to his sister — to check for himself.

And it was true.

Maybe he should’ve felt happy. Maybe it should’ve been a joyous surprise.
But damn it — how?

That question tore him apart.

He thought about it endlessly.
Every single day, imagining possible scenarios. Trying to piece together what had happened. What could have happened.

At first, he suspected one of the knights who always hovered near her.
But that theory died quickly. It didn’t make sense.

Then came the possibility of the fallen Hero.

Everything lined up.
From what he’d gathered, Deona had been on good terms with the deceased Hero.
And the last mission they went on together — the one where the Hero died — had taken place just a couple of months ago.

Cruel clung to that idea.
Held onto it like a lifeline.
Because the alternative…
The darker, unspoken possibilities...

He couldn't bear to think about those.

Then Deona disappeared.

He was supposed to be there.
That day, like every day before it.
He was supposed to hold her hand, be her anchor, her strength — something, anything, she could lean on. He knew the due date was approaching.
He knew that these final days would drain her the most.

And what happened instead?
A damned imperial order.

He had no right to refuse the mission. No authority to disobey.
He’d clenched his jaw, dug his nails into the carriage armrests until they bled, forced to ride farther and farther away from the only place he’d ever truly called home.

He told himself it would be quick — just a couple of weeks.
And then he'd be back by her side.

That’s when everything went to hell.

Deona vanished.

He found out far too late. And the moment he did, he ran.
Ran back without a second thought.
To hell with the order.
To hell with the others who were forced to fight in his place against the demons — they weren’t his family.

His family was in danger.
Weak. Helpless. Carrying life inside her.

The butler gave him a lead on where she might be. But he also warned him — clearly, carefully:

"The young lady will be in greater danger if you follow her, my lord."

The old man knew how to stop him.
Knew exactly what to say.
And damn it, it worked.

He froze.
He stayed behind.
Again.

How much longer would he keep standing still while others acted?
Could he even be called a good brother? A worthy uncle?

In his own eyes — never.

He’d failed their parents. Failed himself.
And now, he'd failed her.
He couldn’t even watch over the one person he swore to protect.

Cruel hated himself for it.
Hated that he was once again leaving Deona in a place where harm could reach her — while he sat here, useless, waiting.

Every single day, he waited. Replaying possibilities in his mind like a curse.

If only he had insisted. If only he had taken her with him. If only he had run away with her — from the world, from everyone. If only…

He almost laughed.
Pathetic. All he had left now were “if onlys.”

If only he’d been stronger.
If only he’d worked harder.
Then maybe… just maybe, he could’ve protected Deona from the shadows that had haunted her for years.

He knew who was behind her suffering.
But it never stopped him from blaming himself — for his weakness.

What disappointed him most…
was that he was still human.
Even with a Hero’s shard burning inside him, he had limits.

He wasn’t omnipotent.
He couldn’t just sweep Deona away to some hidden place, where she could finally relax — where no one could touch her, speak to her, hurt her.

And with those thoughts in his chest like a weight, he greeted each new day.
Trained harder.
Pushed further.

Fueling himself with one belief:

If I become a true Hero — strong enough, worthy enough — Deona will finally have a place to feel safe.
She’ll finally have someone she can hide behind.

°°°

Six months later, Deona truly returned — safe and sound… and not alone.

It happened on the most ordinary, gray day.
Or at least, it seemed that way — until it brought with it a genuine miracle.

Cruel had gone to the capital that day to handle various matters concerning the county: taxes, border security, shipments, and the quality of the paper pulp that required his personal inspection. All routine tasks for a responsible man raised from childhood to inherit his role.

And beyond that, he didn’t want to disappoint the people — the ones his late parents had worked so hard for.
The trip had taken him a few days.
Or was it a week?
He tried to keep track, but when your world loses all color, even time begins to blur.

Anyway, he returned to his sister’s estate one evening, exhausted and half-asleep — until something changed.

"Welcome back, my lord. The Lady is upstairs," the butler greeted him at the door, immediately delivering the good news.
Cruel perked up, heading straight for the staircase.

Deona was in her chambers, seated in a rocking chair, and resting on her chest — a small bundle of blankets.
In a few quick steps, the brunette reached her and pulled her into a tight hug.
His overloaded mind didn’t even register that he was almost crushing her in his embrace.

"Waah!" came a small, squeaky voice.
Cruel thought he was imagining things.

“Careful,” Deona’s calm words snapped him back to reality.

He immediately loosened his hold, stepping back just enough to see her face. She smiled faintly… then looked down at the bundle, carefully unwrapping it with one hand.

“Say hello to Raon.”

A baby.
A tiny being wrapped in soft blankets, with black hair like his and their parents', and red eyes just like hers.
He was making little grumbling noises, as if scolding Cruel for the rough handling of him and his mother.

And honestly… Cruel still wasn’t ready for this.
He had dreamed of her return. Prayed for it. Longed for it.
But this?

This was so much more.

It was a tremendous responsibility — especially in times like these.
How could he protect a newborn, if he had failed his sister time and time again?

The baby was so small, but clearly energetic and alert.
So fragile, and yet…
So much like Deona had been as a child, when they first met.

“This is Raon. Raon Hart.”

Cruel stared at the child, and something inside him slowly cracked open — not from pain, but from the sheer overflow of emotion.
The world had grown larger. More complicated, with new challenges and duties.
But also brighter.

There was now one more small, precious life in it.
One he already… loved.
Loved simply because he existed. Because he was alive and well.

“…,” Deona understood what her brother wanted without him saying a word.
Carefully, she placed the bundle of blankets into his arms.

“Hi there, little one,” Cruel whispered.
“I… I’m your uncle. Cruel.”

Raon stirred, wrinkled his forehead a little, then calmed again — gazing up at him with curiosity, once he realized there was no threat.
And Cruel… he couldn’t look away.

His heart, once so hollow, now brimmed with warmth.

“Your uncle…” the brunette repeated softly, as if grounding himself in reality.
“My nephew… Raon.”

°°°

“Hmph. That’s so heartwarming.”
One of the High Knights stood outside the door, watching the touching scene unfold.

The second nodded solemnly, wiping tears with a handkerchief.
The third crossed his arms and shook his head at the other two idiots.

Chapter Text

The journey from the Human Realm to the Demon Realm—and back—was anything but easy. Especially without her son. But she couldn’t take him with her all the time.

So, what’s going on?

It’s simple. After two weeks of preparation and rest, she decided it was time to return to one of Cale Henituse’s old hobbies. She was going to rob an overly arrogant bastard.

That damn Cavert had ruined her entire evening—an evening she had planned to spend with her baby. Instead of lying in bed with Raon, stroking his head and holding him close until he fell asleep on her chest, she was busy interrogating the servants and inspecting the household.

Still, even all that effort didn’t help stop the rumors. No doubt the baron had sent his spies among the maids again, if such blatant misinformation had managed to slip outside the estate’s walls.

Anyway, you get why she made that decision. Money was never a thing she’d turn down.

Getting into the Demon Realm wasn’t difficult. The hard part was sneaking into the vault where the Demon King’s gold coins and treasures were usually stored.

And all of that would soon become her compensation. It didn’t matter whether he noticed sooner or later—as long as she took everything, down to the last coin. Let him think twice next time before sending those kinds of letters.

Of course, that’s how it sounded in theory. In the past, she always knew her targets well thanks to the detailed descriptions in the novel. But this time, things were a little more complicated. The book this world was based on had mostly been written from the hero’s point of view—which meant her point of view.

And on top of that, changes had been made. Even before she interfered—back when she first woke up in this new body of a different gender.

Oh, and let’s not forget one small detail: every demon knew her face. To them, she was a queen—no, the mother of the heir, damn it! If anyone so much as caught a glimpse of her white hair, it would be over.

Taking all that into account, along with the tracking spell, the mission seemed hopeless. But not for Deona. Not for Cale. She was smarter than anyone could imagine.

Why hide? Why sneak around when you can just change your strategy? If everything’s against you—use it, instead of fighting back.

She entered the city openly. At most, she wore a light cloak to shield herself from the sun while she crossed the border. After that, there was no need for even that.

Everyone who saw her bowed, greeted her, stared at her—but none of that stopped her. She wasn’t sneaking around. Not this time. Deona used her status to its full advantage, and no one could stop her. Even if they saw, even if they knew exactly where she was going—they all pretended it was normal.

The guards in her path quickly opened the doors, avoiding eye contact. And behind those doors... him. Damn it. A real devil—in every sense of the word.

Cavert was sitting on the edge of a stone column, gently swaying as if completely unfazed by her foul mood. The black cloak draped lazily over his shoulders had become an inseparable part of him—especially since last year, when he brought Deona and Raon wrapped in that very cloak.

“My queen,” he drawled, a touch of mockery in his voice, dipping his head as the doors closed behind the commander of the 0th Corps. “I knew you’d come,” he added, speaking to her figure frozen for just a moment in the doorway.

“Haa... So that circus of a letter was just to provoke me?” Deona asked dryly, pinching the bridge of her nose as she walked in. She didn’t stop in front of him—rather, she brushed past as if he weren’t a king, weren’t a demon with enough magical power to tear her apart if he so wished, but just dust on the road. “What part of your brain made you think I’d actually come here?”

Truly, how could he have predicted it? This place, of all places? Had her love of money blinded her so thoroughly that she forgot who she was dealing with—a cunning devil?

“But you did come,” he noted gently, not rising, but turning his head to follow her with his gaze. “So it worked.”

“And what do you plan to do now?” the albino girl asked, stopping before the final doors, the ones sealed with a lock—the last barrier between her and the massive vault.

“Do you know what’s truly terrifying about immortality, Deona?” he replied, not answering directly, but posing a question of his own, as if they were playing some kind of game. “It’s not about living forever. It’s about slowly losing all sense of meaning. And when something—anything—manages to stir a feeling in you, even irritation, anger, laughter… or disgust toward your own self... you cling to it.”

He stood up, rummaging in his pocket, and began walking toward her. Then, slowly, he placed the key into her palm—not touching her, but letting his fingers pass close, too close, just to feel her warmth.

“You’re like a scar. Painful. Always pulsing. But alive.”
Oh great, she thought. Is this one going to pour out his soul too? Nothing good ever came from knowing too much.
“You’re the reason I stay sane... and the same reason I keep losing my mind.”

Right. Because a scar isn’t a wound. It doesn’t bleed anymore. It doesn’t kill. But it remains. It carries pain, memory—and that terribly stubborn whisper of ‘I’m still alive.’

“You’re my scar,” the Demon King thought to himself. “Not a part of me... but something I can’t separate from myself either. You don’t disappear.”
He smiled faintly as he watched her glance between him and the key in her hand.
“And you know what? I think... I don’t want you to disappear.”

“You... You seriously need to see a doctor,” Deona snorted, spinning the key between her fingers, deciding not to dwell on the demon’s words. A scar? Her?

Back in her first life, scars had been a real curse. She had hated her body—hated the scars that reminded her of a past she’d rather forget.

“How rude,” Cavert muttered, raising a brow at her blunt comment. But his words were spoken to the wall now, for the albino had already disappeared behind the doors of the treasury...

°°°

Night had fallen. Everything should have been quiet…
But not at the estate of the esteemed countess.

The building—strong and steadfast through all these years, the building that had become so dear, so familiar...
The home where Deona was always awaited.
The place she could return to.
The place where she was truly wanted—not because of her skills, not because of her talent…

That home was now in flames.

How did this happen?
How could she have let this happen?
She had left Remember in charge. (He had arrived on Raon’s birthday.) He would never have allowed something like this.

And yet the blazing inferno before her said otherwise.

No, she couldn’t wait. She had to hurry—because someone was still inside.
Someone more valuable than all the money in the world.
More precious than any treasure.
More important than her own life.
Raon.

She ran straight toward the house, plunging into the heart of the smoke and ash. The poisonous fumes clawed at her lungs, her vision grew hazy with each step. But Deona didn’t stop in the entryway, not for the heat, not for the suffocating smoke. She wasn’t here to survive. She was here for him.

Someone outside screamed for her not to go in.
There were sounds of chaos—fighting, bodies hitting the floor.
None of it stopped her.

She only slowed when she reached that room.
The nursery.

The door had been blown off its hinges.
The stench was unbearable—a sickening mix of burnt flesh, oil, and charred wood.
No.

No.
No.
No.
No.
No.

The flames licked her skin as she neared the crib.
It felt as if not just her body—but her entire existence—froze in place.
There was something there.
Something she hadn’t wanted to see.
But it was too late. The memory had already seared itself into her mind.

She would never forget this.

Not again. Not this time.

Why? Why was this happening?
Had she asked for too much?
Weren’t all the trials, the sacrifices, the pain enough?
Hadn’t she suffered enough?
Lost enough?
Why him again? Why not her?

The small body was so badly burned that the face was beyond recognition.
The black hair had been scorched away.
There was hardly anything left of the skin.
It was dry… yet slick. As if someone had doused him in oil before the fire.

He was only a year old. Just one.

Just. One. Damn. Year.

Somewhere, a part of the ceiling collapsed, stone columns cracking.
The toys on the shelves had turned to charcoal.
The bodies of the culprits lay nearby.
But none of that mattered.

All she could do was cough.
Once.
Then again.
And again.

She was choking. Whether it was from the smoke or the grief—she couldn’t tell.
Hah. She was still the same selfish person.
She didn’t scream.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t fall apart in hysterics over the loss of her child.
Only silence.
Only suffocation.

The butler entered the room, having followed her inside.
He stopped a few steps away, taking in her broken figure in stunned silence.

She didn’t care.

She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t wipe the expression off her face.
Didn’t try to hide the trembling in her body.

It was the only sign she had left—
A sign that she was breaking.

“Countess...” The man averted his eyes, placing a hand gently on her shoulder as he led her out of the burning house.

“My deepest apologies…”

°°°

The funeral took place a few days later.

All the nobles had gathered—even the emperor and his nephews—despite the fact that Deona hadn’t invited a single soul.

The sky was overcast, heavy clouds gathered into dull grey masses. Just as grey as the world had become for Deona.
Many wept, many offered words of sorrow…
But it was all a lie.

What noble ever showed real emotion? It was all for appearances. For gain. For the chance to grow closer to the honored countess, the third Hero of the Empire.
And what better opportunity than this?

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

Deona remained silent, standing to the side, staring at the disfigured body that had once been her son. Only those who truly mourned noticed how her lips were pressed tighter and tighter, how she clung to the ground beneath her feet as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
Cruel never left her side—not for a second. He kept everyone at least a meter away, as if he could feel her silent plea for help.

Then the rain began.
Not a light drizzle, but a true storm—
as if the sky itself was weeping for the child who’d left this world too soon.

Deona inhaled deeply, lowering her head beneath the curtain of soaked bangs—
a first sign, after everything, that she was still alive. That she hadn’t turned to stone.
And then… she ran.

From the ruined estate’s back garden, away from the funeral.
Away from the memories.
Away from the Record.

Adrenaline surged through her veins as she bolted toward the forest beyond the estate walls.

Cruel froze for a heartbeat, then sprinted after her.
Behind him, imperial knights followed at the emperor’s command.

“Uncle...” the princess whimpered, forgetting formality.
The blonde girl huddled in her uncle’s arms, seeking comfort beneath his cloak as the rain drenched them both. Her tears mixed with the downpour.
“She... she’ll be okay, won’t she? Please, Your Majesty, tell me she’ll be okay…”

“...” The emperor gave a small nod in response, though his eyes remained fixed on the spot where he had last seen Deona’s figure.
But the thick fog and heavy rain made it impossible to see what lay beyond.
Impossible to remember the face of someone he might never see again.

An hour passed.
Then two. Three.

No sign. No sound.
Only a torn piece of bloodstained fabric found deep in the woods—
as if someone, or something, had shredded the countess’s cloak.
Claw marks. Blood. Mud.

By nightfall, when the storm finally began to subside, the emperor sent out more search parties.
The knights scattered through the forest, combing every inch of land.

“I’ll go as well,” declared the Second Hero, Stigma, informing the emperor before heading out.

He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the lady in such a state.
Even if her brother and the knights were strong, the Second Hero was more seasoned, more capable.
Maybe—just maybe—he could do something more.

He set out with only a small pack and a sword for protection.
He passed through the open gates embedded in the towering wall—
the one meant to keep demonic beasts from reaching the estate and nearby towns.

There were no tracks, just as the scouts had reported.
He took the opposite route from the knights, hoping to cover more ground—
hoping it would lead him somewhere she might have gone.

It led him to a cliff.

Below, the blue sea crashed violently against the rocks.

He had just been about to leave, finding nothing of note, when something caught his eye. Something... white. And if he looked closer...

The Hero circled the area, carefully making his way down to the beach. No, he hadn’t imagined it.
Torn, long strands of hair, now a shade darker from the moisture.
They lay near the slope—along with dried blood and a dagger, scattered across the rocky surface.

“…And what’s this supposed to mean?”
Stigma wasn’t an idiot like the others. He didn’t believe in convenient stories.
Deona wasn’t foolish enough to kill herself, no matter what the so-called evidence implied.
And yet—there was no body.
Which meant he couldn’t be entirely sure.

“You think I’ll believe this?”

The Second Hero knelt down and gathered the cut strands of hair.
Some had been pulled away by the waves, but most remained—
as if they’d been left just for him to find.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement—several silhouettes appearing in the distance.
Or perhaps they’d been there all along?

The invisibility spell lifted, confirming the truth.
There were three of them—
including the “missing” Deona, her hair now chopped into a short bob.
The other two stood silently behind her, their identities hidden beneath cloaks.

“You should’ve kept quiet, elder,” the girl said flatly, making no move to come closer.
It was clear—she had no intention of going back.
Back to a place that never truly felt like home.

“Heh.”
The green-haired man smirked, slipping the white strands into his bag.
“You’re rather confident, showing yourself to me like this—after all that dramatic flair.”

He didn’t bother mentioning that her escape could easily be classified as treason.
He was more curious about what she’d do next.
Where she’d go.
There would be no warm home. No wealth to cushion her. No lavish lifestyle.

“Because right now... the decision is in my hands.”
If he told the emperor about this encounter, she'd be hunted as a traitor.

“Then go ahead,” the albino girl tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. She knew full well he had the upper hand—but she also knew people.
She knew him.

Despite being the Second Hero, Stigma was more loyal to his own code of honor than to any empire.
He saw something in her. A reflection.
As if he understood the pain she carried.
As if he could see through her—
and yet, never predict her next move.

And he liked puzzles.
He liked the kind of mystery that didn’t unravel too easily.
The kind that lingered.

“This time, we part peacefully,” he shrugged, turning to leave at a calm pace.
He’d gotten the clue he needed.
What came next wasn’t his concern.

Next time... they might meet as enemies.
But that would depend on fate.

.

.

.

“I still think cutting that much hair was unnecessary, young lady,”
said Remember, standing in clothes that weren’t his usual butler’s uniform.

“I’d have had to get rid of it anyway,” Deona replied, pulling her hood tighter.
Her white hair, still untouched by dye, would’ve stood out too much in the dark.

= Human! Grandpa Remember was right! I could’ve conjured you a different appearance—you didn’t have to do this! =

What’s going on, you ask?
To understand, we need to go back—
Back to the past.

°°°

“Countess… my apologies,”
the butler said quietly as they dragged her out of the half-collapsed manor.
“But this old man had no choice but to resort to such measures.”

“…What?”
Deona lifted her head, confused.
She didn’t understand anything anymore.
It hurt to breathe—her lungs burned as fiercely as the wooden floors beneath her feet.

“Young Master is completely safe.”
Seeing the state she was in, the old man chose to first calm her,
to reassure her that her child… had not died.

“But Raon…”
The albino lowered her gaze, looking down at the bundle in her arms. Wasn’t… wasn’t he dead?
Then what was this she was holding?

“Captain!”

Her knights rushed to her, shouting her name, helping her out faster.
Once outside, they bombarded her with questions, scolding her for such reckless behavior.

“Do you even realize what you’re doing to us?!”

“What were you thinking?!”

“I nearly had a heart attack!”

“We were yelling at you! Why didn’t you listen?!”

“I know, I know. Stop repeating it.”
Deona sighed, wiping her face.
She felt how the skin on her palms had lost its softness—burns.
She had reached barehanded into the fire for that cursed scroll, for it.

“Countess, your hands are—burned…”

“Young lady, you need—”

“I’m fine… it doesn’t matter. What matters is—what about Raon? He…”

“He’s here.”
Milan pushed through the crowd of knights, holding a bundle wrapped in a warm blanket—in which Raon was gently tucked.

Deona, still trembling from heat and pain, looked down at what she had been clutching so tightly the entire time.

It wasn’t him.

A mannequin.
Expertly crafted, dressed in baby clothes, with strands of light hair and a tiny pendant—Raon’s pendant.
Everything soaked in oil, wrapped in fabric, its dense stuffing mimicking the weight and shape of a child’s body.
Designed to burn beyond recognition.

And it had worked.

“…But…”
The albino girl’s fingers clenched the edge of her ash-black cloak.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
“I held him…”

“You held only a shell,”
Remember began to explain.
As a seasoned—if now retired—mercenary, he knew how to adapt and make decisions on the fly.
“The real young master was hidden away beforehand. Right before the assault.”

“But I… I felt blood…”
she whispered. The blood had been real. Crimson.
With that unmistakable scent she’d smelled far too many times.

“A mixture of animal blood and a reagent that clots quickly,” the old man said gently.
“Forgive this old man, young lady.”

He didn’t say aloud what he knew to be true:
the plan wouldn’t have worked…
if she hadn’t played her role to the very end.
If her grief hadn’t been so real,
so utterly hopeless—
their ruse might’ve failed.

°°°

Now, returning to the present.

It was harder to pull herself out of that desperate state, even knowing for certain that Raon was alive.
She had held her child close to her chest for a long time, as if listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

And once she set off, she began to think more clearly.

The butler, who had learned of the mercenaries’ plans long before they acted, had prepared the mannequin, switched Raon out, and hidden the infant in the compound of the High Knights.
Just as he’d expected, the assassins targeted the nursery, planning to set fire to the manor as a distraction.
Only... the “distraction” turned out to be the baby himself, who—by a “fortunate accident”—burned along with the room before the killers could even reach him.

Deona used that moment as her chance to flee.
Why not? Everyone believed her child was dead. Hiding his existence in a place swarming with spies and lightning-fast rumors was nearly impossible.

So why not escape the Empire now that fate had handed her the perfect excuse?
Why not run from the place where the original Deon had suffered the most?
From a place destined to be nothing but ash when the catastrophe finally arrived.

And now, they stood at the edge of the forest, the path to the port just visible beyond the slope.

= Human! Are we going on a journey?! =

Raon, still only able to speak through thoughts, looked toward the shoreline with excitement.

Even if his eyes no longer held that same ocean-blue as before, Deona still saw that familiar spark in them—the same stars that would never fade,
never bow to anyone, and would live freely, unchained.

Yes… And now she was free too.
Free from others’ expectations, from their eyes and the knives aimed at her back.