The weak light did little to lighten, it coated a fog sticking across the floor of Varnmoor. It was a fitting backdrop for Her Majesty's procession. Queen Luna, she sat upon a red velvet set in her immaculate carriage. It was a fine dark wood, with engravings of webs across its surface, a far contrast to the rugged city around her. She wore a dress, form fitting to her hips with intricate black lace and polished beads. Her necklace seemed to take in the low light, giving a small shine. The air is heavy with the scent of myrrh incense and forge smoke. It parted for her carriage before closing again in her wake…
Walking four steps outside the carriage were her two princes. First Prince Verius, he kept his face fixed as he scanned the rooftops, his hand never far from the hilt of his sword.
The second Prince Dean, wore his tension in the shoulders, his eyes darting through the crowd as if expecting a threat to leap from the shadows.
They halted at the edge of the central square as the Criers of Deeds took their places. The Crier's voices were not raised in celebration, they recited the names of the fallen. Queen Luna's gaze did not waver from the Criers. The effigies that lined the street seemed to watch her in turn, their featureless faces turned not toward the square but toward her, almost reminding her of something far in the past.
A voice chirped from behind her, bright compared to the harsh and gloomy kingdom. "Luna!"
Luna turned to find Aamon vibrating with excitement having appeared as if from nowhere. His spiked tail carved happy slashes in the fog behind him.
"Eight days!" Aamon's wings flap, a white cloud gets pushed downward. "It's been eight whole days since I saw you. I counted! Do you have a present? In my mother's story, royalty always gives the knight a present." His spiked tail shot straight up like an exclamation point.
"Yes Aamon, I got you a present, it isn't something I'm giving you from the kindness of my heart." Queen Luna watches the small cloud dissipate around their feet. "I do need you to be alive to kill that succubus." She pulled out a miniature cat's paw, crafted from solid gold. The pads were lightly textured, and it attached with a thin white chain. She let it dangle from her fingers for a moment, the priceless trinket catching the witchfire light before leaning forward and dropping it into Aamon's waiting hands.
"Wow~ this is so cool!!! What does it do? Is it magic? Is it worth a lot?" Aamon cheered, freezing for the slightest moment. "Actually, I'll never sell it! It will be my prized possession, from a queen on my travels!" He started turning it over and over.
Aamon was bouncing on his feet, in his mother's stories, only the bravest knights received gifts from royalty. He managed to loop it securely onto the tail of his dragon pendant, the gold paw clinked softly against the silver dragon.
He didn't stay to bask in the queen's presence a moment longer. The need to show Ciel grew in his chest. He burned away from the queen, bursting into the inn where the smell of stew and ale filled their nostrils, a welcoming smell compared to the sulfur of his cell.
Betty was balancing three server trays as Aamon walked quietly past her. For once nobody batted an eye towards him, all eyes were on Queen Luna. Their queen walked past the front doors, her two princes quickly taking post at the front door. The entire room seemed to collectively halt at her presence, some coughing up the morning stew.
The Queen ignored the silence, moving with an elegant swift, her fan held open just above her upper lip. Her sharp youthful face stayed in view enough to make a drunken sober.
"My friend, loook! Look!" Aamon planted a foot in front of Ciel, she was eating a small bowl of stew, its carrots being the freshest at its surface. "I have a bright trinket from the queen." He thrusted the pendant forward, the new golden paw swinging against the dragon's tail. "I think it's a cat paw? I met a cat once, it scratched my eye. Oh, and I guess the kittens are cats too?"
Ciel did not look at the pendant, her spoon froze halfway to her mouth. Her entire focus was focused past Aamon… on the Queen who had settled in the set across on the table. watching them with the confidence of a goddess observing ants.
After a long moment Ciel's eyes slowly, reluctantly dropped to the gleaming gift. "It's… very shiny, friend…" Ciel's voice was a low, being carefully chosen. Her long, abyssal-elven ears were positioned back slightly and her pink eyes remained tied on the queen with, unblinking.
She didn't elaborate she didn't need to. The 'it' was the Lolita queen herself, dressed in black lace, forcing on her porcelain perfection that felt out of place among the rough wooden tables.
"Now, Aamon… sit, we have to talk." Queen Luna commanded, her tone leaving him no room for argument. "As good as you'd be dead, I'd rather 'Sayerra, the Succubus of Sloth' were the one to die."
Aamon's huge wings gave an anxious rustle as he cast a longing look toward Betty. She was across the bar, ladling stew into patrons bowls. The innkeeper met his gaze, greeting him with a reassuring nod.
"Sayerra? That's her name?" his voice went thin, as he folded his tall frame onto the chair next to Ciel. His spiked, bony tail thumped against the chair leg, chipping away at the old wood. "It's pretty. What exactly is she doing wrong? I can't just hurt someone for no reason, even if it's to be a knight… Sir Aldric wouldn't." Aamon asked.
Queen Luna's painted lips, the color of blood curled into a smile. With a deliberate motion she laid her fan upon the table. Its silver ribs were crafted into silver spiderwebs. "Like Sir Aldric, you say?" Her voice had a sweet chime that felt like a ploy.
"Oh, dearie… you are in for a story." She leaned forward. "Sayerra was no common lady, she ruled from her own domain. Dissenters weren't executed, her cult would simply dump them into her domain. Their will to fight, to rebel, to even care, was siphoned away until they could barely remember their own names." She swung her hand, the frills of her black dress rustling. "The old King of Varnmoor was one of her devotees. He kissed her feet not out of love or fear, but because he lacked the very will to lift his head.
Queen Luna finally sat back against her chair. "She ruled this side of the continent, her cult running it till hell. She is indolence given form, and her contentment is a plague that rots the soul itself."
Queen Luna absently traced the black pearls inlaid in her fan. She was going to say more before she was interrupted by Betty's sudden interruption. The innkeeper set down two generous bowls of stew. It has a rich savory, its smell cutting through the queen's tale.
"Oh, pardon me, your Majesty, I brought you both some fresh stew. It's on the house, a growing demon and our esteemed guest need to keep their strength up." Betty said. She placed a hand briefly on Aamon's shoulder, giving a message of support. Before retreating back to the safety of her bar, and leaving the three in their tense little circle.
Queen Luna stared into the stew for a second, the steam fogging her porcelain features. For an unguarded moment, she looked like what she appeared to be: a young girl presented with a comforting meal. A flicker of something akin to nostalgia or perhaps longing, passed through her eyes. It was for only a second, the veil falling once more. She took a single taste and gave a small nod of acknowledgment to Betty before she pushed the bowl away.
"Me and the other queens took on one of her siblings, so i can inform you on their strength." She fixed her gaze back on Aamon, her expression grim. A bitter laugh escaped her. "Succubus does not need to move to be poison... Her very breath has seeped through the cracks in her prison, a miasma that drifts on the wind into Varnmoor. It does not just make people her pets, child~ It dissolves them."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"It bleeds the wants from their veins, the love from their hearts, the very memories from their brains. They don't serve her; they waste for HER. They stand in fields until their feet root to the soil, forgetting to eat, to drink, to blink. They lie in beds until their muscles atrophy and their minds dissolve into a blissful static. They are not slaves, no. They are monuments to decay, their bodies and wills eroding into nothingness to feed her eternal, lazy contentment. She is turning a kingdom into a graveyard of the breathing."
Aamon looked shocked, he didn't know the severity of the situation. When he finally snapped back he let go of his spoon. It clattered against the wooden bowl, the sound knocking loud in the tense silence. The happy wag of his spiked tail stilled completely, the heavy appendage lying limp on the floorboards. He rose to his full height, his large wings giving a single rustle as they settled against his back.
His gaze drifted past the queen, toward the entrance of the inn where her two sons stood guard. He saw them not as threats but as someone's children, a reminder of what a kingdom was meant to protect.
Finally, his eyes being wide with a new understanding met Queen Luna's. His hands went down, meeting a smaller, slimmer one. He grabbed Ciel's hand, taking in the thought of her safety. He couldn't let her get hurt, she's his first friend, only love. "A possible knight can't let this go on in his kingdom... I promise you, she will die." Aamon's jaw shook, his teeth clicking. Quietly he lifted her hand, steeling his resolve. "Will you… will you make Ciel a knight, too?" Aamon's voice was clear, stripped of its usual cheerful lilt. They were a vow spoken without rage, set into a solemn duty.
Queen Luna looked up at him, dropping her condescending look. She saw the son of the Abyss, but she also saw the unbreakable conviction in his eyes. There was no hidden motive, no thirst for power or glory. Only a pure need to make right what was wrong. Innocence laid before her, handing out what was made from the shadow. She understood him completely.
"Yes, Aamon… I will make Ciel a knight, too." Queen Luna announced gazing towards Ciel.
Ciel did not speak, she only continued to watch… her pink sapphire eyes reflecting the candlelight as they shifted from the queen to her friend. In the span of a breath, the world changed once more.
Eight days ago, her world was a cage. She was a beaten slave, her will broken, her future a dark and endless tunnel. Then, he came, a strange, tail wagging demon who blundered into her darkness offering a kindness that felt too foreign. He called her 'friend,' a word whose meaning she had once cared to wish for.
As Ciel looked at him, a new feeling ignited within her, settling beside the old. Her familiar song of survival that had played in her chest for as long as she could remember was different today. A few new keys were added.
A chorus of protection feeling too unpolished was born of fear or compliance. Born of him. From the tail wagging demon who had stumbled into her darkness and called her friend. It was a song she would fight to keep, even if her voice failed on every note.
"What do you plan to do with friend?"
Ciel's voice was low, using each word carefully. She leaned forward across the scarred wooden table, her slender frame shaking with frustration. She put on her most intimidating face. The one she had learned to wear in the slave pens to ward off those who saw her as an easy target.
"Ciel does not trust you. She believes you want bad, and will bring pain."
She removed her hand from Aamon's. It was not the same forced cold fury of survival. It was hers. She could feel it building in her chest, behind her ribs that demanded release. Her long, abyssal elven ears pressed downward. Her gaze never wavered from the queen's face.
"Tah. You are far too much, elf." She waved a dismissive hand, her laced sleeve rustling against her wrist. "Go quarrel where I can't see." She did not spare the maid another glance. Her gaze drifted past Ciel to land on Aamon's shocked eyes. Her expression softened with the care of a woman who was used to getting what she wanted.
"I really only need one answer from my new dog." She gestured vaguely toward Aamon. Her fan snapped open with a loud crack that made several of the nearby patrons flinch.
"Where did you leave hell from? I need to know if another gate has been torn. I know hell does not simply release what it holds. If there is a wound in the world, I must know where to stitch it." Every eye from the room seemed to fall away with the queen's words.
Aamon's tail did the same, instead of twitching, it went still. His wings pressed tight against his back.He reached up and fixed his dragon pendant, fingers brushing against the golden paw that now hung from it. The small motion seemed to ground him a small bit.
He straightened his spine. Drew himself to his full height, ruby eyes hardened into a deeper red. "I think this talk is over, Luna." His voice was calm. Stripped of its cheerful light. "You should take your sons and leave." He stepped around the table. The patrons nearest to him scrambled from their chairs,Tankards clattered to the floor.
Queen Luna did not move. She stood perfectly still. Her fan held open just below her chin. Her eyes locked onto Aamon's. She stared him down, continuing to be the queen who had faced down rebellions, assassins, and worse. Her posture is impeccable. Her chin lifted in a declaration of superiority.
She would not be the first to blink. But her hand, the one that held her fan… trembled.
Just a little.
Aamon stopped directly in front of her. His shadow fell over, blocking all the light from her red lips. He did not loom or threaten. He simply stood there, being a wall of conviction, and waited.
"And for your wonder." He said, voice dropping to a low whisper that carried through the room. "hell closed behind me. The wound is sealed. There is nothing for you to stitch."
Queen Luna's painted lips parted, pressed shut. Her fan snapped closed with an echoing click. She rose from her chair, movements slow and careful, as if she were fighting the urge to retreat. Her gaze swept from Aamon to Ciel and back again. Measuring.
"You are a fool." She said finally. "But you are a useful fool. For now." She tucked her fan into her belt and smoothed the front of her black lace dress. "I will hold you to your oath, Aamonith. The Succubus dies. Or I will make sure your little friend remembers what it is to be property, for th-"
"That's enough." Betty emerged from behind the bar. Her apron still tied around her womanly frame. Her hands on her hips. "I've heard enough of your threats in my establishment, Your Majesty." Betty's voice was low as she took steady steps towards the queen. "This is a place of peace. A place of love. I don't care if you wear a crown or command an army… you will not sit at my tables and speak of turning people back into property."
Queen Luna's eyes widened. A flicker of surprise broke through her mask of composure. "You dare-"
"I dare." Betty stepped closer. Her larger frame towered over the queen. "I've fed this boy. I've watched him grow the past few days." She pointed a finger at Ciel. "And this girl, she deserves far more than to be a tool. So you can take your threats and your games elsewhere. You are no longer welcome in my inn."
Prince Verius's hand went to his sword. "I shall have your head for this!"
Prince Dean took a step forward along with his brother. "Is this what you desire my lady? We can take her if you demand."
Betty did not flinch. "Now." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Get out."
Queen Luna stared at her for a long moment. Her hand twitched toward her fan, and stopped. Her lips pressed into a thin line. When she spoke, her voice was low enough for only Betty to hear. "You have changed a lot." She turned away, throwing her back to Betty. "You are fortunate." she said. "that I am in need of allies, not enemies." The lace of her dress brushed around her ankles as she stepped. "Come, my sons. We are not wanted here."
She took slow steps toward the door, making meaningful glances towards the shocked patrons. Her two princes fell into step behind her, and Betty stood in the center of the room, arms crossed until the door swung shut behind the queen and her chosen sons.
In the darkest of Varnmoor faint meows could be heard from every corner, blending with the groan of the Iron gates of Varnmoor's only entrance. The faint, chittering rats from the sewers was a distant annoyance, quickly snuffed out by a larger critter.
It was against this grim score that the demon and his maid prepared to depart from. The air in the kitchen of the Hearth's Respite was thick with the scent of baked bread, leftover stew, and the warm smell of kitten fur.
Betty pulled the collar of Aamon's suit tightly, her strong hands fussing over him. Her fingers, usually so sure, trembled just enough to betray her steady voice. She turned to Ciel, tucking a carefully wrapped parcel of roasted meat and hard cheese into the maid's folded arms. "There now." she whispered, patting Aamon's side. "You mind Ciel. And keep that tail tucked in tight around strangers."
On cue, Aamon's spiked tail gave a large lash across the air behind them. His wide eyes were not on Betty, but on the three small shapes attached to him.
Marlow had pounced, both arms and his tail wrapped tightly around Aamon's leg, his face buried so deep in the demon's trousers that only the tips of his fiery ears were visible. Millow clung to Ciel's skirt, her little claws hooked into the fabric, her small body trembling. Willow simply stood between them, being silent in sorrow… holding a fold of Ciel's dress in one hand and Aamon's trouser leg in the other, her lower lip trembling.
"You know I'd always protect Ciel." Aamon said, his voice softer than usual, meant for the kittens. "She's my friend. My mother said you should always protect loved ones."
The words, meant to comfort, seemed to break the last of Millow's resolve. A small, devastated sob escaped her. "Don't go." She whispered… the words muffled by cloth.
Betty stepped back, taking willow into her arms. "And you, ciel." She talked low, accepting that her resolve meant a mountain to the kitten's. "You make sure he eats something with substance. Not just pastries. And that you both sleep. The next village is loud, full of adventurers… You'll be safe. Especially with that." She pointed a finger at the golden paw pendant on Aamon's shoulder.
"Oh! My little cat paw!" Aamon shouten, lifting his hand to feel the toe's beans. He looked down at the kittens. "You have to be brave now. You have to protect Betty for me and ciel. It is a very important job for mighty warriors like you."
"But we want to protect you." Millow whimpered, her voice being thick with tears, her face still pressed into Ciel's skirt.
Betty looked between them all, her demon, her mai, her three kittens, and a soft, laugh escaped her. "Funny, isn't it?" She whispered, more to the heavens than to them. "I never had children of my own. This life… I thought it was too cruel of a world to bring a new soul into. Too much hunger. Too much fear." She knelt, her apron pooling on the floor. "And then the world sent me three little scamps who needed a home." She said, her voice heavy as she gathered the triplets into an embrace. They unraveled from Aamon and Ciel and buried themselves into her, their small bodies shaking.
"it sent me two more who needed one just as badly." She looked up at Aamon and Ciel. "The world doesn't ask, does it? It just… sends you what it needs. It sent me my family." She gently prying the heartbroken kittens from her neck. They immediately latched onto her skirts instead, a living, weeping train of grief. "Now, you two go. You go and you find Sayerra. You stop her. And then you come back to me. To us. You hear? She is fierce so remember my love."
"Oh… thank you. I love you too, Betty." Aamon said, he looked down at the bones on his fingers, clinking them together softly. "I would call you mother, but my mother is still with me. You are… a very, very close second. A surface-mother?"
"Your a pain, aamon…" Go on, then, before the night gets any darker." Betty pulled the kittens in, turning them away.
They did not look back, but they felt the silence left in the wake of the kittens' crying. They felt the three pairs of ears in their direction, and Betty's love watching them until they turned a corner and were swallowed by the dark.
The colossal, iron gates of Varnmoor groaned shut behind them, but Aamon did not stop walking until the road dipped into a wooded valley. The trees rose like a wall to block the view of Varnmoor. He glanced at Ciel, his eyes scanning her profile in the light gloom. The silence between them was no longer comfortable, it felt vast and heavy, charged with something he had no understanding of.
The road ahead was empty, a ribbon stretching into the unknown horizon. For the first time, they were truly in the world… with nothing but each other, and the fragile thread of a promise pulling them back.