The deep confusion on Damon’s face overwheld even his hatred for Morticai.
He stared into the basin at the unfamiliar reflection. A young man with dark hair, but not nearly as dark as his own. Bright brown eyes. Ordinary features. Painfully ordinary.
Damon had always joked that he looked average, but after ranking up and growing his hair out, he knew he was anything but.
"This definitely isn’t my face," he muttered.
Another reflection leaned into view. A hand reached forward and touched his cheek as if confirming it for him.
"No, that’s definitely you," the young woman said, studying the mirror beside him.
Damon raised his head and looked at her properly.
She looked like Abellona.
But not quite.
Her eyes were brown. Abellona’s eyes were red, crystalline and sharp.
"Yo... you are not Abellona, are you?"
She blinked at him, confusion replacing concern, then folded her arms.
"I’m sure I am. Did you hit your head?"
Suspicion settled into Damon’s gaze. That was an expression he had mastered. His eyes swept the room, mapping exits, searching for anything that could serve as a weapon. For all he knew, this was a spell. A trap. An illusion.
"Well, for one, you’re wearing practically rags. The Abellona I know would never wear sothing so pauper-looking."
She glanced down at herself. Simple village clothes. Clean. Washed. An apron with a few patches. Nothing unusual for a normal girl. Did he expect her to wear her favorite dress when it was not even the harvest festival?
She looked back at him in a way that reminded him painfully of the real Abellona.
"No need to be rude, Mugu. This is the thanks I get for taking care of you," she said angrily.
Damon went quiet.
She called him Mugu again.
His thoughts began to race, but his face remained calm.
"I’m Mugu. As in Mugu, the wicked prophet."
She stared at him as if he had lost his mind.
"Co on, Mugu. We are way past the age of being delusional. And why even call yourself the wicked prophet? At least be creative. Maybe the hopeful prophet or the kind prophet. Idiot."
Damon was about to respond when Ashcroft’s familiar voice echoed in his mind.
"I see. Interesting. To think you would find a black box."
There was silence in Damon’s mind before he asked,
"A black box?"
Ashcroft did not bother hiding it.
"It is a rare consumable magical artifact that grants wishes. It seems you used it. No wonder there was a mark on your wrist. You must have made a wish related to Mugu."
"Wait, so it grants all wishes?" Damon asked, rembering how he had gotten it from Amadeus the lich.
"No. It is not that convenient. It cannot grant wishes beyond its power. It rely creates the conditions for your wish to be fulfilled. Whether the wish cos true depends on your choices. In other words, fate. That is why it is called the black box of fate."
"I see. I made a wish to know about Mugu’s past. To solve the mystery behind him."
Snap. Snap.
The sound brought him back to the present. The young woman who looked like Abellona was snapping her fingers in front of his face.
"Mugu, I’m worried about you. Are you alright? You know you can tell anything."
Damon opened his mouth to speak.
Then his body moved on its own.
His lips parted. His hands lifted. His voice ca out without his permission.
And suddenly Damon was no longer inside the body.
"Did I scare you?" Mugu asked, scratching his head awkwardly.
"Sorry about that. It should be almost ti for the grape harvest. Let’s go."
He took her hand and pulled her out of the small room.
Damon stood there, staring, now nothing more than an invisible presence.
"Did I just get kicked out of a body?"
"No, you didn’t," Ashcroft said, thoughtful.
"This is part of your wish. You wanted to know about Mugu. It would defeat the purpose if Mugu was not here for you to observe. If I am not wrong, this is a story with an unchangeable ending."
Damon crossed his arms and looked around.
"So what you are saying is that monts crucial to Mugu’s life are out of my control and can only be observed. The rest of the ti I can live his life. Is that right?"
"Yes," Ashcroft replied coldly.
"From what I know, Mugu was the first demon in our world. A true demon through and through. One does not simply beco a demon because they wish it. Demons are those who fall into depravity, hearts consud by resentnt. The true demon kings, even the demon god, all of them fell from grace."
Damon floated upward toward the roof.
"So sothing is about to happen that will make Mugu fall."
He paused, rembering sothing Valerie had once told him.
"Mugu was forgotten by the world. Or did he turn his back on the world instead?"
"That does not matter now. This is a good opportunity for you," Ashcroft said.
Damon narrowed his eyes.
"And what is that?"
Ashcroft’s tone almost sounded like a smile.
"Mugu was a very learned man. A sage in his own right. His life was filled with peril. If you live from his perspective, you might gain enough philosophical understanding to reach the seventh class. And learn a few more magics along the way."
The mont Ashcroft finished speaking, Damon was violently pulled back into Mugu’s body.
He looked down and found himself pinning Abellona against a stack of hay. She gazed up at him longingly, and he knew Mugu was looking at her the sa way.
Then he kissed her.
Damon felt the emotions flooding Mugu’s chest. Bright. Overwhelming. Suffocating. He struggled to breathe.
Only one emotion Damon had ever felt this strongly before.
Hatred.
He had never felt anything like this. Not even for Lilith. Compared to this, every feeling he had ever known was like comparing a candle to the blazing sun.
This was love without limit.
This was Mugu’s love.
This girl was his entire world.
And his world was about to co crashing down.
************
Her na was Abellona, and from what Damon could piece together, she had to be related to the Abellona he knew more than two hundred thousand years in the future.
This girl was Mugu’s childhood sweetheart. They had loved each other for as long as they had understood what love ant. They had promised to stay together forever.
In a perfect world, perhaps they would have.
But this was not a perfect world.
The thunder of hooves rolled across the fields, vibrating through the soil. Villagers who had been bent over crops straightened at once. Heads turned. Eyes widened.
Armored knights.
War horses.
A line of carriages.
When Damon lifted his head, he saw the banner fluttering in the wind.
The Valtheron flag.
His holand.
The villagers hurried to the roadside, fear guiding their steps. They ford lines and bowed low. If they failed to greet a noble procession properly, they risked punishnt. Or worse.
This was thousands of years before the peasant revolution. Before commoners had rights. This was the era of Lysithara, the First Epoch.
Abellona grabbed Mugu’s sleeve and pulled him down beside her. Damon resisted instinctively, but her grip was firm. He lowered himself, keeping his head slightly raised so he could see without drawing attention.
Not that it mattered.
Mugu’s body was already bowing.
The carriages rolled past.
Then the central one stopped.
A cold feeling crept into Damon’s chest.
One of the knights turned his horse and guided it toward them. The animal’s shadow fell over Abellona.
"You," the knight said flatly. "My lord has given an order. You will accompany him for the night."
He was not asking.
It was a declaration.
All the villagers lowered their heads further. The won especially.
A lord could demand such a thing. No one could stop him. She was a peasant. And a beautiful one at that.
Mugu’s fist tightened. His shoulders tensed as he began to rise.
Abellona caught his hand and held it tightly, stopping him. She bowed her head deeper, her face draining of color.
"I... forgive ... but I am already taken," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.
Before the knight could respond, a voice drifted lazily from inside the carriage.
"Mage. Check if she is a virgin. If she is not, give her to the n if she refuses to co along."
Abellona barely had ti to react before a robed figure appeared beside her. He seized her wrist. A small prick. A drop of blood touched the tal pin he held.
It glowed white.
"She is clean, your highness," the old mage said.
Damon’s mind froze.
Your highness.
This was not a re noble.
This was royalty.
Untouchable.
"Good then I shall make her my fourth wife."
Abellona’s legs weakened. Mugu stepped forward and pulled her behind him.
She clutched his hand tightly, shaking her head at him without raising her gaze.
First, he had wanted her for a night.
Now, he wanted to marry her.
If she agreed, she would lose everything.
If she refused, she might lose her life.
And she could not bear the thought of leaving Mugu behind.
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