The Demon on the Throne
Spiral horns curved from both sides of its head, its skull that of a mountain goat, clad in pitch-black armor. Draped in beast fur over its shoulders and a long dark brown cloak, the figure emanated crimson eyes no human could possess as it sat upon the jade throne.
A demon! The incarnation of corruption that tempted humans into birthing countless sins! Faced with such a being, they could only succumb to terror.
Nor was it just the demon. Within the opulent castle interior stood ranks of soldiers of unknown, inscrutable origin. Their armor and helmets concealed most of their forms, but the glimpses of stark white bone through the gaps proved they were no humans.
Undead. Wraiths that loathed all living life! Soldiers composed of such evil spirits flanked the demon, guarding its splendorous castle.
"The rumors... they were true!"
one of the refugees muttered under their breath. They had wandered in desperate search of even false hope. Now they realized the tales spreading across the continent were no fabrications.
The prosperous cities they'd seen on their journey here, the multitudes of people, the exquisite crafts, the formidable soldiers! They'd dismissed it all as mere gossip, clutching at straws—yet everything they'd witnessed was real, no illusion or lie.
Only the part about the demon had been news to them. Having fled the continent to reach this place, they now teetered on the brink of true damnation, their souls stained black by the devil's allure.
Had they known, they never would have come. The continent's unified faith, the Church of Azelan, described demons thus:
-Demons are those who defied the gods. They drink human blood, tear souls asunder, and delight in their playthings. Those who heed their voices shall die and plummet to hell!
Even what they'd brushed off as rumor had proven true; how could they not fear the entity before them? Clearly, this demon would drain their blood, rend their souls, and cast them into the abyss.
And so the refugees bowed their heads. They pressed their foreheads to the floor, covered their ears, avoiding any eye contact. A frantic struggle to distance themselves from its presence.
But amid them, one child lifted its head and gazed at the demon. The demon's blood-red glare met the child's pure eyes. Tinged more with curiosity than fear, the child tilted its head—then broke into a beaming smile.
The demon's eyes narrowed at the sight.
Then the parents nearby noticed the child's oddity. Realizing the child's eyes had met the demon's, they hastily shielded the child and cried out.
"F-Forgive us! My child was rude... please have mercy...!"
"You've had a hard journey."
Everyone froze at the low, chilling words. As the demon raised a hand, a middle-aged man stepped forward. A noble with golden hair and blue eyes.
The refugees sighed in slight relief at the familiar face of a continental man—but soon anxiety gripped them anew. If he stood with the demon, he must serve it too.
"Hans."
"Yes, speak."
The man called Hans placed a hand over his heart and bowed. A flawless noble's courtesy before his lord.
The demon, pleased by the man's conduct, continued.
"What should be done with them?"
Hans glanced at the refugees and spoke without hesitation.
"They are foreigners. They've committed the crime of crossing the border without permission."
"Then...?"
"They must be punished."
The refugees paled at the exchange between the man and the demon. Noticing, Hans pressed on.
"However, they are no soldiers from another nation. Armed forces crossing borders uninvited would be grave indeed—but these seem more like refugees. In your magnanimity, forgive them, and ensure their utmost safety."
Stunned by Hans's words, the refugees peeked at the demon—then hastily bowed as their eyes met its. Only the little child earlier grinned up at Loki.
"...I see. Handle it as you see fit."
"Understood."
Hans bowed, spoke briefly with the refugees, then led them from the hall.
The demon watched them go, then murmured as if to itself.
"Shaman."
"Yes."
An elderly man in a ragged black robe, dragging a crude staff along the floor, shuffled forward slowly. His kindly smile gave a warm impression—though his milky white eyes suggested he might be blind.
"How do you plan to handle the refugees?"
"Hans will extract their personal details and segregate any potential troublemakers."
"Risk of foreign spies?"
"We'll investigate that too. Surveillance on any suspicious behavior, followed by capture and interrogation."
"I see. Treat them well."
"Of course. We'll do our utmost to help them adapt."
Shaman replied with a pleased smile. The demon glanced at where the refugees had vanished, stroking its chin as it recalled the child's smile.
"...Children these days are either purely innocent or utterly fearless. They don't judge by appearances, perhaps?"
"Pardon?"
"No, just nonsense from a fleeting good mood. Anyway, I'm tired. Time to retire..."
"Not yet!"
A young man with blue hair and azure eyes strode forward briskly. A Nod tribesman from the frozen northern lands, once Loki's opponent in a 'game.'
"...Aum."
Irritation laced the demon's voice. The man called Aum smiled, hand to chest, bowing deeply.
"Aum Linia greets his master, Lord Loki."
After proper obeisance, he snapped his fingers. The hall's doors burst open; two men entered carrying wooden planks piled mountain-high with letters.
"Not from other tribes... but letters from the people of our Asgard. Please review them thoroughly, my lord..."
"...Weren't they done this morning?"
"The people's voices know no day or night."
"I see. Then tonight..."
"Of course, if you're weary, there's no helping it—but our subjects still suffer hunger and cold. If you could spare just a moment, a very brief one, they could secure full bellies and warm homes. Our sovereign... nay, our Constellation—!"
As Aum smiled winningly, the demon placed a hand on its skull helmet, as if massaging its temples.
This man, once cautious and deferential, had lately grown bold in voicing opinions.
"Handle that Constellation nonsense yourself."
"I couldn't possibly. How could an incompetent human presume to the role of a great Constellation?"
"You're still salty about that frozen lake business, aren't you?"
"A misunderstanding."
Stifling the urge to punch the smiling Aum, the demon endured.
"Kudan, Per. Deliver the letters to the master at once!"
The men called Kudan and Per placed the letters before the throne and withdrew.
"...Too many."
"When a nation is founded, tedious tasks multiply."
"A quick skim will do. After a short rest..."
"If you're tired, I can help!"
A slender voice rang out. From afar, a woman approached. Long blue hair framed her beauty; snow-white skin, eyes like clear ocean depths, a simple yet exquisite golden sword at her waist.
As she entered the hall, all stiffened involuntarily, bowing and stepping back.
"Kankun."
"Monster subjugation complete as ordered. Lord Loki."
Beaming brightly, she stood beside him and scanned the documents.
"Do these all need resolving today? Then let me help...! People are waiting in distress even now."
She smiled radiantly and began reciting the letters.
Soon, the demon and Kankun's exchange concluded. Whether in resignation or not, the demon reached for the letters, reading one by one.
Business done, Kankun smiled in relief.
"Now for the meal, the offerings. But first..."
The woman clasped her hands in prayer, like a nun devoutly beseeching a god.
"......"
Time passed; she rose with profound satisfaction. Dusk had fallen in the now-empty audience chamber, only they two remaining.
"I'll fetch the offerings!"
Kankun bowed cheerily and departed. He chuckled at her vibrant energy.
The demon. Conqueror of Britannia's northern fringe, unifier of the hardy Nod tribe—humankind's toughest stock. Ruler of the newborn Asgard, the Constellation of Sin called Loki.
"Tomorrow, another mountain of papers. What a headache."
A grim voice leaked out. To the grumbling figure approached a skeleton in black robes and mask; it knelt, head bowed.
Loki extended a hand indifferently; the skeleton proffered a bundle of parchment tied with string, hands reverently outstretched.
Loki untied it and read. A report from Nod warriors spying on the continent.
Moments later... his eyes widened; he shot to his feet.
"...Found her?"
Nod.
"Where?"
The skeleton tapped its forehead with bony fingers, then gestured with both hands.
Encrypted sign language, taught for communication sans vocal cords.
"Ronia... Kingdom? There?"
Nod.
Loki gripped the letter. He drew a deep breath.
Summoned to this world, dormant three centuries. Awakened, unified the Nods in three years. All that time, he'd sought his junior, Yun Sirin.
To that end, he'd forged an empire from frozen wastes, built an ironclad intelligence network no force could rival.
Now, time to wield that power.
"Find her immediately! Fetch the dwarf leader Reran and the elder Hans. As discreetly as possible...!"
The skeleton nodded, bowed from its knees, then retreated soundlessly—fading into shadow till gone.
Soon, a dwarf and middle-aged noble entered the chamber.
"I have a task for you."