After the meal, the camp slowly quieted.
One by one, the others retreated to their tents, their movements heavy and sluggish. The battle had ended hours ago, yet exhaustion clung to their bodies like sand caught in fabric. The sky was already slipping toward dusk, painted in bruised oranges and fading purples, and the desert wind had softened into something almost gentle.
The fire pit remained lit.
Three men stayed behind.
Klaus sat cross-legged on the sand, robe pulled loosely around him, boots kicked off again despite having argued for them earlier. Ulon leaned back on his hands, legs stretched toward the fire, posture careless but eyes still alert. Shane stood for a moment, watching the flames, then reached into his storage ring.
At the edge of the nearest tent, Cukuz—the bat-like creature—was curled into a tight ball of wings and fur, fast asleep. Beside him, Zevy rested with his head tucked under one wing, standing, guarding the little one even in sleep.
Shane produced three cups and a small kettle. He placed the kettle in the fire for a while. Steam curled upward as he poured hot water on the tea cups.
"This tea came from the mountains of Thryndor," Shane said, handing a cup to Ulon, then to Klaus. "Have a taste. Tell me if it's worth the price, or if I should stick with the Viremont stock."
Ulon accepted the cup first. He didn't drink right away. Instead, he lifted it, inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes.
"They say the Kingdom of Thryndor produces the best tea," he said thoughtfully. "Based on the smell alone… yeah. This one's refined."
He took a sip.
Then another.
His eyebrows shot up. "Oh. That's good. That's really good."
Shane nodded, faint satisfaction crossing his face. "Good to hear. I was worried I wasted coins just to import it."
Klaus took a careful sip of his own, swirled the tea in his mouth, then shrugged. "Tastes the same to me. Thryndor, Viremont—it's all just hot water and leaves."
Ulon stared at him like he had just insulted a god. "You have no soul."
Klaus ignored him and glanced at Shane. "How much does it cost?"
"A gold per pound," Shane replied calmly.
Ulon choked.
Tea sprayed forward as he coughed violently. "A gold?" he wheezed. "Per pound?"
Shane didn't flinch. "Import fees. Tariffs. Licenses. Logistics. guards." He paused. "Mostly guards. Hiring mercenaries might be cheaper, but it still costs a lot."
Ulon wiped his mouth with his sleeve, staring at the cup as if it had personally betrayed him. "I'll stick with Viremont's. I can't afford this on a regular basis."
"I'm not selling it to you," Shane said. "I only wanted you to taste it. My target market is noble houses."
Klaus hummed. "Maybe I'll drink it once in a while."
Ulon turned slowly. "You? The man who counts copper twice before spending it?"
"Indeed," Klaus said lightly. "But there are exceptions. This might be one."
Shane reached into his storage ring again. This time, he pulled out an ornate box—dark wood inlaid with silver patterns—and a small but heavy bag of gold.
"One pound of tea," Shane said, placing the box into Klaus's hands, then the bag on top of it. "And two hundred forty-five gold. Now we're even."
Klaus frowned immediately. "We're not."
Shane paused.
"We agreed on two hundred fifty gold for the demon's head," Klaus continued, tone calm but precise. "By my calculation, you still owe me four gold coins."
Ulon blinked. "You killed a demon?"
Shane nodded. "Not just any demon. A high demon magus. That was the trap we mentioned earlier."
Ulon stared at him. "You fought a high demon and didn't think to mention it?"
"It was trivial," Shane said.
Ulon let out a sharp laugh. "A high demon is trivial now?"
Shane's expression didn't change. He simply pointed at Klaus's boots, resting near the fire. "Those cost four gold."
Klaus stared at the boots. Then at Shane. "That's cheating."
Ulon burst out laughing. "That's rich coming from you."
Shane took a slow sip of tea. "Would you prefer walking barefoot on hot desert sand, or paying four gold for boots?"
Klaus clicked his tongue. "Fine. I'll take the boots."
Ulon grinned. "How does it feel being cheated?"
"Shut up," Klaus muttered.
Ulon lifted his cup again—then froze.
Something red bounced from the dune.
No. Rolled.
It was Delle.
The crimson rabbit was round. Unnaturally round. Its fur looked stretched, and it hopped once before losing balance, tumbling forward and rolling dangerously close to the fire pit.
Klaus extended his foot and gently stopped the rabbit with the sole of his boot. "Careful," he said. "We don't want roasted bunny for dessert."
Delle ignored him, squeaked indignantly, then wobbled upright and hopped toward Shane, making rapid, excited squeaks.
Shane watched it for a moment, then nodded. "I see."
He rose to his feet, brushing sand from his coat. "Excuse me, gentlemen. Delle found something interesting. I'll check it out."
Ulon waved him off without looking. "Go on, boss. If something explodes, we'll know where you are."
Shane ignored that and followed Delle toward the open center of the rock formation.
For a few seconds, neither Klaus nor Ulon spoke.
Ulon leaned back, hands folded behind his head, staring up as the first color of dusk swallowed the sky.
"You know," Ulon said casually, as if discussing the weather, "there are actually five primordial gods. Not four."
Klaus paused mid-motion, lifting his cup of tea halfway to his lips. He lowered it slowly and turned his head.
"What nonsense are you talking about now?" he asked flatly.
Ulon grinned, the firelight catching the edge of his teeth. "Relax. I'm telling a story."
Klaus sighed and leaned back on one arm. "Let me guess. It's long, vague, and ends with me regretting that I listened."
"It's boring too," Ulon added cheerfully.
Klaus closed his eyes. "Do I have a choice?"
"Nope," Ulon said immediately. "Even if you don't want to hear it, I'll tell it anyway."
The fire popped loudly, sending a small spray of sparks upward. The desert listened in silence.
Ulon didn't wait for another complaint.
"A long, long time ago," he began, voice dropping into a storyteller's cadence, "before men built cities, before beasts learned fear, before even sand had a name—this world, Ghaneia, was nothing but drifting clouds and dust."
Klaus opened one eye. "Sounds cozy."
"Five celestial beings arrived," Ulon continued, ignoring him. "And they shaped that nothing into something."
He lifted one finger. "Celize, goddess of life and earth."
A second finger. "Tharion, god of men, sky, and light."
A third. "Ukkyu, god of the eternal sea."
A fourth. "Atrous, god of stars, sun, and moon."
Then he hesitated, lowering his hand slightly.
"And the last one," Ulon said, quieter now, "Tenebry. Goddess of the underworld. And eternal darkness."
The fire crackled again, louder this time.
"With five of them," Ulon went on, "Ghaneia was created. From them came creatures. From creatures came us." He glanced sideways at Klaus. "Funny thing. Demons and humans are technically siblings. Born from both Tharion and Tenebry."
Klaus snorted softly. "That explains a lot."
"But peace didn't last," Ulon said. "It never does."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "An unknown entity arrived. Turj. The Worldender."
Klaus's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened slightly around his cup.
"Turj offered Tenebry power," Ulon said. "Endless power. In exchange, she would help him conquer Ghaneia and overthrow the gods."
"And she said yes," Klaus murmured.
Ulon nodded. "She did. Along with four ancient demons—the Pillars. No one remembers their names anymore."
The wind picked up briefly, pushing smoke sideways.
"Tenebry, the Pillars, and Turj with his Soulbornes declared war against the four remaining primordial gods," Ulon continued. "Led by Tharion. With the Keepers at their side."
He exhaled slowly. "The Battle of Naph lasted centuries. In the end, Tenebry and Turj were forced back—exiled to an unknown continent, along with demons and Soulbornes."
Silence fell.
Klaus tilted his head. "That's it?"
Ulon blinked. "That's it."
"…Huh."
Ulon frowned. "You've never heard that story?"
"Nope."
Ulon scoffed. "Figures. Every child in the kingdom knows it. It's just… nobody talks about in public."
Klaus frowned at that. Something about Ulon's tone carried weight beneath the humor.
Ulon glanced at him, eyes sharp now. "So how?"
"So how what?"
Ulon nodded toward Klaus's wrist, then his ankle, where faint lines of old scars hid beneath his robe. "Don't play dumb, slouch."
Klaus looked down, then back at him. His expression remained relaxed, almost bored. "Like I said earlier. It was from an accident."
Ulon snorted. "Only a six-year-old would believe that. Plus Kiel, of course."
Klaus smiled faintly. "Gods have a complicated sense of humor, don't they?"
"They do," Ulon agreed. Then his voice lowered. "So tell me. How did you free yourself?"
Klaus didn't answer right away.
The fire reflected in his eyes, dancing softly. For a moment, he looked tired—not physically, but deeper than that.
Then he shrugged.
"I killed," he said casually. "That's how I set myself free."