Cassandra had died.
She had felt it—the cold finality of her body breaking, the sensation of her life spilling out onto the battlefield.
She had been forgotten, like all weapons when they had outlived their use.
But she did not stay dead.
She awoke in darkness.
Not the nothingness of death.
Not the warmth of an afterlife.
This was something else.
It was alive, pulsating around her like a great, breathing entity. Shadows curled at the edges of her vision, shifting like liquid void, coiling and twisting into shapes that should not exist.
And at the center of it all—
She sat upon a throne of blackened bone.
The Demon Lord.
She had seen monsters, warlords, kings, but this was different.
This was something beyond mortal understanding.
Eyes that burned like ember-filled voids watched her, measuring her, peeling her apart with infinite amusement.
The woman on the throne rested her chin upon her delicate hand, crimson nails gleaming in the dim, ethereal light.
And then—
She smiled.
"Welcome back, Cassandra."
Cassandra should have spoken.
Should have demanded answers, should have fought against whatever this curse was.
But she already knew.
The scythe in her hands pulsed, a deep violet glow matching her own eyes.
It was hers. It had always been hers.
It was her resentment, her rage, her envy—made real.
The Demon Lord watched her silence, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
And then, with the patience of a goddess, she said, "You are not who you were before."
Cassandra finally found her voice.
"Then who am I?"
The Demon Lord's smile widened.
"You are Envy."
Cassandra felt it before she accepted it.
The way the name settled into her bones, reshaping her very being.
The name was not a gift.
It was a truth that had always been inside her.
She envied Leon Yuuki, the so-called hero who had never known chains yet spoke of justice.
She envied Sylva, who had found someone to fight for her, to see her as more than a weapon.
She envied the people who lived without pain, without torment, without the weight of scars that never truly faded.
Her envy burned.
And in its fire, she was reborn.
The chamber she stood in was unlike anything she had ever seen.
It was not built—it was formed from the abyss itself, as though reality had been torn apart and remade by a will greater than the gods themselves.
The walls pulsed, shifting like living veins, filled with a soft crimson glow. The floor was obsidian and bone, the air thick with power and whispers of things that should not be heard.
And before her, kneeling in a perfect line, were demons.
Not mindless beasts, not the monsters humans feared in their stories—but warriors.
Dark knights in twisted armour, sorcerers wrapped in flowing, whispering cloaks, assassins who moved like the very shadows themselves.
They knelt before the Demon Lord.
And before her.
Envy.
"They recognize your strength," the Demon Lord murmured, rising gracefully from her throne.
She stepped toward Cassandra—no, Envy—her movements like flowing silk, her presence suffocating yet intoxicatingly compelling.
The Demon Lord stopped just before her, reaching out with a single black nail.
She traced it under Envy's chin, lifting her gaze until violet eyes met crimson ones.
"Tell me, Envy."
Her voice was gentle.
But beneath that gentleness was a demand.
"What is it that you desire?"
Envy's lips parted.
The answer had always been there.
Buried. Festering.
She wanted them to suffer.
She wanted Leon Yuuki to understand that his righteousness meant nothing in a world ruled by power.
She wanted Sylva to see that no one truly gets to be free.
She wanted the entire world to feel what she had felt—
To know what it meant to be beneath, to be lesser, to be caged while others lived in the sun.
And so she whispered her answer.
"I want to take everything from them."
The Demon Lord's smile was pure satisfaction.
"Then you are truly mine."
A surge of power flooded through her, unlike anything she had ever known.
The scythe in her hands grew heavier, its violet glow darkening, pulsing with a hunger she now understood completely.
She had once been a blade forged by humans, trained to kill without question.
Now, she was a scythe that would reap the world itself.
She was envy incarnate.
And she was done being beneath them.
The kneeling demons rose, and the room shook with their voices.
"Hail, Lady Envy!"
Cassandra did not correct them.
She simply turned, stepping forward, standing beside the Demon Lord.
Because now—
She belonged nowhere else.
As she stared into the abyss of the Demon Lord's kingdom, her new home, Envy thought of Leon Yuuki and Sylva.
The next time they met, they would not stand on the same battlefield.
She was no longer their ally.
No longer Cassandra.
She was the woman who had died and come back stronger.
And she would make sure they understood—
The world had left her behind.
Now, she would return the favour.
*
*
*
The meeting chamber of Solmaria's High Council was nothing like the grand, holy halls Leon had imagined.
There were no shining banners of righteousness. No celestial light filtering through stained-glass windows.
Only cold stone, heavy with the weight of too many failures.
The long table at the center was scarred with age, its polished surface marred by deep cuts—a silent witness to countless desperate war councils. Maps, stained with ink and blood, lay scattered across its surface.
And around the table—the ones who had led this doomed war stood in silence.
The Leaders of Solmaria
At the head of the table sat King Raphael Solmarius, his golden hair dulled by stress, his once-proud gaze weighed down by exhaustion.
Beside him, Queen Evelynn sat rigidly, her hands folded tightly, her expression unreadable.
To the right, Princess Seraphina leaned against her chair, arms crossed, her piercing blue eyes flicking across the room with barely contained frustration.
And standing at the far end—Sir Cedric Renandt, High Commander of Solmaria's forces.
A living legend.
A man whose sword had cut down thousands of demons.
And yet, even he looked tired.
Around them stood the knights and commanders who had survived the battle—those who had bled and fought to keep this city standing.
And in front of them all—
Leon Yuuki stood as their supposed hero.
But he didn't feel like a hero.
Not after what he had seen.
Not after everything that had happened.
And now, it was time for answers.
"We need to talk about what happened out there," Leon started, his voice steady, though the weight of the battle still clung to him.
Cedric crossed his arms. "We won the battle. That is all that matters."
Leon's fists clenched. "Did we?"
Silence.
The Crimson Vow—Darius, Selene, Gaius, Lyra, and Iris—stood behind him. Their faces were grim, each carrying their own unspoken thoughts.
Darius exhaled sharply. "The Black Knight nearly wiped us out. The Night Reapers are dead. Cassandra—" He hesitated, his jaw tightening. "She's gone."
Queen Evelynn's gaze didn't waver. "The war is not won in a single battle."
Leon's voice sharpened. "Then why do I feel like we already lost?"
Seraphina leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "Explain."
Leon didn't hesitate.
"The demons didn't fight to win. They fought to break us." His voice was firm, cutting through the tension. "They wanted us to believe we were victorious—to let us think we survived—"
He gestured to the wounded knights, the exhausted commanders.
"But look at us. Look at our forces. We're barely standing."
No one spoke.
Because they all knew he was right.
Even Cedric remained silent, his fingers tapping against the hilt of his sword.
Then—
Sylva stepped forward.
And the moment she opened her mouth—everything changed.
"We were being watched."
The room tensed.
Leon turned to her, his brow furrowing. "Sylva—?"
She kept her gaze on the table, her voice calm but certain.
"During the battle… something was watching us. Something beyond the demons we fought."
Murmurs spread through the knights. Some shifted uncomfortably. Others scoffed.
Then—
A voice cut through the room.
Sharp. Contemptuous.
A knight stepped forward—a high-ranking officer clad in polished silver armour, his insignia marking him as one of Solmaria's noble commanders.
And when he spoke, his words were filled with venom.
"We don't need to hear the testimony of a slave."
Silence fell.
Leon's breath hitched.
The words hung in the air like poison.
Sylva did not move.
She did not flinch.
She had heard worse before.
But something inside Leon snapped.
He turned—fast, furious, his katana clattering against the table as he slammed his fist down.
The sound echoed through the chamber, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Say that again."
The knight stiffened, glaring at him. "I said—"
Leon took one step forward, his voice a low growl.
"Say it again."
His fingers curled into a fist, his breathing heavy, his rage barely contained.
"I dare you."
The knight hesitated.
Not because of Leon's title.
Not because he was the hero Eldoria had summoned.
But because of the look in his eyes.
This wasn't the look of a righteous warrior defending justice.
This was the look of a man who would draw his sword over a single insult.
The tension in the room turned deadly.
Then—
"Enough."
Cedric's voice was firm, breaking the standoff before it could explode.
Leon didn't move at first.
Then—slowly—he took a deep breath, forcing himself to step back.
But his eyes never left the knight.
And the warning was clear.
Say it again, and I will end you.
Sylva finally spoke, her voice quiet but unwavering.
"You don't have to believe me. But if we ignore this… we won't live to regret it."
Leon turned back to the table, forcing himself to push past the anger burning in his chest.
"She's right. If we were being watched, then that means this war is far from over."
Seraphina frowned. "And you believe the demons have something worse waiting for us?"
Leon exhaled.
"I don't think. I know."
Cedric's expression darkened. "Then we need to prepare."
Queen Evelynn finally broke her silence. "That depends."
Leon's gaze snapped to her. "Depends on what?"
She leaned forward, resting her hands on the table.
"Depends on whether you intend to be our hero… or something else entirely."
The meaning was clear.
Leon wasn't just a weapon they summoned.
He was an unknown variable.
And Solmaria did not trust unknowns.
The meeting was far from over.
And the real war—
Had only just begun.