Nasherux's castle glowed red, not only because of the miasma but also because its castle walls consisted of red stones. The large castle stood at the edge of the capital, connecting seamlessly into a volcano. Its structures seem slim from afar, but as Draven approached, the overhead interior roof that covered the upper limits of the grand hall couldn't be seen—as if the abyss made home here.

A lavish red carpet lay pointed at the steps, spanning down through a seemingly infinite hallway lined with bright sconces. The floor is black granite with white streaks spreading across it, like lightning in the night. Simple dark architectural pillars erected into the abyss, their width as large as two grown horses.

The heat from the volcano started to make Draven sweat, but he knew it was more than that that was causing the beads of water to drip from his head. His throat gulped the gathering saliva in his throat. He watched as Civet casually strolled into the castle as if he lived here. Draven knew better than to keep him waiting.

Cool air awaited him inside, a surprising change. When he wasn't weary, Draven admired the banners that hung between each pillar—all of them long and purple with golden embroidery.

Draven felt as if he was walking slowly because of how long it took for each pillar to pass him. But eventually, he made it to a flight of steps where Civet had already started climbing. The red carpet forking as there was a hallway going underneath, Draven couldn't fathom what would be down that hallway. The staircase spiraled upwards, revealing a balcony that held the entrance to several hallways.

Civet waved him over to follow him down the farthest one. As they walked, Draven realized the ceilings were still tall but less daunting. All of the stone's complexion turned black. Arches ribbed the hallway until they reached an opening to a red room, a sharp contrast. The room was rectangular and wide, bright with Everfire torches and with the help of the sunroof. Guards in pointy obsidian armor with tower shields and spears lined the wall with a large door. Its front detailed a story of how a demon overcame the challenges of the surface, making home to the kingdom this world knows now.

All the guards pointed their spears, not at Civet, but at Draven.

"He's fine!" Said Civet, placing his hand on the door. "He'll be out here to keep you company."

The door opened with a push of his hand. Draven couldn't help but glimpse into the room, noticing long, flowing black hair and a red dress before the doors closed. Interest peaked inside him. Draven looked at the guards who still had their spears pointing at him. He forced a little chuckle as he backed away into the hallway. Once he thought it was dark enough, he opened a rift. Stepping through, he found himself back in his pocket of space.

The scenes showed him where he was in the present. He imagined what was past the door, and it all changed. He viewed the room in all its entirety—the red walls, black plants, tall windows, a balcony, and more. But more importantly, he saw Civet and a beautiful lady. Her skin was paler than porcelain. Her nails like claws on her hand. Intricate jewelry dangled from a fancy bun on the back of her head, braids like a highway to the bundled point. The jaw of a lizard rested on her shoulders—its maw snug with her own and hid half of her face. The dress she wore was silky and red; dark metals covered her fleshy parts. Her eyes a crimson red and a dangerous glow.

Draven knew he had overstepped once her piercing gaze snapped to him. Her stare burned the backs of his eyes, but he couldn't look away. No matter what scene he gazed into, she was staring at him. Unfortunately, he couldn't hear their conversation, but she waved Civet off. Draven couldn't tell who she was, but her Source was strong enough to affect him within the dimension. What kind of source could allow that? Could she be the strongest magic user? Either way, Draven did not want to find out.

Once Civet left the room, her hand waved at him, as though he was in front of her. Draven hesitated but eventually opened a rift, appearing before her. Her crimson eyes glowed brighter than what he could see within the rift. Her presence alone was suffocating, her Source scratching at the surface of his brain.

"You must be Draven Kel," she spoke, her voice mature and wise—immortality helping with its youthful cadence. "Such a timid boy for a role so large—not only for himself but for the world."

Draven's initial intimidation of the lady slowly turned to frustration.

"What is it you desire?" She continued, beginning her graceful strides—her boots thudding against the black granite floor, almost like a heartbeat. "Wealth, power... love?" The curling of the word gained Draven's attention, which she noticed. "Of course," her gaze now downcast, her dangling ornaments staying true to the laws of gravity, chiming a sweet sound. "Demons have everything—wealth, power, a long life, but not love. You might even say we are incapable; that we prioritize survival before all else."

"What is it you want?" Draven choked out, his waning courage flickering like a candle in a snowstorm.

"Peace," she said simply, her head tilting to glance at him. "But I don't expect you to understand. You've lived a fraction of my lifetime, fought more with yourself rather than an opponent." Her thudding stopped; her shoulders faced him. "I have seen the eyes of the widows left behind; I've seen the child of a fallen man, but never once have our leaders apologized for the battles they started in the first place." She began to walk towards him.

"You want peace, but you call for war?"

"So narrow, your vision. You don't see the future; you only live in the present. This war, no matter the outcome, will lead to peace."

"Stop being so cryptic."

A sudden pain shot through Draven's brain, folding his body to the floor—like an arrow being driven into his skull.

"Out of all my guests, you have been the most ill-mannered."

His body writhed in agony, but nothing was being done to him. There was no sign of magic being used. Or could it be magic he couldn't detect?

It felt as if there were claws combing his organs, scratching the muscles within. "You've never felt this magic before; not many have. It's unique, just like yours."

His body began to sweat, his teeth gritting as much as they could. "Just make it stop," another jolt of pain surged through his body. "Please!" The pain went as fast as it came, making him wonder if it existed in the first place. "What do you mean?" He finally realized after gaining his bearings.

"I mean your Source and my Source may be sisters."

"You can traverse time?"

"Is that what you can do?" Said the woman, her voice becoming irritated yet intrigued. "And here I thought you were limited in moving through unseen space."

"So you can do the same?"

Her glowing crimson eyes narrowed but widened at the same time. Draven's mouth ceased to exist with the motion. He patted the area where his mouth would be; his heart raced as he couldn't breathe through it—as if it were truly gone in that instant.

"No source is truly the same," her pacing started again. "You should know that a Source is acquired after its user's death. But it chooses who it wants to be with, like it lives and breathes. My source, however, is hereditary. That's what makes it unique, other than the fact you cannot find it in anyone else.

I hold the Chaos Source. I and I alone have its power. To control, to alter even for a brief period of time. The Chaos Source is what started this kingdom; it's what started this world."

Draven's heartbeat slowed as he listened, curiosity swelling inside him.

"As you know, there is a balance in this world—in this universe. Light and Dark, Peace and Chaos. All of these are ancient; these sources haven't been seen in millennia. But they all bring balance. Though it seems like your source, dare I call it the Gravity Source, is a complete anomaly. Therefore, it is chaotic as it's not meant to be."

Draven's mouth formed again, causing him to gasp for air. Questions spread through his head like wildfire: if balance is what this universe relies on, then what would be the reason for his Source? Who would be his opposite?

"You know, don't you?" Asked Draven, one of her eyebrows lifting in response. "You have the answer—to all of this. That's why this war has never stopped; you're controlling it."

"Your stupidity ceases to amaze me," her boots began to thud away from Draven. "I am not the one who's in control. Someone else is pulling the strings alongside everyone else. I am only doing my part for my vision. It's beautiful how darkness is the beginning and the end. But how funny is it that you often find yourself dwelling in it?

"Who are you?" Draven finally asked, biting his tongue as though she would cause it to escape him.

"You may have heard of me as the Grand Prexy, but now that you work right under me, you can call me. . . Grimoire."