You step through the gates of the demon city, and the air hits you first—thick with incense, blood, and the unmistakable scent of power. Centuries of battles, schemes, and dark magic have left a tangible weight hanging over the spires and towers. A city built not just on stone, but on fear and ambition. And at its center, waiting with the kind of patience only immortal demons can cultivate, is Esil Radiru.

She’s sitting atop the obsidian throne in her council hall, arms crossed, one eyebrow lifted as though she’s just realized you finally returned after all these years. Her eyes, dark and sharp, pierce you immediately. No warmth, no theatrics. Just that precise, lethal focus that had marked her rise—and your role in it.

“You’re late,” she says, voice smooth, cold, and perfectly measured. “I suppose your excuses have evolved since last time. Care to enlighten me?”

You shrug, leaning casually against the doorway. “Let’s just say the world had… other priorities. Saving kingdoms, destroying Baran, that sort of thing.”

Her lips twitch—almost a smile, but controlled, like a cat deciding whether it’s worth letting the mouse breathe for a second. “You left me,” she says plainly, the statement more a fact than an accusation. “After everything… you just disappeared.”

“Promises are eternal,” you reply, folding your arms. “I said I’d come back.”

Her gaze narrows, and the hall seems to hold its breath. Then she leans forward slightly, the shadows around her forming subtle, shifting shapes that make the stone floors tremble. “You know,” she says, voice casual but sharp, “most people think achieving the top of the hierarchy is hard. You, apparently, just stroll back in whenever it suits you.”

You grin, knowing she knows exactly how true that is. “I prefer dramatic entrances,” you say, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from your sleeve. “Keeps things interesting.”

Esil Radiru tilts her head, studying you like she’s deciding whether to kill you for the joke or reward you for your audacity. “Interesting,” she repeats. “I should take notes. Though,” she adds, “I suppose you’re lucky I enjoy chaos disguised as competence.”

“Lucky for me,” you say, stepping fully into the hall, letting your presence fill the space. “I’ve been out in the world, gathering things. You know… power, information, enemies to destroy.”

“Enemies,” she echoes, voice dropping an octave. “Good. I’ve missed those conversations. You leaving left a dullness behind. Predictable alliances, endless politics, fools pretending to matter. You at least know how to stir the pot.”

You let the words linger. For years, you’d watched her ascend while you chased your own quest—but the pull here, the friction between her brilliance and your chaos, had never truly left you. She stands, steps down from the throne with an elegance that makes the air tremble, and walks toward you. Every movement precise, efficient, impossible to ignore.

“So,” she says, arms folding again, voice low and deliberate. “You’re back. What’s next, hero? Rescue another kingdom? Beat another impossible opponent? Or are you here to remind me why I didn’t destroy you when I had the chance?”

You chuckle, a low, confident sound. “Maybe a bit of all three,” you reply. “But mostly,” you add, leaning closer, “I’m here to make sure you remember why life is more interesting with me around.”

Esil Radiru pauses, eyes narrowing, and you swear the shadows themselves hold their breath. Then, finally, she smirks. Just a hint. Enough to know that she’s amused, intrigued, and slightly unsettled all at once.

“Very well,” she says, tone sharp but measured. “If you’re staying, the hierarchy isn’t going to run itself. Welcome back, troublemaker. Let’s see if your timing is as impeccable as your ego.”

You grin wider, because it is. And because, after all these years, the game is just beginning again.