The trio's footprints stretched endlessly behind them through the snow - three days of trudging since Frostford's destruction. Kael's breath came in white puffs as he adjusted the makeshift sling holding his injured arm.
Behind him, Lucian draped himself over Kael's back like a languid scarf, humming off-key.
"Oi, corpse. You dead back there?" Kael jabbed an elbow backward.
Lucian slid off Dante's flank with a theatrical gasp, landing ass-first in the snow. "Ah, what cruelty—to wound your dearest companion so!"
"Dearest—?!" Kael's eye twitched. Dante kicked a pinecone at them.
"Christ. Should've left you both in that village" The demon adjusted his coat collar, frost glittering on his pauldrons like shattered diamonds. Around them, the frozen river mirrored the steel-gray sky.
Lucian stretched like a contented cat across a snowdrift. "~Rest stop~," he sang, folding arms behind his head.
Kael's boot slammed down beside Lucian's ear. "Open. Field. Enemies. Any of this ringing bells, genius?"
Before Kael could escalate, Dante flopped under a pine, legs crossed. "Try hauling two sacks of idiot through a blizzard. My spine's filing divorce papers."
"Who're you calling sacks—"
"Oho!" Dante clasped hands in mock reverence. "My valiant saviors! Shall I grovel? Fetch your slippers? Drop dead?—Shut it, meatbag."
Lucian chuckled, twirling a lock of hair. "Kael~, even rabid dogs need naps. Also—" he tapped Kael's vibrating fist, "—we're dissecting that little seismic event."
"Ugh. Bathe first," Dante yawned, already half-asleep. "You reek of failure and peasantry."
Kael scrubbed his face in the glacial water, the cold biting into his scars. Nearby, Lucian poked a toe in, recoiled like a startled cat, and repeated the process with increasing dramatics.
"Men of distinction don't bathe," Lucian declared, preening. "We simply—glurk!"
Kael dunked him headfirst.
Lucian emerged spluttering, hair plastered to his forehead. "How bold of you to assault this beauty!" He flicked water at Kael with a wink.
"That technique earlier—'Rakuin'?" Kael flexed his still-tingling fingers.
"Mm. Common among martial artists now." Lucian wrung out his sleeve. "Amplifies force but burns stamina. Unless..." He leaned in, smile razor-edged. "You're something special.what about that cool ass punch?"
Kael's fist clenched. "Felt like... compressed vibrations. Like I unleashed a quake through that bastard's ribs."
"Not your magic?"
"My old magic was water but now…" Kael shook his gourd—its contents lifeless. "Different. This is raw. Angry."
Dante's voice floated over: "Powers evolve when life kicks your teeth in. Basic demonology, kid."
Lucian stood, tucking his diary away with a flourish. "Firewood duty~! Unless our resident fossil wants to freeze solid?"
After hours of hard work gathering firewood, the flames finally roared to life. The three of them sat around the fire—Dante asleep, Lucian scribbling in his journal, and Kael lost in thought, tracing the edges of his newfound power.
He glanced at Lucian, who was smiling faintly as he sharpened his scythe. That blade's seen better days.
"What're you doing, Luci?" Kael asked.
"Who are you calling 'Lucci'?" Lucian mused, not looking up. "Hmm. Not bad, though. As for this—"
A sudden crackle from the fire interrupted him. Snow tumbled from the branches above, dusting Kael's head.
Dante—now fully engulfed in his flaming skeleton form—snorted. "You look like shit."
"Feel like it too," Kael muttered, brushing off the snow.
Lucian tested the edge of his scythe with a thumb. "We're sitting ducks here. Any demon with a nose could have us for dinner. And let's be honest—I don't even taste good."
"They won't."
The voice came from the darkness.
A woman stepped into the firelight, her face worn with exhaustion, a young boy clinging to her side. Kael froze.
The boy—Jasen—gaped at him, eyes wide with awe. "You're him! The emperor from Mama's stories!"
The woman, Elara, didn't share his excitement. Her gaze locked onto Kael, and before anyone could react, she crossed the distance and—
Slap.
The sound echoed in the sudden silence.
Dante's flaming jaw dropped. "Ohhh, she's got spirit."
Elara's voice trembled. "You were supposed to save us. Instead, you're here, warming your hands while my father died searching for you." Tears glistened in her eyes.
Kael didn't flinch. "I was… delayed."
Lucian dropped to his knees and seized Elara's hands. "Would you please—"
She flushed slightly, breath catching—
"—give me food?"
Elara yanked her hands back. "Fine"
As they followed her, the trees gave way to a sprawling camp—tents, flickering lanterns, the rich scent of stew and roasted meat.
Then, a blacksmith emerged from a nearby tent—a grizzled man missing an ear. He tossed a bundle of cloth onto the ground. "Found this in the wreckage of an old battlefield. Demons wouldn't touch it. Figured it was cursed—or valuable."
The fabric fell away, revealing a shattered obsidian staff, its surface etched with faded runes.
Kael reached for it—
A calloused hand seized his wrist. "Who are you, mister?" the blacksmith demanded.
Elara's voice was barely a whisper. "He is the Emperor of the Prophecy."
Silence.
Then, as one, the crowd bowed.
The blacksmith's grip slackened in shock. "It's been centuries… My ancestors waited for your return, Majesty."
Kael shot a sideways glance at Lucian. "At least someone has manners." He turned back. "No need for bows. Just… help us with some answers."
The blacksmith nodded. "Of course." He thumped his chest. "Name's Durnik."
As they moved toward the main tent, Dante leaned in, whispering to Lucian:
"Durnik. Sounds like a drunk's name, huh?"
The growl of three stomachs broke the quiet hum of campfire crackle.
"Bring them food," Durnik ordered, his voice echoing across the clearing.
Kael, Lucian, and Dante drew near the fire as a makeshift table was set. The scent of roasted rabbit filled the night air—Lucian's handiwork, surprisingly well-done. The three sat together, their bodies tired, their minds half-drifting with the dancing embers.
Dante positioned himself near the edge of the firelight, head lowered as he absently chewed on a patch of grass. He wasn't in flames now—just flesh and bones looking like an ordinary horse, his usual form—but the memory of his earlier appearance still hung in the air like smoke. Jasen had seen him then, when he first entered the camp—Dante ablaze, a nightmare horse out of legend. It hadn't exactly helped his social standing.
He wasn't in the mood for food. Not after Frostford.
First, his mare had bolted the moment demons appeared. Understandable—but disappointing. Then Kael had punched a demon so hard it exploded. While impressive, it didn't do Dante's ego any favors. And now?
Now this.
A small, grimy hand patted his bony flank.
"So," said the boy—Jasen, if Dante recalled correctly, though he wished he didn't—"if you're a skeleton horse, does that mean you don't poop?"
Dante's eye twitched.
"Kid," he said with the solemnity of a monk on his last nerve, "that is quite literally the least interesting thing about me."
Jasen stared up at him. "But if you did poop, would it just be, like… bones?"
Lucian choked on a bite of rabbit. Kael didn't even flinch, still sharpening his dagger.
"Answer the boy," Kael said. "Science demands it."
Dante's tail lashed. "I am a magnificent undead steed of legend. Not a farm animal."
"So… no poop?" Jasen pressed.
"NO POOP!" Dante snapped—and immediately regretted it as the entire camp dissolved into laughter.
Even Elara, sewing quietly off to the side, smothered a smile behind her hand.
Jasen crossed his arms, smug. "That's kinda lame. My uncle's plow horse poops twice before breakfast."
Dante's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?! You're comparing me to a plow horse?!"
"Well, he doesn't complain as much."
Lucian wheezed. Kael smirked. Dante considered galloping into a ravine and staying there.
"I could turn into a flaming nightmare right now," he muttered. "Gallop through the underworld itself."
"But would you poop if you did?" Jasen asked.
Dante made a sound like a teakettle nearing eruption.
"That's enough," Elara said at last, though her lips still twitched. "Jasen, stop tormenting the poor horse."
"He's not a horse, Mother," Jasen corrected. "He's a skeleton horse. That's way cooler."
Dante hesitated. "...Okay. That one I'll allow."
Before he could retreat, Jasen hugged one of his legs.
Dante froze. "What—what are you—unhand me, you tiny heathen!"
"Nope," Jasen grinned. "You're my friend now."
"I am not!"
"Yep."
"I will haunt your dreams."
"Cool."
Dante stared helplessly at Kael. "Do something!"
Kael shrugged. "You're the one who let him win."
"I didn't—!"
But it was too late. Jasen had climbed onto a rock and was trying to boop Dante's nose.
Dante sighed deeply. "I miss the days when demons were my biggest problem."
And yet, when Jasen eventually fell asleep, curled against his bony side, Dante didn't move. Not even once.