The next morning, golden light peeked over the horizon.

Malkira rose from Simone’s bed, kissed his mistress’ forehead, and began his journey back down the black mountainside.

A half-hour’s trek from the spire where Simone and Nadia lived, he came to the entrance of tunnels under the mountains. Up ahead he saw a demon who looked like a man with white horns and pale skin, clad in a long coat. Ra-Gadol stood against the wall by the entrance, his arms folded and a scowl on his lips.

“You know, Father,” said the demon prince, “you insult my mother every time you go up there to lay with your human whore.”

Malkira pointed the claw of his index finger in Ra-Gadol’s face. “You will not speak of Simone that way!”

Ra-Gadol puffed up his chest and stood in his father’s way. One hand was clenched in a fist, while the other rested on the sword at the demon prince’s hip. “What are you going to do about it, hmm? Idle threats, that’s all you have to offer! I’m your heir. You need me alive. Or would you really risk passing on the throne to that half-breed up there?”

“Stop.” Malkira’s voice was calm, but there was clear malice in it.

“You know they’ll kill her.” A cocky smirk took Ra-Gadol’s lips. “If you make her your heir, they’ll murder her in her bed. No human will ever rule over our clan. You need me!”

Malkira waved his hand at Ra-Gadol. The demon prince’s feet left the ground, and he crashed against the nearest wall. Ra-Gadol grunted and groaned as he tried to inch his fingers toward the sword at his hip, but with a second wave of his father’s hand the prince’s body smacked against the wall again.

Malkira’s eyes narrowed to slits, and his nostrils curled up in disgust. “I need you alive, yes. But not necessarily in one piece.” The Demon King waved his other hand at Ra-Gadol’s face, and the prince’s nose moved to one side, as if pressed there by an invisible finger. “I suggest you apologize to me immediately, my son.”

Ra-Gadol said nothing as he continued to struggle and flail against the unseen force which had him pinned to the wall.

“Too late,” said Malkira. He made his hand into a fist and wrenched it to one side. A loud popping noise followed the sudden twist of Ra-Gadol’s nose. The demon prince yelped in pain and collapsed on the ground. Malkira kicked Ra-Gadol in the side repeatedly. “Disgusting! Pathetic! Have you forgotten every lesson I’ve ever taught you?” The Demon King seized his son by the hair and yanked him to his feet. “A true warrior doesn’t go around picking fights he cannot win! And a true king knows when to bite his tongue and bide his time.” Malkira shoved Ra-Gadol away, and the prince stumbled for a moment before gaining his footing. He stood with one hand holding his bleeding nose, and his glowing eyes staring hatred at his father.

Ra-Gadol opened his mouth to speak, but Malkira raised his hand and no sound came from the younger demon’s lips.

Malkira shook his head. “Don’t. Just… don’t. You are fortunate that you are my only heir, otherwise I would have slaughtered you long ago. As long as I live, remember this: there are far worse things you can lose than merely your life.”

With a snap of Malkira’s fingers, the demon prince’s voice returned to him, though it was muffled behind his hand. “Gah! Traitor! You once hated humans! Why now…?”

Malkira opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, turned, and limped off into the tunnels. When Ra-Gadol was out of sight, Malkira slipped his hand into his pocket and produced a small vial with an orange liquid inside. He popped the cork, drank down the brew within, and continued on his way at a brisker pace.

Soon, the narrow tunnels opened into a gaping yawn, which stretched on forever into blackness above and below. Stone bridges led from one stalactite to another, each of which had a room or hallway carved into it. Below, just before the shadows, blades of obsidian jutted upward, as if reaching for those who traversed the walkways above. Hovering blue flames in the gaps between the bridges and stalactites were the only source of light.

Out of the corner of Malkira’s eye, he caught sight of a human skull wedged between two obsidian spikes. In his youth, he would have felt comfort, even laughed at the sight: the bleached bones of a mortal, playing hero, who missed his step in the dark. Now, the sight made his heart sink.

Malkira traveled through his city built in stalactites, from one hallway to the next. In each carved stone building, he heard footsteps and voices above him as his subjects went about their daily lives.

At the end of his path, Malkira stopped at a ladder leading up into the ceiling. The Demon King groaned at his first step up the ladder. His knee ached, and he felt the nerves pinch in the joint with each step.

“Moloch, my brother?” he called up as he ascended. “I’m coming in.”

At the top of the ladder, he stepped into a round room. A rolling ladder slid across the inside of the circular wall, and at the top of that ladder stood Moloch. His flaxen-blond hair had grown out, as had a dark beard. He was supposed to be wearing the bright blue robes Malkira had the tailors make for him. At the moment, however, Moloch was completely naked.

Malkira shielded his eyes. “You know… this is why I announce myself.”

“Oh!” Moloch yelped and turned his head to see Malkira. “Oh, you’re actually here!” He fumbled a palette with various colored paints on it. It flew from his hand and smacked against one of the few non-painted patches on the walls. “I kept hearing your voice about three hours ago.” The seer shook as he descended his rolling ladder, and his head twitched to one side. “But now… now you’re actually here… Right?” He dug through a pile of laundry beside his cot. After a little cursing under his breath, he withdrew his blue robe and slipped it around his scrawny body. “You really are, right?”

“I really am what?” Malkira asked.

“Here. Right now, I mean,” said Moloch. His fingers ran through his own hair, then his nails attacked his scalp. “Or is this just a vision, and you’ll actually be here in another hour yet?”

Malkira snorted. “What does it matter whether I’m real or a vision of the future? Just treat it as if I am here. It’s the safer bet.”

Moloch pointed his index finger at the Demon King. “You’d think so! Umm… you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” The seer raised the hem of his robe just a little. Malkira prepared to look away, until he saw the bruise on the seer’s shin. “But… umm… Recently I moved my… you know, my cot? And then walked around the room, only to discover that my cot…” Moloch shook his fist at the offending piece of furniture. “WAS STILL EXACTLY WHERE IT WAS YESTERDAY! NOT WHERE I MOVED IT TO!” He clawed at his own eyebrow. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, it’s just so… gah!”

Malkira sighed, walked over, and placed a hand on Moloch’s shoulder. “You’ll get through it, my brother. You’ll adjust.”

“No!” The seer whimpered and pulled away from Malkira. “Don’t you know anything about… people like me? I’m only going to get worse! This is how seer sickness starts, Mal. Soon enough… I won’t be able to tell when’s what and who’s when.”

Malkira looked past the seer, to the wall where he’d been painting. There stood a mural depicting various events. There was the day Malkira found Moloch. Another picture depicted the siege of Brook Hold. So many stood here as testaments to all the times Moloch’s visions gave them a victory on the battlefield. More depicted events which had not yet come to pass.

None depicted The Third Genesis. The seer hadn’t gotten that far.

Not yet.

Malkira held Moloch’s chin in his hand and raised his head up to look him in the eye. “Is there any way to cure the seer sickness, my brother?”

Moloch sighed and gave a slow nod. “Yes. There is one way. But seeking it may cost many lives.”

Malkira’s glowing eyes stared into Moloch’s, and his brow furrowed. “I will pay any price to see The Third Genesis come to fruition.”