Chapter 4: The Empty Throne

The Demon King's palace stood silent.

No banners fluttered.

No horns rang.

No magic pulsed in the walls.

Only stillness.

Not the stillness of serenity.

But the kind born of absence.

And mourning.

From the broken skies above, a single figure descended—wings trailing a slow spiral of frost that shimmered like falling stars.

Miku.

Her landing stirred no dust.

The frost beneath her claws spread in silence.

The obsidian gates, once enchanted to ward intruders, stood ajar—unguarded.

The throne courtyard was empty.

No sentries.

No echoes.

No… Jae.

"Father…?"

Her voice trembled as she stepped through the hollow halls.

Her claws tapped gently against stone—each step hesitant, each corridor echoing the ghost of memories.

She reached the throne room.

And at the end of it, seated atop the obsidian seat where the First Demon King once ruled—

Was only a robe.

Black.

Elegant.

Still warm.

Folded neatly, as if left behind in farewell.

"...No."

Her breath caught. "No, no, no—this can't be…"

Miku rushed through the palace.

Through shattered chambers.

Through the war libraries.

Through the quiet of the Starpits and the broken sanctums below the castle.

She called his name.

Again. And again.

Through wind. Through frost. Through raw magic.

But the answer never came.

Days passed.

Then, one by one, they arrived.

Seven shadows stepped into the courtyard like storms barely caged.

The Ancient Demons.

The remnants of old sin.

The lieutenants of Jae.

The ones who had held the gates while the king walked to his own execution.

And now, they too… found only silence.

"You mean to tell us,"

Alrux, the Berserker of Wrath, bellowed, flames curling at his shoulders,

"that we held the line for nothing?!"

"I say we tear the skies and drown the human kingdoms in ash,"

growled Veltraz, the Glutton of Chaos, tongue flicking the soot from his fangs.

"The pact is broken!"

Neska, the Shifter of Envy, snapped. "He is gone! We were used!"

Their voices shook the palace.

Their fury trembled the mountain foundations.

But amidst their chaos—

A voice cut through.

"Enough."

Calm. Cold. Commanding.

Astaroth.

Eldest of the Seven.

Pride incarnate. Cloaked in royal silence.

All turned.

He stood before the empty throne.

Eyes locked on the robe.

"He would not die without reason," Astaroth said. "This was no defeat. It was his will."

The demons shifted.

Their anger coiled tighter.

And then—

A name surfaced.

"Where was she?"

Xarzith, the Greed-Born, whispered.

"His heir," murmured Lyria, the Dream-Queen of Sloth. "Gone when it mattered."

"Miku."

A long silence followed.

It was Veltraz who hissed the final twist.

"Maybe it was her fault."

And just then—

The doors creaked open.

And winter entered.

Miku stood at the threshold, her wings trailing mist, her breath curling the air into snow.

The seven demons turned.

But none took a step forward.

For in that moment—

They felt it.

A pressure heavier than sin.

Colder than death.

Older than prophecy.

Her mana filled the room like an avalanche.

The floor beneath her iced over.

Walls began to crack.

The air thinned until breath itself froze.

"Miku,"

Astaroth said carefully,

"where have you been?"

No answer.

"What have you done?"

Malrux demanded.

"Why did you vanish when your kingdom fell?!"

Still, silence.

But this silence was not pride.

It was grief—compressed, frozen, sharpened.

And then—

She moved.

A pulse of magic erupted from her body—jagged, ancient, wild.

The chamber exploded with frost.

Pillars shattered.

Ceilings groaned.

Winds howled with voices not heard since the creation of the Demon Realm.

The Demon King's castle wept ice.

"She's going to destroy us all!"

Veltraz roared, shielding himself.

"She's what he left behind!"

Astaroth snapped. "Not the cause. The legacy."

But then—

A single word echoed.

"Humans."

Miku froze mid-rage.

She turned slowly, eyes wide.

"...What?" she whispered.

Neska, with venom dulled by sorrow, answered.

"The humans killed him. The Three Heroes. The alliance. The church."

Astaroth continued, calmly—too calmly.

"We were told to hold the borders. While he faced them. Alone."

"You,"

Lyria added,

"were sent away. To be spared."

The palace quieted.

And then—

Miku dropped to her knees.

The ice melted beneath her.

Tears fell like broken glass.

"Why…"

Her voice was that of a child again.

"Why didn't I stay…"

She wept.

The Seven turned their gazes away—unable to watch.

Even Astaroth clenched a trembling fist.

Then…

She stood.

The tears were gone.

Her face returned to stillness—

But it was not the cold of sorrow.

It was the ice of resolve.

"So it was the humans,"

she said softly.

No one spoke.

"They took him from me."

Mana flared behind her in intricate sigils—runes of retribution and remembrance.

Her wings gleamed.

Her eyes were clear.

"I will remember this,"

she said.

"I will repay them."

"In kind."