The transition to the wild side of Dragos was not marked by gates or declarations. There was no border in the way civilized worlds liked to draw them. The change announced itself through atmosphere, through pressure, through the way the land stopped pretending it cared whether you survived.
Heat rose in uneven waves from fractured obsidian plains that stretched to the horizon. Rivers of slow-moving magma carved glowing veins through the terrain, illuminating jagged silhouettes of stone and bone alike.
The sky burned a deeper red here, clouds heavy with ash and sparks drifting like embers that never cooled. The air itself carried weight, dense with fire Essence that pressed against the skin instead of flowing gently around it.
There were cities in the distance. Dense clusters of brutal architecture rose near volcanic ridges, towers fused directly into blackened rock, bridges spanning lava flows without guardrails.
They were inhabited, active, loud even from afar, but they felt different from the administrative half of Dragos. Those cities were restraint given form. These were indulgence.
Demons moved freely across the landscape, some armored, some bare-chested, some carrying weapons. No other races walked here. This side of Dragos belonged entirely to demons, and even those who lived on the civilized half crossed over regularly, shedding titles and obligations the moment their boots touched scorched ground.
"This is where we come to breathe," Zerathul said as we descended toward one of the lower ridges. "No councils. No chains. Just survival and appetite."
He seemed more at ease here than he had been in the grand hall. His posture loosened, shoulders rolling as if an invisible weight had slipped off them. Lana stayed close to him, her expression neutral, eyes alert, taking in everything at once.
Primus walked beside me, silent, his gaze steady. We had left eveyone else back at the celebration.
We landed in one of the cities and started walking around. I let my perception spread in and out of the cities. We passed open structures carved directly into stone, bars without walls where demons drank volatile brews that steamed in heavy cups. Laughter rolled openly, rough and unrestrained, punctuated by shouts and the occasional crash of furniture breaking under excess force.
Nearby, an arena cut into a natural basin glowed with heat, demons clashing within it while others watched from the rim, betting openly, cheering without pretense.
Farther out, beyond the lights, demon groups gathered near the edges of volcanic forests where beasts adapted to fire prowled. Some demons returned dragging carcasses that still twitched, blood sizzling where it hit the ground. Others went out alone, weapons slung casually over shoulders, intent on proving something to no one but themselves.
Zerathul gestured broadly. "If the civilized side is where demons remember law," he said, "this is where we remember instinct."
We settled near a volcanic outcropping that provided both heat and cover, close enough to the activity to hear it, far enough to remain undisturbed. Food was brought without ceremony, slabs of meat cooked directly over open flame, drinks poured generously. Zerathul spoke easily, recounting past hunts, early campaigns, moments where survival had hinged on seconds and savagery rather than strategy.
Primus listened without comment. Lana barely spoke at all.
Night deepened, though on Dragos that meant little more than the sky darkening a shade and the glow of magma becoming more pronounced.
When the fire settled into a steady burn and conversation drifted into comfortable noise, I spoke without raising my voice.
"There’s a child back home," I said casually, as if continuing an earlier thought. "Alone."
Zerathul glanced at me, expression neutral. Lana didn’t.
"She needs her mother," I continued. Then I looked at Lana. "You should come with us."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Lana’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup. "I don’t think that’s your decision to make," she said, her tone light, almost amused.
Primus leaned forward just enough to be heard. "It shouldn’t have been," he said. "But you made it one when you left."
Zerathul let out a quiet breath through his nose, a faint smile on his lips as he turned toward Primus. "You’re still clinging to that?" he asked. "This is Dragos. We don’t drag people backward here."
"I’m not asking her to come back for me," Primus replied. "I’m asking her to come back for our daughter."
The smile didn’t vanish. It thinned.
Lana shook her head slowly. "You’re twisting things. She’s fine. You made sure of that."
"That’s not the same thing," Primus said.
Zerathul lifted his drink and took an unhurried sip. "You don’t get to walk into this place and reopen old wounds," he said mildly. "She made her choice. On her own. Why are you trying to force something she’s already moved past?"
"Yes," I said, stepping in, "but sometimes choices come with consequences. This is one of them. She just wasn’t thorough enough in thinking hers through."
His eyes flicked to me then, sharp but still controlled. "And you think you’re the one to administer those consequences."
I paused for a beat.
"I believe I can, if it comes to that," I said. "Executing judgments is something I’m specializing in."
The air shifted.
Zerathul set his cup down a little too firmly. "That’s enough."
He turned to Lana, his hand resting lightly at her back. "You’re not going anywhere," he said, tone gentle, reassuring. "No one here is taking you from me."
Then he looked back at us.
"You should enjoy the night," he continued easily. "It’s a long one. No need to spoil it with things that should’ve stayed buried."
For a heartbeat, something calculating moved behind his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by relaxed confidence.
"The wilderness has a way of settling matters," he added. "Let’s not rush it."
He leaned back, already done with the conversation.
I watched the way the shadows shifted beyond the firelight, the way distant movements grew just a little too coordinated to be coincidence.
The night was long.
And Zerathul had already decided how he wanted it to end.
I saw many demons adjusting their paths and their activities. I saw them move around to take positions to surround us.
Primus noticed too. His hand tightened slightly around the hilt of his weapon, though he didn’t draw it.
’He’s moving,’ he said quietly.
I nodded.
Zerathul walked away excusing himself, leaving three of us to sit around.
Consume problems.
I watched the shadows lengthen, the predators draw closer, and said nothing.
The wild side of Dragos had no witnesses.
And by morning, it would have one less commander.