Present Time: 1592, Golden Era
Demonic Continent – Count Bambota's County
It was a tense day in the county, though outwardly it seemed normal. The tension stemmed from the Archduke, who was supposed to stay just one night but had already lingered for two weeks, now entering his third. The most unsettling part was his complete reclusiveness. No one had seen him since his arrival. He had locked himself in the room assigned to him, instructing his guard captain to ensure no disturbances.
While the county simmered with unease, a lean, scruffy demon strolled down an alleyway with a spring in his step. His pitch-black hair framed sharp features, and his crimson eyes gleamed with a mischievous light. This young demon, Dante, was the epitome of cunning.
At the alley's end sat a hunched man, no more than four feet tall, with a crooked back and a face obscured by shadows. He exuded an air of mystery that made the hairs on one's neck rise. Dante approached him confidently.
"Do you have it?" Dante asked in a low, impatient tone.
"Yes, I do. But tell me, young one, what could you possibly want with this?" The man's mangled voice was almost painful to hear.
"That's none of your concern, traveler," Dante shot back sharply.
The old man chuckled—a dry, hollow sound. Travelers were infamous merchants who roamed the world selling rare and forbidden items. Legends whispered they only appeared to those chosen by fate.
"You remember the terms, don't you? Three favors. At any time, at any cost," the traveler reminded him.
Dante waved him off dismissively, grabbing the package with an eagerness that betrayed his urgency. The so-called promise mattered little to him; only his plan's success occupied his thoughts.
Back at the manor, Dante entered through a side door, his package carefully hidden beneath his coat.
"Dante's back!" a high-pitched voice squealed.
The owner of the voice, a bright-eyed demon boy named Naamah, barreled toward Dante with unbridled excitement.
"Hey, kiddo," Dante greeted with a forced smile. "How were your lessons?"
"They were fine! But, Dante, come with me—I want to sneak a peek at the Archduke!" Naamah said, his eyes alight with curiosity.
Dante frowned, shaking his head. "No, Naamah. You know we're not allowed to disturb him."
Despite the boy's protests, Dante escorted him back to the countess's wing of the sprawling manor. At a grand oak door, Dante knocked softly.
"Come in," a gentle voice replied.
Inside, a group of maids fussed over a breathtakingly beautiful woman with flowing black hair and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky. The Countess radiated elegance, her every movement deliberate and graceful.
"Good day, Countess. I've brought back your son," Dante said with a polite bow.
Naamah darted past him, jumping into his mother's lap. "Mother, I want to meet the Archduke!"
Unseen by anyone in the room, Dante's face darkened momentarily. But he quickly masked it. "I'll be on my way," he said, ignoring the warm farewells as he exited.
Walking down the dimly lit hallway, Dante muttered under his breath, his voice low and sinister. "Soon, we'll be together again... Mother."
Main Continent – The Theocracy
Temple of the Three – Council Chambers
The Temple of the Three stood as a testament to the divine, a massive structure of white marble adorned with intricate carvings that told the story of the world's creation. Its spires pierced the heavens, and golden mosaics gleamed in the sunlight. Inside its grand halls, the council chamber resonated with authority and prestige.
Within the circular meeting room, high-ranking officials of the theocracy gathered. Robes of red, blue, and purple filled the chamber, each color denoting rank and influence. The air was thick with a mix of incense and tension.
"Let us begin the meeting," declared a man robed in crimson with five golden stars on his chest—a symbol of his esteemed position, second only to the Pope. His presence radiated authority, and the room fell silent.
"The theocracy has been allotted five spots at the upcoming summit. It is our duty to select representatives," Thomford announced, his deep voice commanding attention.
Before he could continue, a blue-robed cardinal with three stars interrupted. "The Eloise family's daughter must take one of the spots! Her talents are unmatched."
"Nonsense!" countered a younger, purple-robed cardinal with one star. "The Banfield boy is far more deserving."
The chamber erupted into a spiral of arguments, voices rising and overlapping. The noise was unbefitting men of their stature, but the stakes of the decision had far reaching consequences.
"Enough!" boomed Cardinal Rushford, a four-star red-robed figure seated to Thomford's left. His voice silenced the chaos, and his steely gaze swept over the room. "Show some respect. You are in the presence of Cardinal Thomford the Bright."
"Thank you, Cardinal Rushford. May the Light guide you," Thomford said with a slight nod.
"Amen," Rushford replied.
Thomford raised his hand to regain control of the floor. "I understand your passion—this decision carries great weight. To ensure fairness, I propose we host a tournament here in the capital. It will allow the most deserving talents to prove themselves before the eyes of the Three."
The room buzzed with murmurs of approval, though a few cardinals exchanged skeptical glances.
"Cardinal Joseph Palpitine requests the floor," an attendant announced.
A hush fell over the chamber. Cardinal Joseph, draped in crimson with four stars adorning his chest, carried an aura of quiet menace. His connection to the Pope gave his words a weight that few dared challenge.
"The Demiurgos family has requested one guaranteed spot," Joseph said, his voice calm yet firm.
The statement sent shockwaves through the room.
"That's outrageous!" a blue-robed cardinal exclaimed. "Let their talent compete like everyone else!"
"They deserve the spot! The Demiurgos family has served the theocracy loyally for generations," another countered.
"We have all served loyally for generations" countered another
"Do you have the same right to place yourself in the same ranks as them" said another cardinal
The arguments reignited, a chorus of dissent and defense echoing in the chamber.
"Silence!" Cardinal Rushford barked. "This is not a marketplace. Cardinal Joseph, explain this request."
Joseph remained composed, his tone unchanged. "The heir of the Demiurgos family has begun closed-door prayers and cannot participate in the tournament."
"Closed-door prayers?" one cardinal sneered. "A convenient excuse. Everyone knows the Demiurgos family doesn't truly worship the Three."
This whispered truth was no secret among the upper ranks of the theocracy: the Demiurgos family, while outwardly loyal, don't worship the three.
Cardinal Thomford's eyes narrowed as he regarded Joseph. "Is this a mere request?"
Joseph met his gaze without flinching. "It is no mere request. The Pope himself has approved it."
The tension in the room became almost unbearable. Thomford's frown deepened, but after a long pause, he nodded. "The tournament will proceed—for the remaining four positions."
With that, Thomford stood, signaling the end of the debate. All the cardinals rose in unison to salute him as he left, his crimson robes flowing like liquid fire. Cardinal Rushford followed close behind, his expression a mixture of respect and frustration.
Once the chamber emptied, Joseph remained seated, exhaling deeply. His stoic mask slipped for a moment, revealing a hint of unease. He had felt it—the unspoken threat in Thomford's gaze, a predator's patience waiting for the right moment to strike.
For all his centuries of experience and his rank as an emperor among mortals, Joseph realized with a chill that Cardinal Thomford the Bright could have taken his life at any given time.