The Duke from the Roots
Morning sunlight slanted into the nest just as Kar rose to his feet. "Then... I'll be off, Master."
"Yeah. Be careful."
Kar hesitated for a moment, pawing at the feathers tucked in his chest, then spread his wings. His massive bulk kicked off from the World Tree's summit and shot upward, shrinking smaller and smaller until it vanished toward the depths.
The spot where Kar had been felt cavernously empty now. The nest seemed so desolate without that huge frame filling it. Well, the quiet wasn't so bad.
Remembering last night's mushroom stew, I tweaked the ratios a bit and brewed up another batch. More mushrooms, low flame for a slow simmer—the nest filled with the earthy heft of fungi mingling with the rich savor of oil.
While it bubbled, I perched at the nest's edge, gazing down. Usually Kar's snoring or his tail thwacking branches would drown everything out, but now even the wind rustling leaves came through crystal clear.
Nice day for this kinda peace.
A spoonful hit the spot: salty upfront, then the mushrooms' umami bloomed into a nutty afterglow, matching yesterday's depth. I scarfed it down, stashing the extras in my subspace.
Strolling to the edge, I released the polymorph. Wings unfurled, that familiar wind rushing back.
Time for a stroll.
A mighty flap launched me skyward. Cool air seeped between my feathers. Circling the World Tree, something felt off. Yesterday, the depths echoed with magic beasts battling; today, frantic footfalls and wingbeats instead.
Looking down, every beast was bolting the same way—from the depths outward. Runners, flyers, all fleeing in unison.
Fought yesterday, fleeing today. From what?
Curiosity piqued, I dropped altitude, veering toward the depths. Thicker branches blotted the sky, light dimmed, air turned humid and sticky against my feathers.
What's that smell?
Nothing like Turaka or Ignar's—sharp or scorching. This was damp, heavy, like something unearthed from deep soil, pressing on my nostrils.
First time catching this scent.
Deeper in, leaves blackened on branches, black mist hugging the ground like fog. The Four Kings blasted mana on entry; this seeped in silently.
Something lurked at its heart. I shifted to human form mid-descent.
Pfsh—! Damp earth squelched underfoot. My feather robe fluttered in the landing gust, then settled.
A figure sat ahead. Woman with black hair cascading past her waist, skin ghostly pale against blood-red lips. Her eyes glowed vivid crimson, not dark but luminous from within. Just her presence dimmed the surroundings, like weight sinking the ground.
...She's strong.
Approaching, that dense aura settled on my skin—heavier than any Four Kings. Source of the unfamiliar scent.
She sat cross-legged, chin in hand, peering up like at a curiosity. Our eyes met; her face lit up. She sprang up, dusting off, closing in fast.
Air grew heavier, chillier with each step.
"Oh, you? Felt weird mana up top, figured what the heck—and wow, you're a freakish little thing. Hold on—"
No time to react. Mid-sentence, her hand flipped my robe, twisted my wrist, plucked a hair to the light.
"Wind, lightning, fire... even water? How's all this crammed in one body? First time seeing this."
Her gripping fingers wafted that heavy scent up close.
"Ate my way into it."
Her hands froze. She stared.
"...What'd you eat?"
"The Four Kings. Want some?"
Silence, then laughter exploded.
"Ha, for real? That's why three vanished? Thought something huge went down!"
She clapped, grinning. "Epic."
Laugh fading, she thrust out a hand. "Oh right, I'm Berat. Came up from below."
"Below?"
"Under the World Tree roots. Demon Realm? I'm a duke there."
Her eyes darted over me. "Felt three Four Kings auras wink out, so I climbed up—"
She jabbed a finger at me. "And here's the culprit."
That explains the smell—from down there.
"What's that scent on you? Never smelled it before."
"Scent?"
Berat frowned. "Sorry, no clue."
"Kinda... different texture from mana I've sniffed. Totally alien."
Her eyes narrowed. "You tell mana by smell?"
"Yeah."
She burst laughing. "You're hilarious. Not just the face."
Grin softening, she added, "That's demonic mana. Way different from surface stuff, right?"
Then she pierced me with sparkling eyes. "Wait—"
Scanning top to bottom, hands shot out. My whole body lifted.
...Huh?
Resistance futile. Plopped on her lap, her hand ruffled my hair wildly.
"So cute. This hair's got light flowing through it. Golden eyes too. Like a doll."
No pain. I twisted to escape—immovable.
Fine, whatever.
Pulled stew from subspace, offered it. "Try this. Made it earlier."
Petting paused; she eyed the bowl. "Stew? You made it?"
One bite, eyes widened. "...This is good. What's in it?"
"Mushrooms, oil brine. Bit of ink sauce."
"Ink? Abysal's? You ate 'em and cooked the leftovers? Insane."
She shook her head but shoveled steadily. Petting resumed. I grabbed my bowl too.
Extra mushrooms nailed it—salty kick to deep umami. Berat didn't stop either. We ate in silence. The chatterbox went quiet over food.
Scoop, chew, swallow. Her demonic mana rippled faintly—relaxed from taste? Comfort? Who knows.
Then—light descended.
Brighter, sharper than orb comms. Air weighed down; black mist thinned under it. Clinging dampness vanished, air cleared.
What the?
Light intensified, depths lit brilliant. At center: fully spread wings, pristine golden halo. Dark circles as ever.
Michael.
He touched ground, scanned, gaze halting on the hand in my hair and bowl on her lap. Face stone.
"Hey. Michael's here."
Spoon in hand, I waved.
He closed eyes slow, opened, addressed her. "...Duke Berat."
"Michael! Long time! 300 years? I'm barely up a day and you're here. Surveillance still tight?"
"Of course. Think the divine realm misses a duke-class demon surfacing?"
"C'mon, loosen up. Just sightseeing."
She set me down, arms crossed, pouty. "Last time you said that and left demonic mana everywhere."
"That was an accident!"
She sidled to Michael, nudged his shoulder. "But check this kid. Fun, right?"
Michael inhaled deep, suppressing something. "...Please retrieve the spreading demonic mana first."
"Fine, fine."
She flicked her hand; mist retracted fast, shadows lifted. Blackened leaves greened; light pierced deeper.
"Good? Now, real talk—Michael, what's with this one? Your charge?"
"...Lord Nox is under my purview."
I slurped another spoonful, watching.
"You manage this? Be real."
Michael silent.
Poor guy's got it rough.
Berat pitied him, turned back, petted once more, squatted eye-level. "Wanna contract with me?"
Michael's face hardened.
"What's that mean?"
"Be friends. I'll lend you my authority. Bring yummy stuff too. Demon Realm exclusives."
"Authority what?"
She blinked. "Teleport. Anywhere—Demon Realm, divine realm. Like me."
I pondered. "...I can fly."
Her mouth half-opened, closed.
"That's different."
"You said yummy stuff."
"Yeah, Demon Realm only."
"Just bring it—no contract needed."
Still squatting, she blinked once. Silence stretched. Then grin bloomed.
"...Huh, true. Why contract?"
Sprung up, headed depths-ward. Halfway, turned, waved. "Better terms next time! Stew was delish!"
As she faded, the heavy scent thinned too.
Michael watched till gone, then turned. "...Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Chatty, but not bad. Fine."
He bowed to leave; I pulled a jar from subspace. "Here."
"...This is?"
"Mushroom stew. Leftovers. Take it."
He stared. Paused, accepted carefully. "...Thank you."
Complex flicker crossed his weary face. Jar hugged, he hesitated. "May I say one thing?"
"Shoot."
"Next time you meet a duke-class demon, revert to your true form. Berat was fine, but others... situation might differ."
Never sensed danger, but his gravity was new. Note to self.
"Got it."
Light enveloped him; golden halo rose slow. Jar clutched tight, even from afar.
Glow pigeon better eat proper.
Michael ascended, jar in arms, sorting the day's chaos. Report needed.
Duke-class demon on surface after centuries. Unprecedented divine-demon convergence. Her contract offer.
Problem: opener.
'Demon duke had Lord Nox on her lap, petting his head.' Unwriteable. No way.