[Narrator POV]
[A Long Time Ago...]
In a time long past, when the world teetered on the brink of collapse, shaken by relentless strife, wars were fought not just by enemies, but by those who once called each other friends, by brothers against sisters, and fathers against sons. The chaos seemed endless, an incomprehensible tide of violence and sorrow.
Amidst this turmoil, a young girl, scarcely more than a child, gazed upon the world with eyes that saw far more than her years should allow. The devastation, the senseless destruction—she could not comprehend it. And so, with a mind as sharp as a blade, she turned to the only man she trusted, the only one she believed could provide answers.
"Why do we wage war?" she asked, her voice tinged not with innocence but with the weight of her unspoken thoughts.
Her father, the Emperor, looked down at her, pride and sorrow mingling in his heart. He knew his daughter was different, her mind already surpassing that of many seasoned warriors and scholars. He also knew that this question was not born out of ignorance. It was a question rooted in deep contemplation, an inquiry from a mind struggling to understand the world's cruelty.
There were many answers he could have given her.
As a father, he could have shielded her, softened the harsh realities of the world. As a teacher, he could have explained the brutal truths—how wars were waged over wealth, power, land, and pride, driven by the darkest parts of human nature. But as an Emperor, he needed something else entirely. He needed a weapon, sharp and unfaltering, to secure his kingdom's future.
"To win, Azuleth," he replied, his voice carrying the authority of his station, not the tenderness of a father. "We wage wars to win."
How could he, at that time, have foreseen the impact of those words on her soul?
To him, she was a tool, a means to an end. He believed she would follow his command without question, that she would become the unyielding sword he needed to conquer his enemies. He thought her incapable of understanding the true depths of human emotion—the pain, the loss, the despair. Yet, it was he who was blind, unable to see the brilliance of her mind, the depth of her understanding.
But Azuleth understood. She understood far more than he realized. She saw through the lies, the thin veil of justifications that masked the true nature of the world. She saw the suffering, the hatred, the endless cycle of pain. It was her gift, a gift she did not consider a burden, but a truth she had to face.
And yet, despite all she understood, something still eluded her. Even when they had won, when the fires of war had finally burned out, her confusion remained. The victory felt hollow, the chaos lingered in her mind.
One fateful day, in the cold, desolate remains of her home, she stood in the Throne Room, watching as her father cradled the lifeless body of her mother, the Queen. The flames of war had claimed another victim, and in the ashes of their victory, her father's anguished cries echoed through the empty halls.
Azuleth watched in silence, her mind racing. They had won, hadn't they? Their greatest enemy lay dead within their castle walls, a testament to their triumph. The life of a Queen was a small price to pay for peace, for the end of the chaos that had plagued their land.
But as she observed her father, broken and defeated despite their victory, she could not understand. Why did he mourn so deeply? Was the life of a Queen truly worth more than the countless soldiers who had died for this cause?
And then, as she stood there, the truth became painfully clear. She had been right all along, though she had not fully grasped it until now. She had been blind, not to the emotions of those around her, but to the reality she had denied for so long.
"We don't wage wars to win, Father," she whispered, her voice cold and distant, the only scar on her heart now laid bare. For the first time, she understood the pain that had eluded her despite her great wounds from battle—a pain much deeper, wreaking havoc inside her heart.
"We wage wars because we can."
In that moment, Azuleth understood the futility of it all. War was not a means to an end, but an end in itself—a cycle of destruction perpetuated by those who had the power to do so. And as she looked at her father, broken by the very war he had fought to win, his dedication to peace stricken from his core.
Peace—a gift her father had given so selflessly to the world, at the cost of his own.
Truly, what was its use?
[Present Day]
A single word echoed through the vast expanse of the palace, a word so simple yet so powerful that it reverberated through the ancient stone walls like the toll of a death knell.
"No."
This solitary utterance was accompanied by an overwhelming force, an invisible, crushing pressure that seemed to extend from the very core of the man who spoke it. The sheer weight of his will pressed down on the room like an anvil, the air growing dense, stifling. It was as if the very essence of the castle was being drawn into him, unable to resist the pull of his presence.
The stone beneath his feet began to crack, splintering under the immense strain, fissures spider-webbing outwards in all directions. The ancient walls of the palace, built to withstand the ravages of time and war, groaned in protest. Stone and mortar shifted as if under an unbearable load, sections of the ceiling trembling, crumbling as dust and debris rained down from above. The pillars that once supported the grand structure trembled, the very foundation of the castle struggling to resist the force that threatened to tear it apart.
"Haaa, haaa." Two knights, one young and one old, fell to their knees, gasping for breath as the pressure bore down on them. Their titles, their strength, all seemed insignificant under the weight of this power. Sweat poured down their faces, their bodies shaking, as they fought against the impossible force that seemed to crush them into the very earth.
The old commander, through sheer willpower, managed to lift his head. His gaze was drawn not to the man who wielded such terrifying power, but to the Queen who stood beside him. She, too, should have been crushed by this immense force. But she stood tall, unaffected, her posture regal, her expression one of calm indifference.
The Prince lay crumpled on the floor, having succumbed to the despair and terror that filled the room. Yet the Queen remained, her eyes sharp and gleaming, reflecting not fear but something far more unsettling—amusement. The tension in the room seemed to only feed her, the overwhelming pressure invigorating her rather than breaking her spirit.
Her lips curled into a smile, one that did not reach her eyes. She tilted her head slightly, regarding the crumbling palace and the shattered knights as though observing pieces on a game board.
"Is this all, then?" she mused softly, her voice carrying a playful lilt, as if she were teasing a child. The sheer madness in her gaze hinted that this was nothing more than entertainment for her, a game where the stakes mattered little.
She took a step forward, her heels clicking against the fractured stone floor, her movements graceful, unhurried. As she did, the castle continued to crumble, unable to withstand the power that radiated from the man beside her. Yet, her calm demeanor never wavered. She treated the destruction as a mere backdrop to her amusement.
"Come now," she said, her tone light, almost whimsical. "Surely, we can do better than this?"
His heart stirred at her words, but he held himself together despite the mounting sense of heat, threatening to take away his control. Thankfully, he had learned how to better keep himself grounded. Thus, he held true to himself, not letting a momentary lapse of fun ruin his quest for strength.
He held himself together, biting his tongue.
"Girl," he spoke, placing his hand on her shoulder, "You're nuts."
His fist tightened, tearing off a piece of her cloth. "And I'm not gonna say I'm not tempted..."
His face flashed brief amusement, seeing her starting to lose her bearing, her eyes growing more crazed by the second.
"But I'm sure you know, as the Queen of this grand castle around us, that the basis of all negotiations is give and take."
He released his fist, the pressure he had exerted dissipating, gaining even more control over the situation. He now had the only person worthy of his attention dancing in the palm of his hand.
"And I'm afraid you can't afford my worth."
However, this woman was unlike anyone he had met before.
He had underestimated her madness, for instead of taking the hint, she instead took his throat within her hands. Of course, he could have stopped her, but again... where was the fun in that?
Thus, there she was, her nails wanting to dig into his flesh, unable to pierce his skin.
She was an anomaly, one that he needed to figure out if he truly wanted to make full use of her worth.
"Now why did that make you so mad?" Kuzan's voice was smooth as he gently brushed off her fingers, which barely resisted. Her smile in response only fueled his irritation, for when he tried to decipher her, all he saw was the hint of amusement flickering in her eyes, mocking him.
"Chee," he muttered in annoyance. She understood all too well that he could do nothing more than intimidate her, bound as he was by his own ambitions. The realization gnawed at him—how infuriating it was that this woman, of all people, seemed impervious to his power. She didn't even have the ability to control him, yet she held his interest captive. Men had been killed for far less.
She replied with a regal tone, as if she had always been a queen, as if their previous exchange had never happened.
"You seem certain that I am unable to afford your worth?" she spoke mischievously, turning her body slightly, a silent invitation for him to follow. "Why don't we see if that's true?"
Kuzan smiled. This was going better than he had expected. For people like them, with minds far above the common rabble and madness streaming from their cores, there was no need for lengthy explanations, no need for trivialities or formalities. They instinctively understood each other—what the other wanted, what the other sought to earn. But such a connection was rare, a fortune of fate and insanity that few possessed.
"Stop!" a gruff voice interrupted, the captain of the Royal Guard still struggling to compose himself after his greatest failure to date. He now understood what his disciple had endured, the same dread now gripping his heart. His disciple, who was now tending to the Prince, had been overwhelmed moments after the crushing pressure had been released.
The captain's question was not about where Kuzan was taking the Queen—he knew he had long since failed to protect her. This demon clearly had no intention of killing her, for if he did, the castle would have been reduced to ruins by now. Instead, his question was born of instinct, a desperate need to understand this potential threat, to find some means of escape.
"Who are you?!"
Kuzan paused, his gaze shifting from the Queen's back to the captain's face, still gleaming with satisfaction.
"I'm the King of the Forest," he declared, striking a mock-heroic pose, flicking back a robe that didn't exist. His arm stretched out, pointing to a cat lounging comfortably across the palace hall, yawning lazily.
"And that there is my First Minister," startling the feline mid-yawn.
"Why don't you two get along while I and your Queen discuss some business between rulers of nations?"
The captain, having faced his third heart attack within the last hour, turned his gaze to the Queen, seeking her support. But it seemed his niece had truly never learned the importance of family, for she sided with a man she had never met over her own beloved uncle.
The Queen giggled quietly, then composed herself with a soft "Ahem."
"You heard him, Lastrange. Let us talk business in private," she said, heavily stressing the last word to dissuade her uncle from interfering.
"Everyone shall stay here until I return." Her eyes gleaming with intelligence.
"Wouldn't want to spoil the moment, now would we?"
Her words brooked no argument. The Prince's guard, still shaken but ever dutiful, nodded deeply, taking her command to heart.
"Her Majesty's word is law."
He would have surely knelt on one knee if not for his current preoccupation with the Prince, who, thankfully, seemed unharmed, merely unconscious. Comforted by the Queen's command, the guard found some solace amidst the chaos.
Lastrange, however, was not so easily swayed. His stern gaze met hers, but under her growingly stern gaze, he sighed in defeat.
"As Her Majesty commands," he conceded, though his tone betrayed his annoyance. Yet, he would follow her orders.
Kuzan and the Queen continued down the corridor, leaving the throne room behind as they ventured deeper into the palace. They passed countless vacant corridors, devoid of guards or servants, all dismissed by the Queen's earlier command. Finally, they arrived at a room no less grand than the throne room, though more intimate. A large round table stood at its center, unadorned, displaying the intricate beauty of its wood carvings.
"Allow me," Kuzan offered, pulling out a chair for her. After all, despite all the trickery and flamboyance, he still had manners.
The Queen smiled, content with this display of civility, as Kuzan took the seat opposite her, his hands now resting on the table, fingers interlaced—a posture that might have suggested boredom, but here it was anything but. His eyes remained fixed on hers, two rubies gleaming with a cold fire.
After a moment of silence, they had satisfied their curiosity, having taken in every aspect of the other—their physical mannerisms, their non-verbal tells, even a brief exchange of understanding through the depths of their gaze.
The discussion began.
"So," the beast spoke first, ready to ensnare this beauty in his web, "although you can't afford me..." he paused, noting with satisfaction that her eyes no longer held anger or rage, only cold calculation, "how much would you be willing to pay for knowledge beyond your wildest dreams?"