The Yandere Demon Lords & Me-Chapter 30: The World is Watching - 6

Rain slicked the broken cobblestones where Elaris knelt.

Her white cloak—once a mark of holy service—was stained with mud, ash, and something darker.

She didn't care.

She kept her eyes down, her posture perfect, like she was kneeling at an altar.

Except this altar had a pulse.

Rein stared at her.

Swordless. Armored. Surrendered.

"Get up," he said.

Elaris didn't move.

"I said—"

"You always told me I'd find you like this," she whispered.

That made him pause.

Zeraka landed beside him, blood across her shoulder, one eye twitching. "Why is she still breathing?"

"Because she dropped her blade."

Valaithe strolled in, dusting soot from her robe. "Or because he wants a fourth now?"

Zeraka, growled.

Valaithe, smirked.

Rein's, headached.

"Who are you?" he asked the kneeling girl.

She raised her head, and for the first time, he saw her eyes properly: silver-gray, rimmed in faint gold.

Like she'd seen sunlight too long and it left fingerprints on her soul.

"Elaris," she said. "Squire of the Sixth Lance. Traitor, apparently. And your... tether."

He blinked. "My what now?"

She stood slowly, carefully, and removed one gauntlet.

Then the other.

Then the plate over her chest—tossed it aside with a clatter.

The undershirt beneath it was torn, soaked, and glowing.

Rein took a step back.

Because carved into the skin of her chest—etched—was a sigil.

Not tattooed.

Not painted.

Branded.

The same one that had flickered on his ribs.

He stared. "Where did you get that?"

"I was born with it," she said. "Doctors called it a defect. Priests called it an omen."

She stepped forward.

"You called it a promise."

Zeraka stepped between them. "Back. Up."

But Rein held out a hand. "Wait."

Elaris stopped.

"I dreamed of you before I could walk," she said softly. "Always the same. You, standing in a field of ash, surrounded by women made of flame, fang, shadow, and bloom. And you would say—"

Her voice shook.

"You would say, 'This world isn't saved by heroes. It's stolen by monsters.'"

Rein felt cold. Because that line—

He had said it.

To himself.

Alone. Once. Maybe twice.

But never aloud.

Never to anyone.

"How—"

"I don't know," she said. "But every year, the dream got clearer. Stronger. And every time I disobeyed the Light, the mark on my chest glowed."

Valaithe raised a brow. "A pre-bond."

Zeraka scowled. "She's lying."

"She's not," Rein murmured.

He could feel it.

The same pull he'd felt when Seraphael kissed him. When Zeraka bit him. When Valaithe whispered.

It was fainter.

But there.

Elaris stepped closer, slowly now. "I'm not asking to be your wife. Or your pet. Or your priestess."

She stopped, eyes steady.

"Just let me follow."

"Until you remember me."

________

The forest after the plague village was quieter than it should've been.

No birdsong. No beasts. No breeze.

Even Zeraka kept her voice low.

"This place stinks like old prayer," she muttered, sniffing the air. "Smells like... feathers and guilt."

Rein led them through what had once been a path—overgrown now, moss-soft and slick with decay.

Valaithe walked behind him, humming to herself and dragging a bone staff she'd looted from a knight's corpse.

Elaris followed silently, her armor stripped to leathers, her eyes always on him.

Rein wasn't sure when it had started, but none of them walked ahead of him anymore.

Only beside.

Or behind.

Like they were waiting.

But for what?

_____________

The old temple looked like it had sunk halfway into the earth.

Half the columns were broken, the rest draped in vines and empty crow nests.

Scripture had been carved into every wall, but time and rot had turned the words unreadable—except for one phrase over the arched entryway, still clear:

"Ask only what you are ready to lose."

They entered.

The floor was dry. The air stale.

And at the center of the ruined shrine, surrounded by seven black crows, sat a blind woman in gray.

She didn't move as they approached.

She didn't need to.

The crows cawed once, in perfect unison.

Then went silent.

Rein stepped forward.

The woman turned her head toward him, milky-white eyes hidden behind a veil of bone beads.

Her hands rested in her lap.

"So many flames," she said. "So many fingers in your hair. And none of them yours."

Rein stopped. "You're the oracle."

"I'm the voice of what watches," she said. "What waits."

"What do you want?"

The crows answered instead.

"We see you, Flame-Walk.""We see the teeth that kiss you.""We see the rot that craves you.""We see the fallen who wept your name."

Zeraka snarled softly. "Creepy."

Valaithe tilted her head. "I like her."

The oracle raised a hand.

The air tightened.

"Seven demon lords," she said. "Thirteen false heroes. One god-king. And you."

Rein narrowed his eyes. "Me what?"

"Nothing," she said.

"...Excuse me?"

"You are nothing. Yet."

A pause.

Then:

"But if the seven all love you... if the thirteenth bleeds for you... if the one crown burns in your name—"

She smiled.

And blood began to drip from her eyes.

"Then you will become the end of this world's story."

Rein stepped back. "What the hell does that mean?"

The oracle tilted her head.

"You are not a king."

"You are a throne."

The crows cawed again—once.

Then went still.

Zeraka gripped Rein's arm. "We're leaving."

But the oracle raised one final hand, pointing not at Rein—

But at the girls behind him.

"The more they love you..."

The air shivered.

"...the worse it gets."