I opened my eyes and stared at the dark, vaulted ceiling of our shared quarters. It wasn't the sterile, blinding white of the hospital; it was the deep, obsidian stone of the Demon Lord’s castle, textured with the faint, glowing veins of mana that pulsed through the walls like a slow heartbeat. My body felt heavy, a lingering exhaustion settling into my joints, the kind of deep ache that came from a week of chasing shadows through jagged green-black mountains and facing the chilling, void-like presence of an assassin. But even as my muscles protested every small movement, a quiet surge of gratitude rose in my chest. This life, dangerous and chaotic and terrifying as it was, was infinitely better than the one I had left behind.

  In that previous life, I would have been staring at a different ceiling, one yellowed by age and the smell of antiseptic. I would have spent the morning clutching a pillow to my chest, listening to the muffled sounds of the world passing me by outside a reinforced glass window. I used to watch adventures on the internet and TV, feeling a deep, bitter jealousy for people who could simply stand up without losing their breath. I would rather fight literal gods, face the crushing pressure of a Demon Lord’s aura, or run until my lungs burned with ozone than spend another second confined to a bed while the world happened to someone else. Here, I wasn't just watching the story; I was the one holding the tea tray in the middle of it.

  I was lost in those thoughts, comparing the smell of hospital bleach to the lingering scent of old parchment and magic in the room, when the bed next to me creaked with a sudden, violent spring.

  "Boo!"

  "Eek! AHH!" I shrieked, my body bolting upright with such force that I nearly rolled off the mattress. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

  Lyra was hovering inches from my face, her long, vibrant blue hair cascading down like a waterfall of silk. Her eyes were dancing with a familiar, mischievous glint that always signaled trouble. She let out a musical, wheezing giggle, falling back onto her own bed and clutching her stomach as she kicked her legs in the air.

  "Oh, Akari! Your face! You looked like you were staring into the literal abyss, and then, zip! Straight to the rafters!" she wheezed, her voice bright and teasing.

  "Lyra-san! You almost gave me a second heart attack!" I huffed, clutching my chest as the 15% mana boost from my arm strap hummed against my skin, its steady vibration helping my pulse settle. I felt my face heating up, half from the scare and half from the awkwardness of being caught in such a vulnerable, dazed state.

  "Don't be such a scaredy-cat," she said, her expression softening into that protective, older-sister look she gave me when she thought I wasn't looking. She reached over and ruffled my hair into a chaotic bird’s nest, a gesture that felt warm despite the "jump scare." "Remember, this is the big day. The day the Demon Lords finally arrive for that meeting. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a butter knife."

  I felt a genuine chill run down my spine, the kind that had nothing to do with the morning draft. "The meeting... right. It’s today."

  "Master has given the two of us the day off from the usual scrubbing and dusting," Lyra continued, sitting up and stretching her arms wide until her joints popped. "Our only job is to welcome the Demon Lords at the gate and guide them to the hall. That’s all. Though I can see why that’s... well, it gives even me the chills. But eh, who knows? Maybe they’ll fall for us. A couple of beautiful maids in fresh lace? They won't know what hit them. We could be the next Queens of the Underworld by dinner."

  I laughed nervously, the idea of a Demon Lord "falling" for me sounding more like a cosmic disaster than a romance. "I think I’ll stick to just serving the tea without spilling it on their legendary robes, Lyra-san. That would be adventure enough for me."

  "Suit yourself," she shrugged playfully, jumping to her feet with an effortless grace I still envied. "Now we rest for just a bit longer, but in a few hours, we definitely need to get our outfits on. We have to represent the Black Obsidian Throne, after all."

  A sudden, sharp series of knocks at the door interrupted her. It was the frantic, rhythmic rapping of someone who was either in a hurry or very, very nervous.

  Lyra’s eyes lit up. She crept toward the door on her tiptoes, a predatory grin spreading across her face. She waited for the exact second of the next knock before she wrenched the door open with a loud, piercing "HAH!"

  "Gah! Mercy!"

  The poor, thin butler standing in the hallway nearly leaped out of his skin. He wobbled dangerously, his knees knocking together as he struggled to balance a massive silver plate piled high with steaming food. His spectacles were hanging off one ear, and he looked like he was about to faint.

  Lyra doubled over, her laughter echoing down the stone corridor. "Second one today! You guys are getting way too easy to prune!"

  The butler, Jerry, regained his composure with a stiff, insulted huff, straightening his glasses with a trembling hand. "Master’s orders, Miss Lyra. A substantial breakfast for the maids before the arrivals begin. He suggested you... 'fuel up' for the chaos." He handed the tray to Lyra, eyeing her warily as if she might jump at him again.

  "Thanks, Jerry! Tell the kitchen the bacon better be crispy!" Lyra chirped, taking the heavy tray and kicking the door shut with her heel. She brought the feast to our large wooden table, a spread of thick-cut roast meat, crusty bread still warm from the ovens, and those strange, glowing blue fruits that tasted like starlight.

  As we began to eat, the weight of the coming hours settled back onto my shoulders. I watched Lyra tear into a piece of bread with surprising intensity. "Lyra-san," I asked softly. "How scary are they, really? The other Demon Lords? I’ve only ever known Master Malphas, and even he is... well, he’s a lot."

  Lyra chewed thoughtfully, her gaze drifting toward the window where the purple sky was churning with even more energy than usual. "Well, to be honest, I haven't really seen many of them in person, except for Master and that shadowy projection of Kaelen we saw in the alley back in the city. But from the stories I hear in the servant quarters and the whispers from the Generals... some of them are chill. They just want to sit in their castles and be left alone. And some are utter dicks who think the world is their personal footstool."

  She waved a greasy fork dismissively. "Don't worry too much, though. Knowing some of them by what I’ve heard, I doubt most of them will even show up. There has never been a meeting where all the Demon Lords were present in one room. It’s lucky if only four show up. They usually claim they are 'too busy' with state affairs. Tbh, they're probably just busy picking which local girl to screw or which village to tax into the dirt. They're egotistical like that."

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  "Lyra-san! Don't say that!" I hissed, looking at the door as if a Lord might materialize right then. "What if they hear you? What if Master hears you?"

  "As if I cared," Lyra interrupted, her voice suddenly losing its playful lilt.

  I stopped chewing. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The lighthearted banter was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp tension. I saw Lyra’s expression harden into something I rarely saw, a look of pure, unadulterated loathing. She knew something, or she was hiding something behind that flippant comment about the Lords' "hobbies."

  "What is it, Lyra-san?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Is there something that bothers you? I can hear it in your tone. It’s not just a joke, is it?"

  Lyra didn't look at me. She closed her left hand into a tight, white-knuckled fist on the table, the silver fork she was holding creaking slightly under the pressure. She continued to chew on a piece of meat, but her jaw was set so tight it looked painful.

  "It’s nothing important, Akari. Just politics and bad blood," she muttered, her eyes fixed on a knot in the wood of the table.

  "Come on, Lyra-san," I urged, reaching out but hesitating to touch her. "We’ve been through a lot this past week. If it’s personal... I can keep a secret. I won't even tell the shadows."

  Lyra finally looked up at me. Her sharp, elven eyes were clouded with a memory that seemed to burn. "You promise you won't tell? Not even Valerius? If he knows I’m getting worked up over the guests, he’ll give me that 'professionalism' lecture again."

  I shook my head vigorously. "Of course, of course. Not a soul. I promise."

  Lyra let out a long, ragged breath that sounded like a deflating balloon. She relaxed her fist, but as she moved her hand, I saw four crescent-shaped red marks where her nails had dug deep into her palm. A tiny bead of blood began to well up, but she immediately tucked her hand under the table, hiding the injury from view.

  "What you’re about to hear is my backstory," she began, her voice taking on a hollow, distant quality. "It’s how I actually ended up as Master’s maid. It wasn't just a job application, Akari."

  I felt a prickle of intense curiosity, mixed with a heavy sense of impending dread. I set my bread down, giving her my full attention.

  "It all started seven years ago, when I was fourteen," Lyra said, her gaze drifting back to the window. "I wasn't born in this domain. I was born in a noble human family called the House of Sterling-Vaelin. We were quite prominent in the borderlands. You could always pick out a member of our family from a mile away if you saw this blue hair. It’s a trait that’s followed our bloodline for centuries."

  She closed her eyes, and I saw her shoulders tremble. "But one day, my village—the seat of our family’s estate—got raided. It wasn't an accident. It wasn't a random group of bandits." Her fist clenched again under the table. "It was the Demon Lord Balazar. See, our village was located just inside the southern edge of his territory. He was one of those Demon Lords who demanded every village pay him thousands of gold pieces every year just to exist. Protection money, they called it."

  "That’s awful," I whispered, my heart aching for the fourteen-year-old girl she had been.

  "The thing is," Lyra said, her voice cracking with a bitter laugh, "our village did pay him. We paid him triple what he asked, actually. My father was a generous man, a bit naive perhaps, and he thought that by giving extra, we would buy ourselves true safety. He thought it would make us 'special' in the eyes of a monster."

  She looked at me, her eyes wet but fierce. "But that didn't stop him. You wanna hear the reason he burned us anyway? It wasn't about the money. He wanted a 'collection' of human girls. High-born, low-born, he didn't care as long as they were pretty and young. You can probably guess why a man like Balazar wants a collection in his cellar."

  I felt a cold, sick knot form in the pit of my stomach. The reality of this world was so much darker than the "tutorial" had led me to believe.

  "I was one of the few girls, one of the few humans at all—who survived that night," Lyra continued, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous monotone. "They threw us into a damp, freezing cellar in the bowels of that bastard's castle. We were there for days with barely any food or water. Then, Malphas visited. If I remember right, Balazar had invited him there to try and make some kind of trade deal—something about mineral rights and border expansions. They were walking through the castle, and Balazar was showing off his 'wealth.'"

  She paused, a small, genuine smile flickering on her lips for a fleeting second. "The cellars were located right along the main hallway that led to the exit. I saw Malphas walking out. He looked exactly like he does now, bored, cold, and utterly unimpressed. Balazar was scurrying after him like a rat, naming off all sorts of treasures and artifacts he would give if Malphas would just sign the treaty. He was highering the deal with every step."

  "And Master Malphas?"

  "He kept saying no. He didn't want the gold or the relics. But then... he stopped. He looked through the bars of our cellar. He saw us. He saw the state we were in." Lyra’s voice softened. "And I could see it in his eyes, even back then. He didn't like what he saw. He didn't like the way Balazar talked about us as if we were livestock. All I heard after that was Malphas turning to him and saying, 'Throw in the girls, and you have a deal.'"

  I gasped. "He bought your freedom?"

  "He didn't just buy us, Akari. He traded away a massive territorial advantage for a group of starving human girls that meant nothing to his power," Lyra said, her voice thick with emotion. "Before I knew it, all of us were released. He had us escorted to his territory, where we were given homes and jobs as free females. We weren't slaves. We weren't 'assets.' We were just people again."

  She looked down at her hands. "I don't know exactly what he traded, but I know it must have been important to his kingdom. I was forever grateful to Lord Malphas. When he started walking away from the village where he had settled the rest of us, I followed him. I ran up to him and thanked him so many times I probably sounded like a broken record. I asked him what I could do to repay him. I told him I’d do anything."

  Lyra chuckled, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek. "He told me 'nothing.' He told me to just 'live.' And honestly? That made me feel even more guilty. I kept at it, following him for miles, pestering him to let me work for him. I wanted to make up for whatever he had lost to save me. Finally, he got tired of my talking and accepted me as his maid. His only previous maid had passed away from old age, she’d been with his family for a century, and he used to have a whole handful of staff, apparently. But he’d let the castle fall into a bit of a state of solitude."

  She leaned back, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "I started with small jobs. As you can imagine, this castle was even bigger back then when I was small, and I didn't know the first thing about cleaning. I was a noble's daughter! We had maids back at my old home to do everything for me. I used to cry because I couldn't get the floors to shine, or because I broke a vase that was older than my entire family line. But Master never yelled. He just... let me learn."

  Lyra looked at me, the playful spark returning, though it was now anchored by something much deeper. "And there you have it. That’s why I get a little pissed off thinking about these Demon Lords coming here. Some are chill like Malphas, and others are dicks like Balazar. And today, I have to stand there and smile at them."

  I reached across the table and placed my hand over hers, squeezing gently. "I had no idea, Lyra-san. You're so strong. Thank you for telling me."

  "Yeah, well," she said, sniffing and standing up to clear the plates. "Don't go getting all sappy. We have a world to welcome in a few hours, and I'm not letting any of those bastards see me with puffy eyes. Now, let’s get those outfits ready. We have a reputation to uphold."

  ─── ??☆?? ───

  As we walked down the shadow?lit hallway, Lyra suddenly darted from behind a tapestry and lunged at the first guard, startling him so badly he yelped and dropped his spear, and with a mischievous grin she shouted, “Third one today!”, a playful nod to her earlier jump?scares, then, moments later, she sauntered over to a different guard, caught his eye, and with a teasing wink said, “Hey, buddy, my eyes are up here,” making him blush and stumble over his words in front of his chuckling comrades, even though she knew he hadn’t been looking at her at all; behind her light?hearted banter, I know she must be terrified of finally confronting the Demon Lord who once razed her home.