Chapter 123: Where Shadows Choose to Sleep
Chapter 124: Where Shadows Choose to Sleep
Zorathys had no idea how he got separated from Elyn and the Syrenthis.
At least—that was the version of events he fully intended to present when they eventually reunited.
The truth was far less dignified.
Zorathys did not like walking.
He hated it, actually.
There was a reason teleportation existed. A very good reason. A divine, sensible, merciful reason. And that reason was to prevent powerful beings—such as demon kings like himself—from having to walk like common civilians and low-ranking demons with functioning calves and a sense of direction.
Unfortunately, Elyn had insisted. He understood why she did it, though. He did—but that still didn’t make him any less annoyed at the fact that he was walking, or rather, that he had walked for hours.
Through streets that curved when they shouldn’t, split when they weren’t supposed to, and looped back on themselves like they were actively mocking him. At least, that was how the streets had appeared to Zorathys.
He had long accepted many of his flaws. His temper. His aversion to effort. His fondness for sleep. And according to his cute, fiery wife, his lazy nature.
But his complete and utter lack of direction?
That one stung.
He should have told Elyn.
He should have opened with that, actually.
Um, Firefly, he should have said to her. I cannot tell left from right to save my immortal life.
But hindsight, as always, was cruel.
They had walked in circles. He was certain of it. The beast territory was lively, loud, and sun-drenched in a way that made his shadows curl inward like offended cats.
Even they disliked this.
The sunlight was too bold for his liking, and it made a single trail of sweat run down his face—that was a sign of exertion, and he hated that.
And that was also a sign that he was tired. Actually, he had been tired before they even left the castle. He was only doing this because of Elyn, after all.
When Zorathys had first seen Elyn, he never thought that she would be hardworking or have an aversion to not doing her best. He had thought she would be a lazy companion like him, but no—she liked working. He was almost certain she had been programmed to work.
Zorathys sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he paused near the edge of a bustling street. He could already imagine Elyn’s expression when she realized he was gone.
She would be cross with him—extremely so. But it wasn’t his fault that his legs ached from overuse. And that, too, was her fault.
And so—very quietly, very carefully—he slipped away.
He ducked into a narrow corner between two structures where the shadows pooled thickest, his magic folding around him like a cloak.
Thankfully, no one noticed.
The festival had demons distracted. Music blared. Vendors shouted. Laughter, argument, and celebration drowned out subtle magic.
Zorathys reappeared several streets away.
He searched for a place to rest.
Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere dark.
Somewhere that would not insist on existing loudly.
Every attempt failed.
A storage room that echoed with footsteps. A closed shrine that reeked of incense and devotion. A private residence where a demon snored so aggressively it felt like a personal attack. Zorathys had slapped the demon before leaving, waking him up.
Each time, he left with increasing irritation.
Finally—finally—he found it.
He had no idea how he even got there. He had just teleported randomly and appeared in what looked like a basement. The air was stale, tinged with iron and something faintly sour.
Zorathys knew that smell and quickly used his magic to clear it because he couldn’t be perceiving something as vile as that while he slept.
He took note of the space, which was vast—far larger than any normal basement had the right to be. Stone pillars rose high into shadowed ceilings, and cages filled the room.
Dozens of them.
Metal bars, reinforced, arranged in rows and clusters. Most were empty—but not clean. They bore the marks of past use. Scratches. Claw marks. Dried residue that told stories Zorathys did not need spelled out.
He frowned faintly.
"This is unfortunate," he murmured.
Then he shrugged like he couldn’t care less. He was tired, after all, and just wanted to sleep.
He gathered several empty cages together with a flick of his wrist, metal grinding softly as they shifted. From thin air, he materialized a thick blanket, folding it over the bars, then summoned his body pillow and some other pillows, which he laid down atop the makeshift structure.
When he was done, he looked at his work with pride and wiped at the invisible sweat that had pooled at his forehead.
He dusted his hands, then climbed atop his makeshift bed, hugging his body pillow as he slept, waiting for the culprits of this place. He knew there were people moving upstairs, but their sounds were muffled, and there was also magic surrounding the room to prevent sound from leaking through.
One thing Zorathys was sure of at the moment was that he may have just stumbled into the place he and Elyn had been looking for. But first, he was going to sleep. Besides, it wouldn’t bode well for anyone if he worked without proper rest.
He did not know how long passed as he slept, and he didn’t mind. What he did know—very clearly—was that he hated disturbances. Especially when he was sleeping, and especially when it was crying from young children.
Zorathys exhaled slowly. It seemed the culprits had decided to show themselves after all.
Footsteps echoed below. They were heavy and careless.
A sharp sound followed—one that sounded like a slap.
"Shut up," a voice snarled.
But the crying intensified.
"I just want my mummy!"
"I want my sister!" another child cried loudly.
Zorathys opened his eyes.
Light flickered faintly within them as he pushed himself upright, rubbing his chest as he yawned loudly.
Nap time was over.