Demons filled the hall in every direction. Some wore ceremonial armors. Others were dressed in flowing robes, open at the chest, bands of metal and gemstones marking rank or lineage. A few wore nothing but pants displaying their scars with pride. But they weren’t the only ones present.
Tall, overly dressed Nagas mingled with the demon crowd. Their eyes followed everything, unblinking. Nearby, broad-shouldered Ferans clustered together in tight groups, fur marked with scars and clan brands, their posture proud but restrained, as if this was not their territory but close enough to feel familiar.
Elementals drifted openly among them. Some were little more than humanoid outlines formed of fire, ash, or wind. Others were dense, almost solid, their cores glowing as they absorbed the ambient heat of Dragos with visible satisfaction. There were others too, races I didn’t immediately recognize.
This was not just a demon celebration.
This was a statement.
The demons hadn’t merely opened their halls. They had invited witnesses.
Tables lined the sides of the hall, piled with food that steamed and crackled softly, meats glazed in magma oils, bowls of glowing fruits, drinks that shimmered like liquid fire.
Music played somewhere above, deep and rhythmic, vibrating through bone more than air.
Every eye turned toward us.
Not just demons.
All of them.
I felt North’s hand tighten slightly in mine.
We took another step.
Then someone clapped.
A single sound, sharp and clear.
Another followed.
Then another.
The clapping spread unevenly at first, hesitant, as if the hall itself needed a second to decide what this moment was. Then it grew louder. Faster. Stronger. Soon the entire chamber echoed with applause, a thunderous wave rolling toward us from every direction, bouncing off obsidian walls and vaulted ceilings.
A voice shouted, raw with emotion. "Thank you!"
Another followed. "For the rift!"
"For our brothers!"
"For Dragos!"
Demons began stepping forward, one after another. Hands reached out. Grips were firm, respectful, sometimes trembling. Words spilled freely, unpolished and honest.
"Because of you, my unit survived."
"My sister can finally rest."
"We haven’t closed a rift like that in generations."
Some bowed. Others placed fists to their chests. A few simply stared, eyes burning, unable to find words.
I answered where I could. Nods. Short replies. Handshakes. I didn’t deflect it. This wasn’t pride. This was acknowledgment.
From the corners of my vision, I caught the reactions of the others. The Ferans watched with narrowed eyes, measuring. The Nagas whispered softly among themselves. Even the elementals seemed to drift closer.
Then the crowd parted.
By instinct.
The general stepped forward.
Kharzun’s presence cut through the noise without effort. He wore the same heavy armor as before. His eyes were calm, deep, and sharp, holding the kind of stillness that only came from centuries of command.
Beside him stood another figure.
Saleos.
They stopped in front of me together.
Kharzun inclined his head slightly. "Once again," he said, his voice carrying without effort, "you have my thanks. And the thanks of Dragos."
I returned the gesture. "We did what needed to be done."
A faint smile tugged at Kharzun’s lips. "That is usually how history begins."
He turned slightly, addressing the hall. "Enjoy yourselves. Tonight is not for strategy or mourning. It is for breath."
The tension eased, just enough.
Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping so only we could hear. "Walk with us."
He gestured, and the space around us shifted naturally. The crowd parted again. Saleos moved at my other side.
As we walked, Kharzun spoke quietly. "Your presence here is not symbolic," he said. "It is public. Every race in this hall will understand what it means."
I glanced toward the gathered non-demons. "Which is?"
"That the Demon Monarch has permitted coordination," he replied evenly. "Not covert. Not deniable. Open."
Saleos spoke then, his voice smooth and precise. "You will gain allies from this. Quickly."
"And enemies," Kharzun added without pause. "Just as quickly. Some will see strength. Others will see a threat that must be accounted for."
I nodded once. "I expected that."
Kharzun’s gaze sharpened slightly. "Good. Be careful nonetheless. Recognition spreads faster than intent."
Ahead, a raised section of the hall came into view, where three figures stood together.
They were unmistakable.
Three demons, each radiating pressure without trying to. Different builds, different auras, but all carrying the same weight of command.
Generals.
Kharzun stopped beside them. "These are the others overseeing Dragos’ active fronts."
He continued, "Together with me, we are the four generals currently operating under the Demon Monarch."
One stepped forward, tall and broad, horns swept back like blades. "So you’re the one," he said, his tone curious rather than hostile. "You caused quite a stir. Maybe in a day or so your name will begin spreading through the Blue Spiral Galaxy."
He paused, then added calmly, "The Monarch will not be attending tonight. Matters elsewhere require his attention."
I inclined my head. "There’s no need to disturb him."
Kharzun let out a low chuckle. He stepped back slightly. "For tonight, you are our guest. Enjoy yourself. We will meet once again before you leave. There are matters that warrant a quieter room."
The generals inclined their heads in acknowledgment before drifting back into the crowd, already being approached by demons, and a few carefully composed non-demons.
Kharzun turned once more. "Enjoy the night. Dragos doesn’t celebrate often. When it does, it remembers who stood with it."
Saleos gave me one last measuring look, then both of them were gone, absorbed into the movement of the hall.
I stood there for a moment, the noise washing over me. Laughter. Music. Heat. Life.
I could feel the eyes of the crowd on me and my people. The elementals had started gather around Aurora and the Ferans had surrounded Ragnar and silver. I found Knight in a corner silently drinking.
Then I felt North’s hand slide back into mine.
She looked up at me, eyes bright, taking in the hall, the races, the weight of it all. "Looks like we’re popular."
I exhaled softly. "Seems that way."
"Do you think she will come?" North asked.
"Who?"
"Lana," she said.
I shook my head slowly. "It’s hard to say. She might. I think it depends on her new husband."
As I spoke, my gaze drifted past the crowd. Primus stood a short distance away with Steve and Mazikeen, the three of them deep in an oddly serious discussion about the food being served. Steve was gesturing animatedly. Mazikeen looked unimpressed. Primus listened with his usual patience.
I let my perception spread outward, brushing across the hall and its countless presences.
Then I saw it.
I paused.
"Oh," I said quietly. "Actually... they’re already here."
My eyes settled on a demon standing near the outer edge of the hall.