Malkira ascended a staircase of black glass.

Moloch’s prophecy echoed in the Demon King’s brain. “On that day, they will all see. This world is full of lies. The gods are but men, the angels are not born to goodness, and demons are not born to wickedness. Origins mean both all and nothing in the heart of justice.”

It wasn’t difficult to understand the overall meaning of Moloch’s words, but what did he mean by “this world?” The first time he said it, Malkira was sure the seer meant as opposed to the realms of the dead and the realm of the gods. Yet, in some of his strange rantings he spoke of both Heaven and Hell as part of “this world,” and even said the angelic cities were part of “this world” and its lies.

What lies?

Malkira now questioned all the stories his nanny had told him about Sygin, mother of all demons, and her war against the gods of light. According to the tales, Sygin fought the gods of light because they thought her children hideous and wished to slaughter them.

How much of that is a lie? Was it Sygin, in fact, who started the fight, and not the gods? Ten years listening to Moloch’s prophecies and I have more questions than answers.

At the top of the staircase he faced an obsidian wall, wherein he beheld his haggard complexion. The broken horn upon his head seemed especially jagged, and the bags under his eyes were dark as soot against his ash-colored skin. Even the jet-black feathers in his wings were unkempt. With one hand he patted down his quills, and with the other he fixed his long, dark hair.

The magic tome hovered at his side, and he gave it a reassuring pat.

Having fixed himself up as best as he could, he walked past his reflection and to the house just around the bend. The house was a twisted spire of black crystal, stretching up into the sky. The shroud over the entrance was an elephant’s hide, which Malkira brushed aside with little effort as he entered.

Inside the house stood a woman with fair skin, hazel eyes, and bronze-colored hair. From her eyes to her lips to her arms, every feature of this woman was soft and comforting. She wore a scarlet head-scarf, and a crimson dress clung to her every curve. A golden serpent with ruby eyes wrapped itself around her arm. Upon her forehead rested a green gem, held in place by a copper circlet.

Just inside the door, Malkira stopped, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall as he gazed at her.

After a moment, she started, having just noticed his presence in her home. “Oh! My love!” she said and hurried to his side. “I’m so sorry, I mistook you for—”

“One of the dreila?” said Malkira as he took her in his arms. He kissed her warm cheek. “Have they been derelict in their duties? They’re supposed to offer you protection without making you feel watched.”

“No, everything’s been fine here,” she said. “Sometimes I see them out of the corner of my eye, but it’s not a problem.”

Malkira nodded and kissed the knuckles of both her hands. “I’m glad,” he said. “I’m sorry to leave you alone for so long yet again. So many duties require my attention. I missed you, Simone.”

“I missed you too, Mal.”

Malkira kissed her forehead, upon the green gem. “Is Nadia in the back? I have something for her.”

Simone nodded and pointed out the back door, which was a cow-skin stretched over a gap in the wall. “Yes, she’s out there with Markho.”

The Demon King kissed Simone’s red lips, then departed from her out the back door.

A clear glass dome covered the back yard. When Malkira entered, he felt the wave of hot humidity wash over him and found himself exploring an indoor jungle. Colorful birds perched themselves in branches covered in vines. The captive avians cooed in their unknowable tongue and sung their beautiful songs. As he passed, Malkira slipped breadcrumbs to two birds who ventured close.

The sound of giggling up ahead.

Malkira’s steps quickened toward the source. That was Nadia’s laughter, he’d know it anywhere.

Through the hanging vines, he saw a mass of black fur as large as a house, and something small and white in front of it. After he pushed through the limbs in his path, he saw Markho, a black wolf nearly two stories tall, now rolled over on his back with all four legs in the air. Just in front of him was a girl six years of age. She wore a white dress, stood upon a pile of logs, and busied herself with scratching Markho’s belly. Two black, feathered wings sprung from under her shoulder blades.

Malkira’s heart broke all over again at the sight of those wings on this innocent girl’s back. Until he remembered once again Simone’s words when those wings first started to grow in. “It’s just proof that she’s yours.” The Demon King smiled at the thought.

“Nadia,” he said, his voice deep but gentle.

The girl’s hair whipped around her when she spun to greet Malkira. “Papa!” she squealed.

Malkira dropped to one knee, held out his arms, and braced himself on his back leg.

Nadia hopped and skipped down the pile of logs, closed the distance between them in a flash, and threw herself into the Demon King’s arms.

The girl’s hand slipped past Malkira and rested on the binding of the tome at his side. “You brought the book!” She slipped from his arms and spun in circles, before turning back to Malkira and clasping her hands together. “Will you read me a story?”

It had been almost a year since Malkira stopped trying to explain to Nadia that it wasn’t that kind of book. The tome contained no tales or myths at all, but when Malkira had first tried to tell her that, she kept begging him to read it to her.

Malkira smiled and gestured a finger to Markho. The black wolf laid down on his side, allowing Nadia to curl up against his soft fur. “Very well,” said Malkira. He held his hand aloft, with fingers splayed out over the floating tome. The book opened, revealing its pages to him. “What story shall we read today?”

Nadia stared at him with wide eyes. Her hands clasped together between her knees, and her feet wobbled side to side, tapping together at the toes.

With a wave of Malkira’s hand over the book, the shape of a woman made of darkness and smoke appeared in the air. “Back when Sygin first created the world, each land had but one season.” Malkira waved his hand overhead and where the glass ceiling and walls had once been were snow-covered mountains and a crisp, blue sky. Mist blew from Malkira’s mouth as he spoke again. “The northern lands of Atka were always cold, but the Atkans loved the glimmering frost.” With another wave of his hand, the mountains melted away to reveal sand dunes on one side, and on the other trees taller than any peak. “Both the western deserts of Malkuth and the eastern jungles of Shohan were always hot, but the people there enjoyed the sun’s smiling face.” With another wave of his hand, the sand dunes and trees disappeared, and now rocky cliffs surrounded them. “In the southern land of Ithaca, every tree bore leaves the color of fire, which crumbled like embers at the touch.” Red and orange leaves floated by in the air, and then turned to dust.

Malkira turned his face away from Nadia for a moment and wiped a bloody tear from his cheek. Once he was confident that any trace of red was gone from his ashen face, he turned back to Nadia and hid his pain with a loving smile. “Then there were the lands of Tir Shazelle and Avlo Wydrin,” he waved his hand in a circle, and the cliffs disappeared, only to be replaced by rolling hills covered in emerald grass and flowers of every color one could imagine. A yellow haze hovered in the air, and the flowers began to multiply, until all one could see was vibrant blossoms. “Where life was constantly in bloom.”

Nadia stared in awe at the flowers. She reached out to touch one, but her hand slipped through the non-existent bud.

Malkira continued the story, “But the demons of Ymir had a problem. The Atkans in the north…” Malkira pointed with one finger and where he gestured there appeared a horned man in a suit made from the fur of a polar bear. Before him stood a winged woman dressed in a green, cotton dress with flowers in her braids. “Couldn’t understand the people of the other lands. In fact…” more figures began to appear, each wearing different clothing. A demon with dark skin and wild, black hair stood to the east, who wore little clothing at all. A reptilian woman stood to the west, clad in white, linen robes and a turban on her head. Another horned-man stood to the south in a vibrant, blue toga. “No one could understand each other. The people of Avlo Wydrin knew nothing about ice fishing, which is how the Atkans survived. The desert people of Malkuth hated flowers, because they made them sneeze. What need had the world for so many colors?”

Malkira raised an index finger to draw in Nadia’s attention back to himself. “All of them thought their ways better than all the others, and they argued constantly. Sygin needed to come up with a solution.” Again, Malkira turned his face away from Nadia, winced, and wiped blood from the corner of his eye, and then returned his attention to his daughter. He held out his hand, as if prepared to receive a gift from above, and snowflakes began to drift down all around them. “So, Sygin had four new children. The first was Winter, who lived north of Atka, but brought snow as far south as Ithaca’s shores. The second was Spring, who lived in Tir Shazelle, but made the cacti of Malkuth blossom. Next came Summer, who thawed the snows on even the tallest Atkanian peaks. Finally, there was Autumn, who made every tree in the world turn orange and red when his turn came round.”

“What about the evergreens?” Nadia asked. “I’ve seen them out the window, down in the valley… they never change color.”

“Evergreens are stubborn,” said Malkira. “That’s a story for another day. Anyway…” Malkira clapped his hands together, and the tome slammed shut. “Sygin called her four new children ‘The Seasons,’ and ever since then they have served the purpose of helping all people around the world to understand each other.”