The pace—a monument to centuries of rule, to power, to unshakable authority—stood before her like a dying ember, its once-grand walls trembling under her presence.

  And yet, it was still standing.

  Not because it was strong. Not because it had endured.

  Because she allowed it to.

  Reika stepped into the shattered remains of the great hall, her massive form barely contained by the colpsing structure, her golden-embroidered kimono brushing against crumbling pilrs as she moved forward.

  The shogun knelt before her, breathing heavily, his once-pristine armor smeared with dust and blood.

  To his credit, he did not beg.

  But he did not fight, either.

  Because what was the point?

  She had dismantled his army like a passing thought, reduced his greatest warriors to nothing, and walked through his walls as if they were mist.

  She was not an enemy to be defeated.

  She was a w of nature to be endured.

  Reika regarded him with the same detached interest she had shown before—like he was a relic of a world that no longer mattered.

  "You are lucky."

  Her words were not a taunt, not a threat.

  They were simply a statement of fact.

  The shogun looked up, his face lined with exhaustion, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Reika continued, her violet eyes burning softly in the dim firelight.

  "I had pnned to destroy your city."

  Her voice was gentle, as if she were discussing a minor inconvenience, something no more significant than deciding whether or not to finish a meal.

  "But I have better things to do now."

  The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.

  The shogun’s fingers twitched, as if grappling with the weight of her words.

  And then—she turned away from him.

  Just like that.

  Not because he had won. Not because she had spared him.

  Because he no longer mattered.

  And that, more than anything, was his true defeat.

  The ground shook as she stepped out of the ruined pace, her towering form casting an endless shadow over the broken city.

  And then—her gaze found me again.

  I barely had time to react before she moved.

  Her hand descended, delicate fingers spreading as they reached for me, blocking out the dim light of the fires still burning around us.

  And then—they closed around me.

  Not crushing, not harmful.

  But absolute.

  The warmth of her grip was startling, the sheer size of her hand enveloping me completely, pressing me against the soft silk of her sleeve.

  She lifted me as if I weighed nothing, raising me high above the ruined battlefield, bringing me closer to her face.

  Her expression was unchanged.

  Still detached.

  Still calm.

  But now, finally, there was something else in her eyes.

  Something curious.

  Something possessive.

  She held me there, suspended between the world I once knew and the goddess she had become.

  And then, at st—she spoke again.

  "Now, let’s talk properly."

  The first thing I felt was warmth.

  Not from the fires still burning in the ruined city behind us, nor from the blood-stained battlefield that y silent beneath the weight of Reika’s power. It came from her touch—her massive, delicate fingers curling around my body, securing me with effortless ease.

  She picked me up as if I weighed nothing, her long, elegant fingers tightening slightly just enough to ensure I wouldn’t slip. The softness of her skin contrasted with the terrifying strength that y beneath it. Her thumb brushed against my chest—not in affection, but in casual, absentminded possession, as if she were testing the reality of me in her grasp.

  Then—she stood up fully.

  The world around me shrunk instantly.

  The fortress, once an indomitable structure, barely reached her thighs. The battlefield that had felt so vast and endless now seemed like a patch of earth beneath her feet.

  She didn’t look back at the destruction she had left behind.

  She simply began to walk.

  Her every step was both sensual and absolute—a dispy of effortless grace and crushing power.

  The ground trembled beneath her heels, sending ripples through the earth, turning solid stone into splintered cracks. Streams and rivers broke against her stocking-cd ankles, their waters dispersing as if afraid to touch her. She strode across the nd like a goddess returning to her temple, her long legs effortlessly spanning distances that would take humans days to cross.

  All the while, she held me close, pressed against the smooth silk of her kimono, the faint scent of violets and something darker lingering around her.

  The Demon Realm unfolded before us.

  Twisting ndscapes of bckened mountains, their peaks piercing into a red and violet sky. Rivers of molten gold, flowing unnaturally, illuminating the ndscape like veins of fire. Shadows flickered in the distance—massive creatures, their eyes burning with unearthly hunger—but none dared to approach her.

  Because they knew.

  She was above them.

  Far, far above them.

  Then—we reached her pace.

  It wasn’t a fortress.

  It wasn’t a castle.

  It was a monument to her dominion.

  A colossal bck stronghold, carved into the heart of a mountain, its walls forged from obsidian and veins of pulsing gold. Towering spires stretched into the sky, their peaks crackling with energy, as if the heavens themselves had been shackled to her throne.

  At its base, the gates loomed open, revealing a vast courtyard lined with braziers of violet fme. The entrance alone was rge enough to swallow entire vilges, its surface adorned with gold-etched murals—each one depicting Reika herself, standing over the fallen, the worshipping, the defeated.

  And within its grand halls—they waited for her.

  Her servants.

  There were around a hundred of them.

  Human. Small, fragile, insignificant in comparison.

  They moved like ants beneath the immense scale of her pace, cd in simple robes, tending to tasks that seemed impossible for their size.

  A young man, no taller than her foot, struggled to carry a goblet nearly the size of his chest, arms trembling beneath its weight. A woman, old and frail, swept the grand hall with a broom that was twice as tall as she was.

  Others worked in silence, kneeling as she passed, never daring to meet her gaze.

  She stepped past them as if they didn’t exist.

  And to her—they probably didn’t.

  The moment Reika set me down on the vast bck stone armrest of her throne, I felt how small I truly was in her world.

  She leaned back into her seat, her long legs crossing fluidly, the slit of her gold-embroidered kimono shifting slightly, revealing even more of her smooth, stocking-cd thighs. Her posture was rexed, indulgent, as if she had spent centuries reigning like this—as if there had never been a time when she wasn’t above everything.

  And yet—as her gaze fell upon me, I saw something I hadn’t expected.

  For the first time since she picked me up from the battlefield, there was something soft in her expression.

  A trace of something almost human.

  "I didn’t think I’d ever see you again after a hundred year, Jin."

  Her voice was calm, smooth, but there was something else beneath it—a whisper of nostalgia, buried under yers of power and detachment.

  I swallowed hard. She remembered.

  "It… it really has been that long?" I asked.

  She gave a small nod, studying me carefully, as if reacquainting herself with something she had long thought lost.

  "Yes." Her fingers drummed lightly against the massive armrest beside me, the rhythm slow, measured. "Almost a hundred years. Or rather, a hundred years for me. I don’t know how much time has passed for you."

  I exhaled shakily, trying to process the weight of that. A hundred years alone in this world.

  "You look the same," she murmured, her gaze running over me, slow and deliberate.

  "You don’t," I replied before I could stop myself.

  She smirked slightly, a hint of amusement in her otherwise unreadable expression.

  "No, I suppose I don’t."

  She lifted one delicate hand, and for a moment, bck energy tendrils flickered into existence, coiling around her fingers like living shadows before dissipating into the air.

  "It didn’t take long," she said, almost absently. "The moment I arrived, I was like this."

  Her amethyst eyes gleamed faintly as she regarded me, as if waiting for my reaction.

  "You mean you had all this power… right away?" I asked.

  She nodded. "From the start. I didn’t earn it. I didn’t struggle for it. It was simply... mine."

  There was no arrogance in her tone. No boastfulness.

  Just fact.

  "At first, I thought it was a mistake," she continued, her voice softer now.

  "I thought I wasn’t supposed to be here. That I had to find a way back."

  She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin against the back of one hand, her other fingers zily trailing along the golden embroidery of her kimono.

  "I spent the first twenty years trying."

  Her words sent a strange ache through me.

  "twenty years?" I echoed.

  She gave a slow nod, her eyes distant for the first time since we began speaking.

  "twenty years tearing through this world, trying to find an answer. I destroyed cities. I forced kings and demon lords to bring me their greatest schors, their oldest sorcerers."

  Her voice grew colder, not in anger, but in detached recollection.

  "None of them had the answer I wanted."

  Her fingers tightened slightly against the throne’s armrest.

  "So I killed them."

  I felt a chill creep up my spine.

  "And after twenty years?" I asked quietly.

  She sighed—a slow, indulgent exhale, as if even the memory of her past self felt distant.

  "After twenty years, I realized something."

  She shifted slightly, her massive form looming over me, the weight of her presence settling in the air.

  "I didn’t need to go back."

  She tilted her head slightly, studying me, gauging my reaction.

  "I had spent all that time fighting for something I didn’t actually need. The more I ruled, the more I conquered, the clearer it became."

  She smiled then, slow, knowing.

  "This world belongs to me."

  The words sent a shiver down my spine.

  "Reika… that’s not—"

  "Not what?" she interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

  I hesitated.

  "Not right?" she finished for me, her voice smooth, almost teasing.

  I didn’t answer.

  Because I didn’t know how to answer.

  She leaned forward slightly, her massive form casting a shadow over me, her fingers tapping against the armrest near where I sat.

  "Jin."

  She said my name slowly, deliberately.

  "When you step over an ant, do you consider what it was thinking?"

  The breath caught in my throat.

  "These beings," she continued, gesturing vaguely to the tiny human servants still moving about the throne room, never daring to look up, "I tried, at first, to see them as equals. As people."

  She smiled—but there was no warmth in it.

  "But after a while, I just… couldn’t."

  She reclined against the throne again, her fingers zily brushing against her thigh, her expression thoughtful.

  "They are fragile, simple, repceable. I no longer need to pretend otherwise."

  The truth in her words weighed heavily between us.

  She had spent a hundred years reigning alone.

  A hundred years as a goddess among insects.

  And now—she had found me again.

  For what?

  I swallowed hard.

  "Then why return to the human realm at all?"

  "I was bored," she admitted easily.

  Her violet gaze met mine, sharp and unreadable.

  "And then I found you."

  The weight of those words settled between us like stone pressing against my chest.

  She gazed down at me, composed, regal, completely in control.

  Then—her lips curled slightly, just the faintest hint of something dangerous and indulgent.

  "Stay with me, Jin."

  The words were soft, almost gentle.

  But there was no true choice in them.

  Because, deep down, I already knew—she had already decided.