Sophien’s life had been confined to a single stretch of time—a poisoned chapter marked by death repeating without end. However, the truth behind those days, and the hand that slipped the poison into her cup, stirred neither anger nor interest within her.0

Perhaps it was a kind of defense mechanism—one shaped, in part, by the presence of a certain professor who had shared that long season of death with her. In her memory, those days had been softened, blurred at the edges by time. 0

And even if she were to destroy everyone behind it, there was nothing to gain, no peace to be won. To Sophien, who was far more pragmatic than most believed, that made it worthless.0

“The reason why… Your Majesty loathes the Scarletborn?” Ahan repeated.0

However, Sophien harbored a singular loathing for the Scarletborn, as if something deep in her blood remembered them.0

“Indeed,” Sophien replied, leaning back as a breath slipped from her lips. “The people of the Empire loathe the Scarletborn—for daring to live well, earning money through the power of demons, and dining better than they ever could.”2

A hint of demonic energy flowed through the blood of the Scarletborn, and perhaps because of it, each bore powers infused with the unnatural. 0

Some could use telepathy to read thoughts as if turning the pages of a book, others could draw memories and sensations from the faintest touch of an object through psychometry. And there were those whose eyes alone—those cursed magic eyes—could awaken emotion with nothing more than a glance.0

Unlike magic, which demanded years of study and discipline, the powers drawn from demons required neither. And so, within the Empire, many among the Scarletborn ascended to wealth through their inherent psychic gifts.0

“But my reasons are not the same as theirs.”0

Gulp—0

Ahan swallowed hard, the silence pressing...0