Chapter Text
It began with a perfectly inconspicuous knock on the door of his study.
“Enter!” Asmodeus Alice called out, shuffling the notes for his upcoming lecture series on ancient magical rites of the pre-satanic age around. It was a mandatory lecture for the study of demonic history, meaning it would be reasonably well-attended, but Alice might as well be talking to himself for all the attention the students would pay him. “Before you say anything, let me remind you that all papers are to be handed in to Professor Schneider, not me.”
“Noted.” A warm, vaguely familiar voice answered. “But it is, in fact, your expertise I require, Professor.”
Alice dropped the notes, papers spreading out over his desk.
Standing in his cramped study was a woman he had last seen at Dembridge, their shared alma mater, graduating summa cum laude together. Sometimes in the past decade, he’d wondered if he only remembered her larger than life, but here she was, an imposing figure still, so tall the tip of her ears nearly reached the ceiling, and the dress suit she was wearing had the look of an original Chanhell outfit - Alice hadn’t heard of her in years, but she evidently had been doing well for herself.
“Azazel!” He exclaimed, hurrying to stand, and somewhat self-conscious of his own rather plain suit in herringbone and muted cream colours. These days, he only very rarely dressed as befitting his family name, and while it hardly mattered to the students and university staff, looking like a stuffy librarian in front of another noble set to inherit a title was another thing entirely. “Devi, we’ve not seen one another in-”
“Eleven years.” Azazel Ameri strode over, taking his hand in a firm, self-assured grip, a sharp smile dancing in her eyes. “I’m gladdened to find you haven’t forgotten me entirely, Asmodeus.”
“I never could.” Alice smiled back, equally sharp. They had been good-natured rivals at university, and moved in the same circles for years before that - Alice had always been a solitary man, but Ameri had, perhaps, been the closest thing he’d ever had to a friend.
(For a time, their parents had even heavily hinted at marriage... but it had become evident very quickly that Ameri had no intention of settling down at her father’s behest, and Alice’s interests primarily went into the diametrically opposed direction, making them a poor match, romantically.)
“Well, now. Make yourself at home.” He gestured at the study around them. “I do apologise for the mess, I just finished a book project and haven’t had opportunity to clear my research material up.”
“I know, I’ve read it.” Ameri moved over to a stack of books half as high as her, flipping the topmost volume open. “‘On the Forgotten and Faded: A Survey of pre-Delkiran Myths and Their Historical-Anarchaeological Basis’. An engaging and scientifically valuable read.”
“Are you here to flatter me, Azazel?” Alice raised one eyebrow, busying himself with gathering up the scattered lecture notes on his desk. “Is this a social call? I would never have thought you the type.”
“It’s not.” Ameri closed the book again, striding up to his desk, and settling into the chair opposite it. “It’s a business proposal.”
And with those simple words, she threw an object onto his stack of notes that made Alice’s entire world flip upside-down.
“That-” He reached out on reflex, but stopped just short of contact, hand trembling with barely contained awe. “It… this…”
He twisted over to pull open a drawer, scrambled to put on gloves and put an enhancement lens over one eye, before turning back to trace one worshipful finger along the edge of the object.
“A Ring of Gluttony,” he breathed reverently, picking it up with exquisite care, inspecting the delicate inscriptions and the iridescent aura wavering around it. “The Ring of Gluttony! Azazel, this.. this is extraordinary, how in Hell-”
“I took it off a slimy Origins fanatic somewhere in the outer realm mountains.” Ameri said, pulling a disgusted grimace. “He knew what he had, but not how to make use of it. He got away, too, but I broke off one of his horns so that’s something, at least.”
Alice was barely listening. He knew of the Returners, of course, hardly anyone in the Netherworld didn’t, but he’d chosen to be an anarchaeology professor rather than a Crown for good reason. Politics had never captured his interests much, and the tiny little circle of gold in his hands was… well, it was the kind of thing that had the potential to lead to groundbreaking discoveries, to make him the single most famous researcher in his field.
His entire world had narrowed down to this ring, this myth-turned-reality Ameri had simply tossed at him, and he had trouble to even remember to breathe.
“That’s what I’ve been doing these past few years.” Ameri continued, reaching across the desk for Alice’s cup of tea, and sipping it. Alice let her. “I travelled. I explored. I always wanted to see the world, you’ll recall, and I’ve been near everywhere, finding old archives, dusty collections, overgrown ruins, remnants of forgotten ages.”
“You did always prefer legwork,” Alice murmured, casting a careful mana-spectral analysis spell over the ring, and feeling a little breathless at the intricate colours dancing across his vision. He hadn’t seen a magical object from the Delkiran age with its spell signature so well-preserved since he’d received permission from the royal archive to study Lilith’s jewellery, and those gemstones had been meticulously looked after by generations of archivists.
“Father was terribly unenthusiastic about it, of course.” Ameri continued, rolling her eyes and tossing her hair back. “Didn’t want his precious baby daughter, the Azazel heir, to go gallivanting around the globe with ‘unsavoury types’. But I’ve quite firmly reminded him that I am no longer a child, and promised to travel under an alias if the family name means so damn much to him. You can imagine how he took that.”
“About as well as Mother took my going into academia, I imagine.”
“Just so.” For a moment, they shared a grim smile of mutual understanding over their painfully similar family situations. “Isn’t it grand, being the black sheep of the family?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re their pride and joy, for finding this ring.” Alice ran his fingers over the metal, felt the carvings through the thin fabric of the gloves. “Azazel, this is the discovery of the century!”
“Oh, no.” A smirk, her dark-red lips pulling back to reveal her fangs, pulling another object from the cleavage of her quite daringly-cut dress and setting it down on the desk as well. “It’s only the beginning.”
A notebook. Flipped open to reveal careful, detailed transcripts in Old Demonese, and a beautiful coal sketch of…
“Royal One.” Alice whispered softly, eyes skimming the lines of transcript, translating on the fly. Enter… unknown deictic element, likely “here” or “this way”, to the chamber/resting place of… a Kingly Seal, made up for the characters of “foreign/human” and “kind”... “You want to-”
“Yes.” Ameri confirmed, determined fire blazing in her eyes. “I was given this booklet some years ago by Professor Balam, a magibiologist who explored the Babylian jungles and came across some peculiar ruins. He couldn’t find a way to enter them, but he transcribed every little bit of writing he could find on its walls even if he couldn’t translate it, and created these drawings.”
She tapped on the delicate shading along the sides of a grand door, draped in rusting chains.
“His husband’s brother works with my father, so he knew to pass these findings on to me.” She flipped the page, to a sketch of a carving with a terribly familiar ring at its centre. “The ring keeps showing up, as does this phrase-”
“The Ring is Key,” Alice read out. “And the sigil for “ring” uses the characters for “greed” and “royal”, it seems like. You would’ve needed the Ring of Gluttony to enter, but the ring is lost- well. Was lost.”
“I didn’t translate much further. It’s not my expertise, and that was enough to tell me it was futile… until I found the ring.” Ameri flipped another page, this one featuring a portrait carving, stylised, of a tall figure spreading their arms and wings both, above their head the crown-like Yodh halo typical for depictions of royalty during that era. “Now… now it all seems very possible, all of a sudden.”
Alice nodded, eyes caught on the king’s portrait, the elegant arch of their outstretched hands. Across thousands of miles, through a weak facsimile on old paper, it seemed to beckon to him - and from the look on Ameri’s face, the strange tone in her voice, she felt it, too.
“So this is what you need me for?” He asked, his voice slightly hoarse. “Translate this book, so you know what you’re doing when you go out to find those ruins for yourself?”
“Yes, and no.” Ameri leaned forward in her seat. “I’m good, I know that. But this… this is something that cannot be entrusted to anyone but the best. And Asmodeus, please appreciate how much it takes out of me to say it, but when it comes to this kind of anarchaeological research and the spells, myths and rituals of the Delkiran age, there is nobody better than you. Yes, I want you to translate this, to advise me in regards to the best course of action. But I also want you as my on-site advisor at the ruins of Royal One.”
And Alice ought to decline.
He ought to point to his lecture notes, to his obligations, his contract, a life he couldn’t uproot, a reputation too valuable to risk.
Politely say no, translate the damn inscriptions for her, and let a reckless fool like her go off to get herself killed while he wrote another book about it in peace. Maybe acknowledge her as co-author (named second, of course) if he was feeling generous.
That was what Alice ought to do.
What Alice did was nearly drop the ring in his frankly embarrassing haste to agree.
Alice squinted up at the merciless sun, and pretended that he couldn’t already feel his delicate skin burn and blister. This part of the Netherworld was a far cry from the cool, shadowed rooms at the university, and Alice had always been a blueblood in more than just name, skin so pale that the veins stood out sharply from under it, and he would much rather keep it that way, thank you very much.
They had taken a ship to cross the satlantic ocean, rather than take the air route; slower, but that was no issue, since Alice spent the entire ride in his cabin, meticulously translating the inscriptions, cross-referencing with reconstructed spells, and seeing which seals the ring’s mana signature reacted well with. Ameri, meanwhile, had spent half the time planning, sending wires ahead over the ship’s hellegraph to acquire supplies and permits, and the other half reading terribly pulp-y romance novels she’d had a passion for since long before Alice had known her. They’d taken meals together, her talking of her adventures, him of the high-society gossip she’d missed, and it had almost been fun, catching up, realising they were still getting along just as well as established professionals in their fields as they did as half-aimless students with big dreams.
They’d arrived without complications in a bustling port town, and taken the train further inland, until they’d reached the edge of the sprawling Babylus Valley, and the city at the edge of the jungle deep in which, if Professor Balam was to be believed, lay the forgotten ruins of Royal One.
Most of Alice still longed to double back, go back to his simple, practical life as a professor, merely analysing the findings of people more foolhardy than him - but then he would catch a glimpse of the ring (which Ameri had taken to wearing on a thin chain around her neck after Alice had gotten everything he could out of it), or run his fingers gently over the coal sketch of the royal portrait (he, in turn, was carrying the notebook and his translation notes close to his heart - splitting the two up had been deemed the safest course of action, since Ameri seemed convinced she’d not seen the last of the Returner she’d stolen the ring off of) and feel nothing but a giddy eagerness, and an emotion strangely akin to longing.
On a soul-deep level, at the very core of his bones, he wanted nothing more than to see this through, and any discomfort with the idea was superficial.
Ameri felt the same, he knew, from the way she would touch her hand to the ring, or set her book down in her lap now and then, to stare out into the distance with a faraway look. In some peculiar way, this was more than just a matter of scientific curiosity for the both of them, and the moment Ameri had wrenched the ring from that primal demon in the mountains, the moment Alice had picked it up in his study, they’d been practically ensnared.
“Where is that guide of yours, then?” Alice muttered under his breath, wishing Ameri had chosen a meeting place offering more protection from the midday sun. Once they were under the dense canopy of the jungle, but for now, Alice’s bare skin was already reddening. “They appear to be late.”
“That was to be expected.” Ameri shrugged. “She’ll be here. Valac may not be punctual, but she is reliable.”
Ameri seemed a lot less troubled by the sun, as was to be expected - she had travelled through deserts, this was likely nothing to her.
She’d traded her sharp, modern dresses for a loose white shirt, unbuttoned just far enough to reveal the ring resting on her chest, and brown pants combined with sturdy leather boots, hair pulled back into a compact braid and covered with a hat that left holes for her ears. At her belt, she carried a whip and a sheathed knife so long it was half a sword, both of which Alice had no doubt she knew how to use, and nevertheless hoped would not be necessary on their trip.
Alice, for his part, had opted for a black button-down, sleeves rolled up and cooling charms woven into the fabric as concessions to the heat and notebook tucked into the breast pocket, as well as a white vest and matching dress suit pants. It might not be entirely practical, but Alice had always enjoyed being reasonably well-dressed, even if his wardrobe had become simpler as a professor, and he had no intention of dropping the ball now - the only thing Ameri had insisted on were sturdier boots similar to her own, since they would need them on the trek through the forest, and Alice had acquiesced quickly and with only minimal complaints.
Now they were waiting for the guide Ameri had hired, and who she apparently trusted to lead them safely through the jungle, even though this Valac seemed to already have serious trouble navigating time itself.
Alice watched a local woman cross the square, bouncing this way and that to look at stalls and chat, trailing hem of a patchwork dress flaring out whenever she twirled. There was something very bright and colourful about her, and Alice could just tell that, if she were a student attending his lectures, he would mentally note her down as a troublemaker, evidently possessed of the kind of personality that grated terribly against… his…
…
...she was coming towards them.
Why. Why was she doing that. There was nothing here, no entrance to another street, no market stalls, no doors, no-
Oh.
Oh, no.
“Hi, customers!” The woman came to a stop in front of them - though the way she was still vibrating with energy made her look anything but stationary. “Valac Clara, of the Valac family, supplying the world with guides through the jungle for seven-and-a-third generations! Call me Clarin! Who’re you?”
Alice blinked, somewhat taken aback by the speed and energy of her conversation, but Ameri seemed perfectly unfazed.
“Jones, the expedition leader, I sent the hellegram to your mother - but you’re welcome to call me Ameri.” She held out one hand to shake, which the woman did with great enthusiasm. “And this is Professor Asmodeus, anarchaeologist and historian specialising in the Delkiran age.”
“Lady Red and Azz-Azz, got it!” This ‘Clara’ person beamed. “Nice to meetcha!”
“That is not my name.” Alice corrected sharply, already very much appalled by everything about her. “It is Professor Asmodeus Alice, and-”
“Oooooh, you’re such a sour gruffle-wuffle…” Clara cocked her head to one side, and Alice might’ve assumed the word was borrowed from a local dialect, if he hadn’t studied the languages spoken in the Babylus Valley from the Delkiran age to the modern day, and never heard of anything even remotely similar. “Are you hungry? Is that it? I’ve got chocolate.”
And with that, she tapped one of the yellow pockets sewn haphazardly on her dress, and produced a bar of chocolate that ought not have realistically fit in there.
“Clarin here will also be carrying our supplies.” Ameri mentioned offhandedly. “And thank you, but we’ve eaten breakfast.”
“Ah, okay. Then he’s just like that, gotcha.” Clara nodded, shoving the chocolate back into the spelled pockets that were no doubt hugely practical, but, in Alice’s opinion, did not make up for the rest of her. “Wanna get going, then?”
“A moment.” Ameri scanned the plaza, as she had done frequently since arriving here. “Just to ensure that the contract-”
“Yeah, all in order!” A salute, another grin. “Dunno why you’d hire the entire family and then have just one of us accompany you, but, eh, you rich people do weird things all the time.”
“The purpose is to prevent pursuers from using your family’s services to follow us, which is a real concern.” Ameri pointed out. “You guarantee us that will not happen?”
“Nah. You pay, you get to decide who we do and don’t guide.”
Ameri seemed mollified by that, though Alice was still of the opinion that there were likely greater dangers waiting for them in the jungle than following their tracks, and his dear friend had gotten a little paranoid in old age.
“Then lead the way, please.” Ameri had barely finished speaking when Clara already turned tail and bounced off to the city gates, singing some peculiar sort of nursery rhyme and stopping at each corner to wait for Ameri and Alice to catch up.
“I am beginning to think that a quite significant mistake has been made.” Alice murmured under his breath, scowling at Clara’s back. “You couldn’t have found us literally any other guide, Azazel? Why this, this...” he groped for a kinder word than ‘creature’, and came up blank. “...this peculiar beast?”
“Are you not fond of Clarin, ‘Azz-Azz’?” Ameri raised her brow at him, knowing full well that no, he was emphatically not. “And no, I couldn’t have. The members of the Valac family are the only reliable guides if you want to traverse Babylus Valley. There’s old magic in the trees, and anyone not led by a Valac will be spit out of the forest right back where they started. Professor Balam hired her mother, and if she hadn’t mentioned a curious type of bird nesting near the ruins, he never would’ve found them. We need this woman, so, for Devi’s sake, swallow your arrogance and let her call you wrong names and feed you chocolate if she damn well wants to.”
“I am beginning to recall why we so often butted heads back at school,” Alice informed her icily. “And why I did not try very hard to get back in contact with you since.”
Ameri, damn her, only laughed - likely because she knew damn well that her tendency to push back against him had been the very thing that had endeared her to Alice in the first place.
Still, he was getting the distinct feeling that the next few days of the expedition would be very sorely testing his patience…
Babylus Valley had, once upon a time, been called “King’s Cradle” in Old Demonese, and legend had it that the first demon monarchs had not been born to a parent, but had simply walked out of the heart of the forest, conceived and reared by magic itself.
A pretty myth, of course, nothing more, joining a hundred others, each a little different in every nearby town, about criminals fleeing into the forest only to return changed men, of the forest birthing children, eating children, teaching children, of strange and kind beasts - one even claimed that creatures from another realm had come to the Netherworld here, though everybody knew humans were merely the stuff of legends - and yet, there was no denying that the jungle was, for lack of a better word… strange.
Night and day melted into each other, barely any light filtering down through the trees, and glowing flora clinging to the trees, bathing their paths in a peculiar half-light that only allowed one to see a few armlengths’ worth of distance, before darkness swallowed the world up again. Animals largely kept out of sight, but not out of hearing, prowling and watching near-constantly, and the air… there was just something about the air. It felt almost thick with raw mana, heavy and humid-hot in the day and sharp and near-suffocating when the temperature dropped at night, and sometimes breathing in felt like electricity sparking in your lungs.
Clara seemed perfectly nonplussed by the jungle’s atmosphere, almost comfortable, cheerfully inspecting and touching flora Ameri and Alice gave a wide berth, but of course she would be familiar with it.
Alice, for his part, felt deeply uncomfortable from the start, hating the moist-crunching sounds his footsteps made on the jungle floor, hating whatever bits and pieces kept getting stuck in his hair, hating the atmosphere that was forcing him to unbutton his collar a lot further than ought to be proper. Even Ameri, who was more used to hardly habitable climes than him, seemed unsettled by it, and that was reason enough for Alice to shudder and keep his palm filled with flames at all times, ready to throw it at any threat that made it past Ameri and the knife she was hacking away at vines and foliage with.
It had been an arduous few days, unease only growing the further they ventured into the heart of the jungle, Clara chattering ceaselessly on and on about whatever came to her mind, meaning that Ameri and Alice were now well caught up on the latest gossip about people they had never met and likely never would - though they readily agreed that Mrs. Botis was a viper of a woman and deserved everything Clara’s baby siblings had done to her flower beds.
They eventually set up another camp for the night, Alice creating a fire for them to crowd around against the night's chill with ease, even after hardly using fire spells for more than lighting a candle or two for many years. Clara had cried out in delight at the sight when he'd done it on the first night, and demanded he do funny shapes, which Alice had pointedly refused to do, only eventually deigning to conjure up a flaming dragon that did not look at all funny to make her cease her whining and pleading.
Alice still thought her a terrible menace, though his opinion of their guide had admittedly improved a little when a flesh-eating plant had clamped shut around her arm, and Clara had done nothing but laugh and scold it until it released its jaws. Alice could appreciate excellence, and for all that Clara was a pesky airhead, she was clearly perfectly adapted to her surroundings and deserved at least a bit of grudging respect for it.
At the moment, she appeared to have produced a set of oddly-shaped dice and throwing-bones from her pockets, as well as a number of little figurines, with which she was playing an intricate game Alice had briefly attempted to follow the rules of, but had quickly given up once he realised there actually were none.
If Clara's words were to be believed - which was, admittedly, always in doubt - they would arrive at the ruins at some point during the next day, likely towards evening.
So now Alice was going over his notes yet another time, wavering on translating a certain construction one way or another, making minor adjustments to the seals he’d constructed, and spending far too much time pretending he wasn’t staring at the coal sketches that depicted carvings of the Demon King.
Ameri was leaning into his side, reading along over his shoulder, occasionally murmuring a question which Alice answered to the best of his ability.
Until she asked, completely out of the blue, “Why this?”
“Why what?” Alice echoed, pencil hovering above a ritual matrix he had just begun scratching out on some note paper. “You’ll have to be more specific, Azazel.”
“Why did you become a professor for anarchaeology, of all things?” Ameri clarified. “And why the special focus on the Delkiran age? I’ve always wondered. You never struck me as the type, back in our formative years, and you switched majors quite rapidly.”
“I was hardly more than a boy then, I’d rather you let me forget I ever was such an ill-behaved brat.” Alice sniffed. “And as to why… well. You remember how I was. I hardly knew what I wanted, studying politics just to please Mother, willing to shape my life into whatever the family wanted of me. Until…”
He paused, shooting Clara a glare over the campfire to very clearly impress that this was a private conversation. Clara, unperturbed, edged closer, eagerly waiting for him to continue his story.
“Do you remember, in last year, I had begun, ah. Seeing someone I’d met in the history lecture I was taking for extra credit?”
“...yes.” Ameri frowned, thinking back. “Tall, blond, and muscular? Ridiculously dramatic?”
“You’ve got him.” Alice confirmed. “Sabnock Sabro. And he was… well. He was passionate.”
“That is rather more information than I wanted.” Ameri winked just a hint salaciously, and Alice blanched instantly.
“Not like that, you incorrigible-!” He spluttered. “About his interests, Hell Below! He was studying history and literature, and he was positively bursting with eagerness and excitement at learning more, so happy to tell me all about what fascinated him this week. Demon Kings, and Delkira in particular, was a favourite topic of his, he was aglow with joy whenever he spoke of it. And one day, I realised that I envied him terribly for it, for the ability to love something so passionately, consumingly, and to dedicate your life to it. I realised I wanted to do the same, study something with such great excitement - but it was more than that, still.”
Alice ran his finger along the edge of the notebook, the sketch of Royal One on the opened page faded and smudged somewhat, but still beautiful.
“When he spoke of the past, it wasn’t past anymore. Sabnock, he had a way of talking about history that made it seem recent, made it come to life. He would talk about Delkira Himself in a way both factually accurate and strangely empathetic, like telling a story about a dear old friend. And as long as he was speaking, people that had been dead for thousands of years were remembered, were almost alive, and that… that was really quite beautiful to consider. By becoming a historian and anarchaeologist, I had hoped to do the same. Breathe new life into the past, in some small capacity. Who knows if I’m truly doing that at the moment, but the longer I studied towards it, the more I began to simply love the subject - not to mention the fact that I had talent for it. And now, here I am, allegedly the very best you could get. Funny how these things work out.”
“Funny indeed.” Ameri hummed thoughtfully. “Are you and Sabnock still…?”
“Oh, gracious, no.” Alice quickly shook his head. “We realised we were better friends than lovers very soon after graduation and still distantly keep in touch, as colleagues. He went on to get his doctorate in Older Demonese Literature, and teaches at… ah, some university in the Cutthroat Valley area, when he isn’t writing historical fiction novels. I could’ve sworn I saw you read Dance of the Thousand Swords on the ship here, one of his sappier ones.”
“He wrote-!?” Ameri gasped. “Asmodeus, once all this is done, you must introduce us, I very much insist. Perhaps he might sign my copy, too!”
“I promise to do so.” Alice vowed readily, knowing Sabnock would delight in meeting a fan.
Conversation petered out slightly after that, Clara going back to playing her little games, Alice sketching the rest of the matrix onto his note paper.
“And you?” Alice suddenly said, glancing up at Ameri. “You’ve told me all about where you went adventuring, but never why.”
(The flames cast Ameri’s profile in warm, flickering light, reflecting in her eyes, and really, if Alice were inclined towards femininity at all, he might’ve grown to love her in other ways than the friendly.)
“What Father wanted for me was the life of a public servant. Honourable, dedicated, and dutiful to the last. But I…” Ameri sighed. “I would have excelled in it, I’m sure, and served well - better, perhaps, than anyone else might. But I found very quickly that I would not find happiness in such a life. What I wanted was…”
A smile now, on her face, a little wild and a little unrestrained.
“More. I wanted to see, know, experience so much more, and do it for myself, rather than for some nebulous public I was meant to serve. I wanted excitement, wanted adventure, wanted-” Ameri cut herself off, light blush spreading on her cheeks. “Well, I can’t say that. You’ll laugh at me.”
“I solemnly swear to contain my mirth,” Alice vowed, and “tailsy promise!” Clara chimed in.
“...romance.” Ameri said, very quickly. “I wanted adventure… and romance. Whirlwind affairs, sudden passion, unexpected emotion, that sort of silly thing. None of the sensible matches Father would suggest, I wanted to go out into the world and find love there, in whichever form it might come, wherever it might be waiting for me.”
“And, did you?” Alice was smiling, despite his promises, but it was a fond sort of smile, all affection for his friend. “Find romance?”
“Here and there, yes, though my mileage varied.” A casual shrug, and a knowing smirk. “But that’s the beauty of romance, isn’t it - there’s always more of it to find, out there.”
Alice himself had rather given up on romance over the years, but he had to admit, Ameri's optimism was tempting to indulge in.
"And you, Clarin?" Ameri turned to their guide. "What has led you to pursue this life?"
"Ummmm… well……" Clara tapped her finger to her lips in contemplation. "Never really thought about it."
"I wouldn't have expected you to," Alice murmured under his breath, and then "ow!" as Ameri drove her elbow into his ribs.
"But I guess, I love the forest very much, it's always been my playground, and I've made great friends here!" Clara grinned, wide and toothy. "So it's nice to show it to others, too, and have them play with me among the trees. Me and Mommy and Urara and Konchie and Keebow and SinSin and RanRan are all keeping the forest company, though, y'know, if I really wanted, I could be leaving, too. Daddy went off to see the world, just like you, Lady Red, and it was fine! Maybe I'll leave too, one day, but I'd need a reason first. Until then, I'm happy doing what I've always done!"
Having arrived at this conclusion, Clara nodded resolutely to herself, and put one of her dice into checkmate.
Alice and Ameri exchanged a glance, silently agreeing that it was most unfair, how very easy these things were for some people, while they had had to struggle with it so terribly.
That night, Alice dreamed that the jungle was dead and cold around them, skeletal branches sticking out into the sky, and instead of the moons, only a single, terrible eye hovered in the darkness of the night.
Ameri was with him, but Clara nowhere to be seen - everything was barren branches and the cold sludge of decaying plant matter.
Only, always staying just ahead of them, there hung a little star between the blackened trees, glowing blue and gold; and it was this that they were staggering towards, step by agonisingly slow step, this blue light in the distance that was beckoning them ever forward.
(If Alice stared into it almost until his eyes hurt, he thought he could very nearly discern a face amid the glow - but even if he did, it was only a half-remembered dream, and gone by the time the morning of the fateful day arrived.)
"Almost there!" Clara chirped, skipping over a tangle of roots. "Almost there!"
"You've been telling us that for near an hour, Valac!" Alice groused, wiping the sweat from his forehead with one already grimey sleeve. At least the sun would soon be setting again, lowering the temperature significantly. "Your 'almost there' might as well mean we won't find the ruins before midnight."
"Asmodeus is quite correct." Ameri agreed, casually picking a tiny little creature with far too many teeth out of her hair and tossing it into the undergrowth. "At this rate, we might be better advised to make camp and-"
"No, we're really almost there!" Clara insisted, pouting. "I swear! Just a bit further!"
"Almost! Just a bit!" Alice echoed with significant amounts of spite. "I'm half certain you lost the way and- oh Devi help me."
Clara had pushed away a last tangle of leaves and vines, and revealed the stuff of myths and legends just beyond.
In an overgrown clearing ahead of them stood a monumental ruin hewn from stone that might have been black hellmarble once, but was so overgrown with moss and plants now that one could hardly tell at first glance.
Even in disrepair, whittled down by the ages, animals nesting in nooks and crannies of the crumbling architecture, there was something powerful, majestic, magical about it, giving the ruin an almost holy air - without a doubt, this was it.
This was Royal One.
Alice had frozen in his steps at first sight of it, but at a nudge from Ameri he stumbled forwards, breath still caught in his chest. He recognised certain patches of wall already, writing he had carefully translated over and over again, carved murals of demons in flight and great beasts, and…
Ameri had found the king's portrait, and it was smaller than he had imagined it to be, and close to the ground, but even more strangely beautiful up close. Alice knelt down beside her in front of it, and reached out with one trembling hand to touch the monarch's outstretched one, tracing the ring curled around the middle finger of his right hand.
"Oh, you've found my friend!" Clara leaned in over her shoulders. "He's my favourite playmate, y'know. Always told me that I don't need to give people things for them to like me, and that it was mean of them to expect it. He's very clever."
Alice had a comment about her mental state being rather pitiful at the ready, but Ameri pointedly raised one eyebrow at him, and he supposed it wasn't quite worth it.
Instead, they had her lead them over to the massive double doors laced in thick layers with containment spells, where Alice spread out his notes on the ground and got to work.
Constructing the counter-seal took another hour, long enough for dusk to fall, prompting Ameri to request torches from Clara and light them - fire spells would be an unnecessary risk, and might interact with the unstable old magic fields of the ruins in unpredictable ways.
Alice worked in their light, carefully drawing glowing lines into the air with one finger, one on each of the golden locks keeping the chains criss-crossing over the door in place, and then a final one in the middle, more intricate and detailed, all the while muttering Old Demonese chants. He'd reconstructed rituals like this before, had practised and demonstrated them, but this was the first time he went in blind, every step new and uncertain, on the genuine article.
Finally, he held out his hand, and Azazel placed the ring into it.
Alice slipped it onto his finger, and rested his hand against the middle of the seal, feeling magic leylines click into place as the ring was brought into position.
"The Ring is Key," Alice intoned, carefully. "May it break the seal, and let us enter."
The seals lit up with an incandescent glow - and nothing happened.
Until, very, very slowly, the door under Alice's hand began to creak inward, gradually at first, then gathering up speed, opening to reveal the dark, cold tomb that lay beneath, and which no living soul had ever seen before.
Clara cheered and hugged him, Ameri patting him on the shoulder - and Alice was grinning, giddy with success, magic thrumming in his veins.
They'd done it - and the discovery of the century was lying spread out before them.
"The completion of the construction of Royal One is commonly taken to mark Year Null of the Delkiran age, and its sealing off over a thousand years later its end.” Alice’s voice was echoing strangely in the still, age-old air within the ruins, making it sound almost like a thousand voices were whispering along in unison. “During that time, it functioned as a sort of palace in which the Demon King was reared and resided for great lengths of time during their adult life, allegedly able to feel all spells being cast in the entire Netherworld here at its centre - likely a metaphor for the fact that Royal One, in those times, marked a sort of crossroads between major trade routes, meaning magical objects and spell constructs would very frequently pass through the area.”
Ameri raised her torch high, inspecting a fresco that seemed to depict a great flying beast, bending its head to a small figure with the Royal Yodh hovering above its head, one hand outstretched as if to offer blessing. There were beautiful drawings covering the walls under a generous layer of dust, and precious metals and stones glinting only very slightly in the flickering torchlight - though, even if no demon had set foot into the place for many centuries, the elements, as well as some flora and fauna, clearly had, steadily dripping water and moss covering much of it.
“At the height of Delkira’s reign, dozens of demons would undergo a pilgrimage to Royal One each day the king was in session there, to beg for his council. In the ancient world, the phrase ‘as the Demon King advised me’ is extremely wide-spread in a wide variety of texts, almost colloquialised, implying that such advice was more than easy to get.” It felt almost natural for Alice to slip into lecture mode, except for the fact that, for once, he was not reciting this knowledge in front of bored, disinterested students, but telling it to the very walls that surely knew this better than him, having borne witness to all of it. “The middle years of Delkira’s reign already saw the construction of the palace atop the floating islands, which still stands to this day, and sociopolitic upheaval during the end of the age led to most ruling business being transferred there, being now considered a more advantageous location. And when Delkira’s successor died at a painfully young age, it was decided that the now half-defunct Royal One would make for a worthy final resting place for the Young King.”
Some animal skeletons slumped against walls, their bones crunching underfoot, pointed towards there being traps installed to deter eventual graverobbers, spells etched deep into the walls; and while them carrying the ring seemed to ward against most magical security measures, Clara had nonetheless summoned her familiar Falfal, which, oddly, sent her ahead of them to sniff out physical traps and steer them clear of danger.
“Many writings in the early years of the next age reference ‘the King Who Reigns Eternally at Royal One’ as a sort of deity-like guardian of the realm, and many demons continued to come here with offerings and beg for help and advice, albeit in the slightly more spiritual sense. It would take some centuries, and territorial disputes between the later Northern and Southern realms, for that practise to become more rare, and finally difficult as old trading routes were swallowed up again by the jungle, eventually rendering Babylus Valley near-inaccessible. And so Royal One was lost, and even though numerous explorers across the ages would find it again and note so in their journals and memoirs, nobody…” Alice swallowed, the gravitas of the situation making his throat go dry. “Nobody has ever managed to go as far as we have. So many have attempted to unseal Royal One, and we are the first to succeed.”
“It would never have been possible without all three of us working together, and a great deal of luck.” Ameri said evenly, but Alice knew her well enough to hear a tremor in her voice, her pride and satisfaction evident. “This way now, I think.”
She pointed down a corridor, and Clara obediently bounded ahead, giving the all-clear within seconds - so they followed her, Alice taking out the notebook and roughly sketching out their path through the ruins, marking particularly well-preserved murals or interesting writing, and the occasional doorway leading to smaller rooms that seemed to have been emptied before sealing the building off. Alice itched to investigate every single one of them, stand in front of one of the walls and inspect every tiny little corner and patch of writing, trace the unusual paths of old magic flowing through the ruins - but he knew Ameri was looking for one thing above all, and Alice knew that there was no point in more closely investigating anything else before that was found.
Royal One was a treasure trove of anarchaeological research, but regardless of what else it might be, its central purpose was nevertheless to be a grave, and any other discoveries would pale before the corpse of a Demon King of old, and the overwhelming significance of seeing a half-forgotten legend in the flesh.
Alice felt near faint at the thought, and whenever he looked over at Ameri, he could see giddy excitement shine from her eyes, the seasoned explorer only barely hiding the young woman thirsty for adventure and unprecedented discoveries.
Finally, they reached another door, smaller but near as grand as the entryway, the Royal Yodh carved into its centre. The throne room, without a doubt… and likely the burial chamber, as well.
Ameri glanced back at Alice, who nodded slightly - and reached out to push the doors open, stepping inside with her torch held high.
The room that spread out before them had a higher ceiling than any other, seeming only larger and more cavernous in darkness, though it had the same strange half-light quality to it as all the shadows in the forest, mana so thick in the air it was almost hard to breathe. Offerings for the King, to keep him throughout his eternal rest, lay spread out around the room: precious jewellery, books and scrolls, spelled objects, and gold plates heaped with magically-preserved delicacies on long tables - even some childhood toys and games, a painful reminder of the fact that this monarch had died as a very young adult, barely a few years into his reign.
There was a singular eye carved into the ceiling, gazing down at them, like in Alice’s dream - but once more, all his attention was drawn to blue light instead.
For there, at the far wall, stood a high throne of gold and darkwood; and on it sat a figure, a body, holding a longer court in death than he did in life, bathed in a magical blue glow the same colour as his hair.
They had found the Eternal King.
And Alice felt drawn forward like he never had before, felt an overwhelming, numbing need to kneel before a dead man’s throne and swear everlasting fealty, press a reverential kiss to an ice-cold hand and worship as he never had before; so he stumbled a step, another, Ameri beside him, and the pure longing on her face surely mirroring his, because this was the Eternal King and he was a legend and he was real and he was beautiful and he was what they’d both searched for all their lives without knowing-
“Oooh! Careful!” An arm and a paw shot out before them, Clara and Falfalal jolting them both out of their trance. “You don’t wanna step there! It’s got the look of a trap door.”
“It- yes.” Ameri shook her head slightly, as if to dislodge something. “Good catch, Clarin.”
“Pretty deep, too.” Clara dropped down to all fours, knocking on an inconspicuous patch of floor that did indeed sound rather hollow. “Probably spikes at the bottom, too. But the rest of the room’s all good! Just step a little to the left to go past it.”
“O-of course.” Alice felt his heart flutter like a little bird high up in his throat, and it was not due to how close he had come to spike-filled death. “...thank you, Clara.”
And then, with more care, they approached the throne a second time.
The Eternal King was - had been - smaller than one might have imagined, a young man of slight, delicate build, the cloak he was wearing - the cloak that was his shroud - almost drowning his slight form. His hands, bare, were resting on the sides of the throne, feet dangling, and his blue hair framed a well-formed face that looked almost achingly peaceful in death. He wore little of a king’s finery, only the gold collar around his neck, all the rest of his garb simple and almost humble.
And Alice had been correct with his entranced first impression; he was beautiful, in a soft, tragic way, the bloom of youth and magic and power cut too soon and preserved between the pages of a long-forgotten book. His eyes were closed, blue lashes fanning out above his cheeks, and Alice had never seen anything so ethereal, both faded and fantastical, and yet real. He never wanted to look away.
“Up there.” Ameri whispered, as if afraid to raise her voice before the beautiful dead. “Writing on the wall. Can you translate it?”
Alice tore his eyes away, and gazed up, up at the inscription above the throne, raising his torch high to read.
“‘Here presides the King, who is named… Su-Tsu-Ki Ih-ruu-mah,” Alice intoned softly, carefully. “He rests in eternity; and in rest, he rules. In rest, he is kept safe, from the dangerous ones who wish to… consume him, I think that use of ‘to eat’ is meant metaphorically here… and he shall rest until the danger has passed; and at such... time-point, I think, this is a strange construction… his rest will be ended, and he shall rise, and he shall walk again among the living, and he shall be beloved anew by all’ - and that last bit is just ‘The Ring is Key’ again.”
Alice lowered his torch slightly, mulling the words over.
“The use of the resurrection motive in this context is very unusual,” he muttered thoughtfully, and then “stop that!” to Clara, who was greeting the corpse like an old friend, making as if to tackle-hug him if Ameri hadn’t grabbed her at the last second. “Behave, you little- well, what I mean to say is, there are very few recorded myths referencing second lives, or a return to life - the closest are legendary figures who cannot die at all, or a sort of separate afterlife. To attribute the ability to return from death to a King is… peculiar. To imply that this man could wake and upset the line of succession so thoroughly.”
“It’s not hard to believe, though.” Ameri pointed out, her eyes fixed on the Eternal King’s face again. “Just look at him, Asmodeus. I’ve never seen preservation spells that immaculate, if I didn’t know that he died thousands of years ago…”
And Devi help them, she was right.
The Eternal King did not have the look of a typical magically-preserved corpse at all, none of that awkward stiffness, or the wax-like discolouration of the skin. He sat on the throne almost a little slumped, head inclined ever so slightly, and it was easy, too easy, to pretend that the young man had merely dozed off there, eyes slipping closed with exhaustion, and if one only reached out and gently shook him, his chest would begin to rise and fall again, and he would blink owlishly with slight embarrassment at having fallen asleep. So perfect, so life-like, the blue glow of magic pulsating around him very nearly suggesting that his chest moved after all, and of course the demons who had buried him with heavy hearts had wanted to believe that, if they only made him appear alive, one day he would be, and resume the reign that had been so tragically and mysteriously cut short.
“He hardly looks dead, yes.” Alice agreed quietly, reminding himself that he nevertheless was, and feeling his chest constrict at the thought. “...absolutely remarkable.”
“Yes,” Ameri breathed, wonder and sadness mingling in her eyes as she raised one trembling hand, bringing it up to the King’s cheek, round and soft with youth - he must’ve died nearly at the same age as they were now - and looking like it would colour easily if blood could still rush to it. “Truly, as if he could come back to life any-”
Her fingers made contact - and instantly she froze, entire body stiffening.
“Asmodeus.” She said, voice hard in a way that was meant to conceal a tremor. “Alice. His skin is warm to the touch.”
“What?” Clara blinked, and “WHAT!” Alice snapped, because that was not possible. It was not. In the Delkiran age, proper preservation spells took weeks to set up, and there was no way to capture a body in stasis with the warmth of life still in it, absolutely none. The thought alone was ludicrous, warmth was difficult to magically preserve, and would threaten to cause decay the spells would have to work harder against. It was not possible.
“Feel!” Ameri grabbed his hand, pressed it to the cheek - and yes, yes, Devi help him. Warmth under his fingertips, skin so soft it could never gotten even close to being drained of life, and the signature of the spell thrumming through it…
“Living stasis!” Alice whispered, and felt almost faint, the warm, alive skin under his palm and Ameri’s fingers digging into his hand the only anchor he had to reality. “He was never dead - they put him under living stasis, and funnelled mana along the magical leylines of Royal One to keep the spell sustained indefinitely- oh, that is brilliant, at least an age ahead of its time, I would expect contemporary spellsmiths to struggle with something of this magnitude…”
“He’ll rise again- that was meant literally!” Ameri exclaimed, laughter colouring her voice. “Because he was never- of course he’s only resting!”
“Don’t laugh, Azazel, don’t you realise what a disaster this is for my field!?” Alice was grinning too, her mirth contagious. “So many myths and legends we’re accustomed to reading as metaphors, what if they’re all true? Imagine, if humans were real!”
They both collapsed into helpless, terribly inappropriate giggles, hardly noticing Clara getting up on tiptoes beside the throne and leaning in to whisper into the King’s ear, “I’m so sorry for bringing you such weirdweirdy loopy-heads, Irumachi… I swear they’re better when you get to know them, and we’ll be real good friends, all of us!”
“Well.” Ameri wiped a tear of laughter from her eyes. “Can you… can he be revived?”
“Yes.” Alice answered immediately, not a shred of doubt in his mind. “And, if I’m right, very easily, too.”
He handed his torch over to Falfal, who immediately began gnawing at it, and reached out again to take one of the still hands on the armrests, the right one, marvelling all over again at the thousand-year-old life he could feel under his fingertips. The Eternal King’s claws were almost translucent, nearly flesh-coloured and not covered with the polish demons used nowadays.
“It’s the ring. It’s still the key.” Alice murmured, and Ameri’s hand immediately went up to where she had returned it to the chain around her neck after opening Royal One with it. “Put it on his finger. The middle one.”
Ameri put her torch into a nearby lampholder, and, with subtly trembling fingers, undid the chain’s clasp, unthreading the ring and taking it delicately between her fingers, leaning in to where Alice was holding the king’s hand steadily in place.
The ring slipped into place at hardly any prompting, passing smoothly over the slender knuckles, and pulsating with a faint golden light as soon as it had settled.
Both their eyes instantly snapped up to that slack, sleeping face, searching for any movement.
“Ihruu- Iruma?” Ameri said, very softly, and Alice held his hand tighter. It would be a miracle, absolutely impossible, far-fetched, a true legend coming alive before their eyes, surely this kind of thing could not truly happen…
...but it did.
Suzuki Iruma, of the late Delkiran age, the Eternal King, let out a soft sound that was barely more than a breath, eyelashes fluttering, blinking once, twice, before opening fully.
Alice gasped, and so did Ameri, a soft little “woah!” even escaping Clara.
His eyes were alight with the same unearthly glow that surrounded him, wide and curious twin stars, and he was even more beautiful now, something strange and otherworldly and almost displaced about him, a young man thousands of years removed from when and where he ought to be.
Those eyes moved to Clara first, then down to the hand Alice and Ameri were still holding on to, ring glowing on his middle finger - and then up to their faces.
And Iruma, this miracle made flesh, looked at them with such raw awe and wonder, mouth dropping open and gaze flickering back and forth between them, as if he had never seen another demon before - which, well, for thousands of years, he hadn’t.
“Oh,” he breathed, softly, and his voice was so gentle, so warm. “Oh!”
When he spoke, it was in Old Demonese, carefully and painstakingly reconstructed phonetics falling easily from his lips; though he only got out a few words before the unearthly glow around him finally faded, the stasis spell ending at long last.
The moment the impossible light flickered out in Iruma’s eyes, he pitched forward - it was only exhaustion, prolonged living stasis left the body drained, he would recover soon - and Ameri hurried to catch him, cradling the slight body in her arms as well she could.
“What- what did he say?” She stammered, holding the peacefully sleeping form of a King with impossible care, as if afraid he would break and shatter. “When he- what did he say?”
“I think…” Alice swallowed, and reached out to drape the cloak like a blanket over him. “I can’t be entirely sure, but it almost sounded like he said... ‘you two are beautiful’.”
“He what,” Ameri snapped instantly.
(“Oh, smooth, Irumachi!” Clara muttered beside them, reaching over to poke Iruma’s cheek. Once more, nobody paid her any heed.)
“Don’t ask me why!” Alice defensively snapped back. “That’s simply what he said, the man’s been asleep for millennia, it’s a miracle he’s halfway coherent in the first place!”
“Never mind that now.” Ameri rose, careful not to jostle the precious bundle in her arms, looking almost tiny against her imposing stature. “We have to bring him back to civilization immediately. Help him recover from the stasis aftereffects, and then… whatever else we might find in here will have to wait. This is the truly invaluable discovery, and we’ll have to find somewhere he’s safe, some way of keeping protected him from those insane Origin worshippers who had the ring and were likely searching for-”
“Insane? Now, that’s a little harsh.” Spoke a voice behind them, playfully lilting and lightly accented, and entirely unfamiliar to Alice.
He whirled around just as Ameri spat out the name ”Amy Kiriwo” as if it was a swear, protectively curling around Iruma.
The man that stood in the entrance of the burial chamber was almost strange in how unassuming and unremarkable he appeared, a young demon of somewhat brittle and gangly build, wearing glasses almost too big for his face, teal bangs hanging into his face. The most remarkable thing about him was that one of his horns was missing, a bandage wrapped around his head where it ought to be, blood seeping through the fabric.
He was smiling, broad and manic, and even from a distance Alice had no trouble identifying the warped pupils and feverish glint in his eyes that marked a demon who had Returned.
“Ms. Azazel, we meet again!” Kiriwo called out, spreading his arms wide. He appeared to only be wearing half a coat, hanging sadly off his left shoulder. “Such a privilege! You must introduce me to your dashing companion - but first, let me assure you that I bear you no ill will for stealing that ring from me last we met. None what-so-ever! No, not even…”
He gestured to the bandage at his temple with one careless hand.
“Not even for this. An unfortunate accident, I’m sure. Your whip slipped. No harm done!”
Despite his apparent flippancy, something dark, cruel, almost hungry twisted the features of a face that might otherwise been handsome into a horrifying grimace, a drop of blood lazily trickling down his temple.
“So, why don’t we just call it quits? You return my stolen property, and I’ll not bother you again.” Kiriwo’s grin widened, almost too far for his slim face and sunken cheeks. “Of course, since you’ve accidentally attached it to the finger of a certain king, I’ll simply have to take ‘em both! Very simple, really.”
“You will NOT touch him!” Alice snarled, surprising even himself with his vehemence. “We’ll never let you!”
“Oh, he’s fiery! I like him!” Kiriwo laughed, sharp and without real humour. “But we’ll have to play another time, I’m afraid.”
His amicable mask hardened from one moment to the next.
“Hand him over, won’t you? I’ll not ask nicely again.”
“No. And this is not a negotiating matter, Mr. Amy.” Ameri informed him coldly. “I’ll have to ask you to accompany us back to town and let yourself be handed over to the authorities there.”
“Hmmm, it seems we’re terribly at odds…” A sigh, false and overly theatrical. "Can't have that. But maybe, we can come to an agreement, after all, if I present you with a little… incentive."
Ameri's stone-faced expression very clearly indicated that nothing he could possibly say would change her mind - nor Alice's, come to think of it, or even Clara's, who was glaring at Kiriwo and muttering under her breath about what a "meanie-beanie" he was.
"Aren't you wondering, Ms. Azazel, how I managed to follow you, despite all your best efforts to deter me?" Kiriwo cocked his head to one side, innocently. "There's an explanation for that, and it miiiiight put me in a better position to make demands of you."
He waved with one hand, and at a spark of magic, two figures stumbled forward, ropes tying their arms back, until Kiriwo waved again, and they were forced to their knees just behind him.
Two boys, lanky teens, so similar they might've been twins - and with bright green hair and horns to match Clara's.
"Konchie!" Clara cried out, and never in the few days Alice had known her had he ever heard such pain and helpless fear in her voice. "Keebow!"
"Big Sis, we're sorry!" One of them half-sobbed, a dark bruise around his left eye. "We tried to turn him away, but he wouldn't… we had to come with, he said he'd hurt Mommy and SinSin and RanRan if we, if we didn't…"
"You- YOU LET THEM GO RIGHT NOW, YOU DAMNED-!" Clara shrieked, throwing herself forward, Alice only barely managing to grab her and shove her back, hissing "don't, he'll kill them before you're halfway up to him".
"Aaaand the tides have turned, how 'bout that." Kiriwo smiled to himself, extraordinarily pleased. "A trade, then, perhaps? The two boys' lives for the king. One up front, the other when I'm out of this damned forest again - and I pretty promise to return him only slightly damaged!"
Alice itched to call up a wave of fire, risky magical atmosphere be damned, and let it wash over this madman with his burning eyes… but he couldn't, it might kill the boys, kill them all. Instead, he glanced over at Ameri, seeing the muscles in her arms flex as she held her precious bundle tighter, and the calculations behind her eyes. Her father had hoped for her to take up a semi-military career, as he had, she would surely know better what to do with a hostage situation than he did.
"Why?" She finally said, challenging and cold - but Alice recognised the stiff set of her shoulders. She was afraid. Backed into a corner, and stalling. "What does the Order of Origins want with the Eternal King?"
"Now, now, that would be telling," Kiriwo tutted. "Would you believe me if I said 'scientific curiosity'? No? Personal interest? It's a bit of a pet project of mine, you know, history always fascinated me - you ought to be able to relate."
"Don't you dare call this historical research!" Alice spat. "You Returners have no idea what demonic culture was truly like, those 'Origins' you're aspiring to never existed, it's extremist babbling, nothing more!"
"Ah! He's a scientist, I should've known!" Kiriwo laughed. "Afraid I'll steal your thesis, sir? Now I'm thinking I might be doing the little king a favour, rescuing him from being a lab rat for the rest of his life! Speaking of…"
He put his hand into his half coat, pulling out a dagger made from some crystalline see-through substance.
"I'm done waiting, Ms. Azazel."
Both Alice and Kiriwo were watching Ameri, one despairing and angry, the other gleefully expectant; and she was looking at the body in her arms, small and vulnerable and worth the lives of two innocents.
And once more, nobody paid any heed to the Valacs in the room.
Clara made a discreet gesture with her hands, then another, seemingly nonsensical - but Konchie blinked, bumping his shoulder against Keebow, jerking his head first towards Clara, then at Kiriwo in front of them.
Keebow blinked, thought… and then nodded, resolutely.
3… he mouthed. 2… 1……… NOW!
And as one, the two boys threw themselves forward, barrelling into Kiriwo's legs.
The man gasped, stumbling a few steps forward, trying to balance himself - and his foot came down hard on a particularly inconspicuous part of the floor with a strangely hollow sound.
Kiriwo barely had time to mutter a soft "...what?" before the ground - the trapdoor - gave way under him, and he threw his hands forward, bursts of magic crackling at his fingertips, resonating through the entirety of Royal One… and then snapping back with violence, the old magic of the ruins deeply displeased by the sudden, too-violent intrusion.
Whatever spell Kiriwo had attempted to save himself was practically ripped to shreds, and he plunged into the abyss underneath him like a stone dropped into a well.
The trapdoor snapped shut above him again, and all that remained was the agitated thrum of disturbed magic bouncing from wall to wall.
“RUN! NOW!” Clara shouted, already bolting forward and picking up the dagger Kiriwo had dropped, cutting the ropes to free her brothers. “RUN, RUN, RUN!”
Alice did.
Ameri overtook him easily even while carrying Iruma, her legs longer than his, and more used to chases than leisurely sitting in a study, but he kept a decent enough pace, the Valacs ahead of them, choosing the right corridors with ease even as the ruins trembled around them, dust and bits of stone raining down onto them. Alice recognised the path they were taking, the direct route to the large double doors and the jungle outside it, and quickened his pace as much as he could.
There were the doors, the non-darkness of the jungle outside it, just as dangerous as the ruins but in different ways, and they threw themselves into the stinging cold of the night air, gasping and panting for breath.
Then suddenly Clara was there at his side, grabbing his hand, and putting the other into the air, arm pointing straight up - and he could see her brothers doing the same to Ameri and the unconscious Iruma just beside them.
“Forest! The Valacs implore you!” All three shouted in unison. “Bring us home!”
‘Oh,’ Alice realised, in that split second. ‘Not guides at all, really. More like guardians.’
But then the jungle’s strange magic was already wrapping tightly around him, the sky and the ground warping into each other, trees growing every which way, a whirlwind of green and brown and a thousand colours…
Until Babylus Valley spat them out again at the very edge of the treeline, the town they had set out from sleeping peacefully just ahead, and the magiseismic waves emanating from Royal One and whatever remained of Amy Kiriwo now far, far behind them.
“Wooo! That was exciting!” Clara beamed, letting go of Alice to rush over to her brothers and pull them into big hugs. “Now let me see your eye, Keebow. Does it hurt? And you, Konchie? What about that cut?”
“Well,” Ameri said, a little wondrously, a little shaken, glancing from Iruma in her arms to the forest, and back again. “Do you still think I should’ve hired another guide, Asmodeus?”
“Seeing as our expedition has, in large parts thanks to her, proven an overwhelming success…” Alice muttered, joining her in staring at Iruma, the way his eyes moved under his lids as he appeared to be dreaming, the slight twitches of his hands, the way his chest rose and fell evenly - this living legend they had recovered from myth and past.
“I will grudgingly admit you had the right of it, after all.”