Nastal walked slowly out of the massive temple. The scent of the earth, the few trees, and the waves crashing on the rocks served as a balm for his soul. What he had just seen, what he had just experienced, had scarred him. A weight sat in his chest, heavy yet weightless.
Crossing the small bridge, he reached a crossroads—two dirt paths intersecting like scissors, leading to the edge of this small place. Suddenly, as if the air had thinned, Nastal began to breathe with difficulty. A flash of light crossed his vision, and soon after, blood trickled from his nose.
"Magic... intense," he muttered, staring at the blood on his fingertips.
"You're perceptive for an old man."
A woman appeared before him, dark and beautiful, her black dress trailing behind her bare legs. Nastal knew instantly that this woman was not mortal.
"The stories are real! The crossroads... you're a demoness."
"All this from a first glance? Quick to judge, you humans. No matter what I do, I can't win your impressions."
Nastal couldn't hide his lustful gaze, and the woman noticed at once, with a familiarity that spoke of complete ease.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Why should I want anything?"
"They say demons appear here, at the crossroads, to make deals with humans."
"Is that why you came?"
Nastal remained silent. Why had he really come? He knew the stories, and he was wise enough to realize that behind such tales, there was often truth.
"Are you lost, old man?"
She touched his cheek, her hand intoxicating. Nastal looked into her eyes and felt his thoughts scatter.
"Don't be afraid of me, Nastal. I'm not the monster they claim I am."
"The monster..." Nastal stepped back, shaking off her hand violently.
"What do you want? Who are you?"
"I thought you knew. You're smart enough to know I won't tell you my name."
"You're the demoness who was stalking Maestra... the violin spirit."
"Violin? I hate that fucking thing." She spat the words. "I spent many years with Maestra. She had so much potential, but in the end, she fucked up."
"She died."
The woman shrugged indifferently.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" she snapped, her voice edged with irritation. "Surviving? Am I ruining your plans with my existence?"
Nastal narrowed his eyes.
"You're a spirit—a demon. You were judged after your life, and your actions condemned you to the Abyss. You no longer have the right to be in this world."
"You humans think you know everything," she said, her voice laced with contempt. "Always the judges. I like this world, old man, and I'll do whatever it takes to stay here. I enjoy its pleasures, its fragrances, and everything it offers."
"If you had appreciated those things earlier, maybe you wouldn't have committed the atrocities that sent you to the Abyss."
"Maybe," she said with a mocking smile. "If anyone had shown me your wisdom when I was a little girl in a filthy village, with peasants taking their lust out on me... the only joy I had was in my fantasies, in the revenge I'd take when my moment came."
Nastal froze. Her voice had grown distorted, her eyes now black voids. Her beauty was warping, melting like wax under the sun.
"You were tortured," he murmured.
"I went through what you mortals never understand," she spat.
"You've already taken your revenge," Nastal said, speaking more to himself, trying to comprehend her motives.
"There's no injustice in suffering," she replied in a strangled voice.
For a brief moment, Nastal felt compassion stir within him. A paternal instinct rose, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't pull away.
"But revenge never truly came, did it?" he asked softly.
The woman turned away, hiding her face. Nastal knew that if she showed it to him now, he would see something horrifying. Slowly, she turned back, her beauty restored.
"Now that we know each other a little better," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him. Nastal didn't have time—or the will—to resist. The kiss lasted only a moment, but he knew it meant far more.
"No... I..."
"Don't be nervous, Nastal. I won't tell anyone. It will be our secret. Darmakaya won't know."
"Darmakaya? How do you—?"
"How what? You think I'm a fool?" She laughed coldly. "You don't think I know where you sent him? Tell me, are you sure he'll do what you asked? The last time we talked, in bed, he wasn't so certain."
"In bed? You... with him?"
"Please, don't be jealous. It's so boring. You'll have your turn. I've met men like Darma before—crude, wild, easily bored. Soon enough, he'll return to his plundering and old ways."
"No," Nastal said.
"No?"
"No, I don't believe that. I think something in him has changed. I believe Darmakaya can be saved."
The woman extended her hand again. "The problem with your kind is your undying optimism. You can't accept when things go wrong. Instead, you carry on with your futile struggles. It's charming at first, but it becomes tiresome."
"What happened to Arsik?"
"How should I know? You had him right in front of you."
"I know, but..."
"But nothing. I won't be held responsible for your mistakes."
"Is he alive?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
"Always."
Nastal turned his back. "I'm wasting my time with you. Go back to the Abyss from whence you came."
"My time was running out anyway," she said darkly, and in an instant, she was gone from his sight, as abruptly as she had appeared.