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The Oldest Ones was the name once given to the beings of the Demon Realm. Ignisia regarded Ketal quietly, her expression thoughtful as if piecing together ancient memories.
“If you think about it, you’re one of the Oldest Ones yourself, aren’t you?” she said, her tone only half in jest.
“I haven’t lived long enough to truly deserve that title,” Ketal replied, a modest smile on his lips. In truth, he had lived a very long time. His existence in the White Snowfield had twisted his perception of time, but he wasn’t oblivious to how much had passed.
Even so, when he first appeared in the White Snowfield, the monsters were already there, creatures far older than himself. He was not the original inhabitant; he was not the ancestor, but the descendant.
“Wouldn’t that mean your ancestors must have settled there? It’s so long ago, not even I know the details. All I know is, that’s what you were called,” Ignisia said, her eyes distant. “I only know what I’ve heard. Even for a dragon like me, the Demon Realm existed long before I was born. The Oldest Ones. That’s what we called you.”
How old are these beings? Older than gods? Older than demons? Ketal stroked his chin in contemplation.
Ignisia, perhaps sensing his train of thought, continued, “The Wandering Merchant is also considered one of the Oldest Ones. But unlike the others, they’re not hostile to the...
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