13
Three months later
I clench my fist and slam my knee. From the corner of my eye, I see Kripot raise his hand. Slowly, I exhale to regulate my heartbeat.
As Kripot’s hand falls, I spring off the ground, sprinting forward like Usain Bolt. At least, that’s how I think I look.
When I explained to Kripot and Nárs who I was referring to, the blue giant only likened me to Aergia – whoever that is – and Nárs disappeared to my world for a day to find pictures of the athlete, only to come back with a photo of Michael Jackson.
When I questioned him, he said I resemble Jackson more because I lean forward at the end of each exercise, just like him. Except, I actually fall.
Just a hundred meters. That’s as far as I need to go without actually falling on the track filled with moving rocks.
I take a few steps, and to my right, a stone wall the same height as me emerges.
Then another on my left. The ground shifts beneath me.
I quickly step aside. In the next moment, a sharp rock appears.
I recoil, but another grazes my shoulder.
I cry out in pain and clutch my hand to my shoulder, then glance at my palm. I’m bleeding.
The ground trembles beneath me. The formation to my left disappears. I step over. Not a good decision. A rock rises from beneath my foot. It lifts me, but I jump away.
I keep running. I can’t rely on memory. The obstacle course changes every day.
I arrive at the wrong place. My legs buckle, and I fall to my knees, then sprawl ungracefully on the ground. I can barely breathe, and my lungs ache from the few seconds of exercise.
The trembling stops. Kripot towers over me, staring down at me in pity.
“How far?” I gasp between breaths.
He shakes his head seriously. “Pathetic. Disgusting. Twenty-two meters.”
My eyes widen. “That’s three more… than… yesterday,” I say, barely catching my breath.
Kripot never even bothers to roll his eyes but I recognize when he’s had enough of me. I struggle to my feet.
“Statistically speaking,” I begin, knowing Kripot hates it when I talk to him, “it’ll take another twelve months to reach—”
“You won’t have that time, little champion.”
A chill runs down my spine. The Demon King is looking at me from atop a rock, and it feels like his cloud-gray eyes are a brush painting me.
Every part of me he surveys shudders. I remember his dark gaze between my legs, and my stomach churns.
Warmth spreads through lower belly, where he left his kiss three months ago.
Three months ago.
I haven’t seen Darya since. Why is he here today?
He jumps down, landing in front of me. I don’t have time to react as he firmly turns me around. He applies something to my bleeding shoulder, something with a metallic scent, and immediately – immediately – the pain fades. The wound closes completely.
I look at Darya in confusion, who signals to Kripot, and the giant leaves. The Demon King leans casually against the table filled with weapons. His crossed legs exude an insolent self-confidence.
Darya’s tight, black clothes cling to him like a second skin, emphasizing his muscular, toned body. He truly is like a weapon, because I tremble as he slowly looks into my eyes through his dense eyelashes, and I feel like I’m falling apart. The power emanating from him forces my knees to buckle.
There are so many things I want to ask him, but if I’ve learned anything in this hell, it’s that you have to wait for the devil to show his teeth.
I could only question Nárs with limited inquiries.
Was Darya truly there when Pandora created the demons?
What has he been doing for the past three months?
Why hasn’t he visited me? Why is he here now?
I look up at his smooth face and ageless, curved eyes. If he really is thousands of years old, he’s holding up well. I wonder if I could become a demon too, but at the thought of the black, smoky monsters – whom I haven’t seen in three months either – I grimace.
Darya raises an eyebrow. “Not many greet me with disgust on their faces,” he remarks.
“‘You’ll get used to it,” I retort. “What are you doing here?”
“I am the King of Filizi. I don’t need to explain myself.”
“Do you want to sacrifice me to the monster?” The question just bursts out of me.
“Kripot mentioned your theory,” he replies simply.
“And?”
“Change your clothes,” he orders.
“Why is it,” I begin, clenching my fist, “that you never finish telling me anything? I have the right to know the answers!” I snap. I’ve been waiting three months to find out any useful information.
“I agree,” he says, a response that surprises me so much my anger turns into confusion.
“There are a few things you should know,” he adds, gliding towards me gracefully. He moves like a dancer. Precisely, mercilessly.
“However,” he murmurs deeply, “if I have to speak to you like this, I’m not sure I could focus solely on what I have to say, and as I see it, you’re not ready for that, yet .”
His snake-like smile turns into a wolfish grin. I look down at myself and blush upon realizing that the rocks have torn my clothes invitingly at the chest. Bengt’s necklace feels cold against my skin. Darya surveys me. I step back defensively.
“Not just yet,” I weakly assert, “but never.”
The Demon King’s grin turns into laughter, and his sharp fangs glint momentarily. Long enough to send shivers down my spine.
“We’ll see.” He winks.
Darya patiently waits outside a cave entrance while I change. His cruel face lights up when I join him. He runs his gaze over me again, lingering at my hips.
“Come,” he says, and heads into the dark cave. I’ve never been in here before and make sure to follow in his footsteps quickly.
“You do realize I’m still not ready to defeat that monster.”
He could see how well my training went today…
The truth is, I was proud of myself until Darya showed up.
I’ve improved a lot in three months, and I didn’t allow myself to skip a single day’s training.
After a few weeks, I came to welcome the adrenaline rush, often waiting eagerly at the door for Nárs to collect me.
But when Darya saw me after only managing to run twenty meters, my pride was washed away by shame.
I want Darya to laugh and tell me it was all a devilish joke, that he just wanted to motivate me to attend Kripot’s training sessions, but his words shatter my hope.
“You still have some time.”
I shake my head.
The cave walls widen my field of vision with their crimson glow as we approach the throne room.
I’ve become accustomed to this eerie light over the past few weeks.
When I last came here, I was so scared that I hardly noticed the surroundings.
Now I see the tangled network of roots growing out of the walls.
Their thicker parts create the impression of inwardly curving wooden tongues, as if the entire cave may collapse on us.
“Can you move the roots?” I ask the Demon King.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t feel the cave system that the roots permeate. Only Nárs can move them. I gave him the power when he transformed.”
My mouth falls open.
“Yes.” He nods. “I can grant power, but I never know how it will end. The outcome is shaped by the individual’s personality.”
It’s interesting the risks Darya takes with this, giving people a power that transforms some abilities even he doesn’t know about. “What determines who you give power to?”
“I give it to those in whom I see myself.”
“And you’re capable of this because you’re the Demon King?”
“More or less.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’ve arrived,” declares Darya, and I almost bump into him as he suddenly stops.
The robust tree rises before us as magnificently as a skyscraper.
Its mahogany trunk blends into the mud walls, revealing only half of it.
It’s almost gray, as if the life has been drained from it.
Its leaves, like rust, cling tightly, grasping the ends of the shorter branches.
They’re not moved by the breeze, the plant is as rigid as a statue. I can’t classify its species.
Darya’s voice calmly echoes through the root-infested hall.
“Arbor Scientiae – the Tree of Knowledge.”
My eyes widen.
“That tree…?” I whisper, unfinished.
Darya nods.
I bite my lip. Everything I knew about our world, or anything I believed in, shattered the moment the angels kidnapped me.
“I know what you learned in your world. About Adam and Eve, who ate the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge despite it being forbidden, and then were damned to Earth. The Tree of Knowledge is not a plant, but a concept, yet we – including you – need to materialize it. I don’t know how many counterparts there are, but I do know that every world needs one. ”
“But it doesn’t seem very smart for someone to eat its fruit.”
Darya smiles, keeping his gaze fixed on the tree. His beautiful face reveals that he is delving into memories hundreds of years old.
“No,” he asserts. “Indeed no.”
His gray eyes fill again with the present, and he looks at me.
“Touch the tree!”
I hesitate for just a moment, then slowly step toward the massive trunk. There’s such peace in its proximity that I place my hand on it without hesitation.
Silence envelops us. Peace embraces me, and I meld into it.
I feel every tiny pulse of my being as my soul tightly intertwines with my body, drawing strength from each other.
It’s as if my lungs have been stuck for years until now.
They take flight, white down feathers lifting them high, and I finally feel like I can breathe.
The guilt that had been gnawing at my skin disintegrates.
The fog of sadness dissipates. My grief for Bengt remains, but it doesn’t overwhelm me.
Instead, it peacefully recedes into the background.
I am happy, too happy. There’s too much light, too much…