The coach rattled through the cobbled outskirts of Eden, drawn by tired horses and burdened with more secrets than it had room to carry. Cassius leaned against the window, his long limbs folded, gaze distant. The city's noise filtered in—children laughing, merchants hawking, drunks arguing over spilled drinks.
Humans.
Annoying, chaotic, but oddly familiar now.
Cassius found himself oddly used to the sound of their bickering. It was comforting in the same way a dull ache becomes familiar—persistent, tolerable. Sabine shifted beside him, the child tucked tightly in her arms, wrapped in a makeshift blanket. She hadn't said much since they'd fled. Not until now.
"You've gone quiet," she said, tone edged.
Cassius flicked his gaze to her. "Trying to savor the lull before you bite my head off again."
She snorted. "I don't need silence to do that."
The coach screeched to a halt, jolting them both forward.
The town was modest, the apartment building unimpressive. Still, Cassius paid the innkeeper upfront—half in coin, half in threats. They climbed the creaky stairs in silence.
Once inside, Sabine immediately laid the baby down on the one decently kept bed. The child shifted but stayed asleep, tiny fists curled beneath his chin. Cassius watched them quietly, until Sabine spun on him.
"Are you enjoying this?" Her voice was low, sharp. "Watching me pick up the pieces while you float around being mysterious and brooding?"
Cassius raised a brow. "You're the one who called me, Sabine."
"And I regret it." Her voice broke, but her glare stayed firm. "Everything went to hell the moment you came back. My home's gone. My neighbors are terrified. And now we're here—hiding."
"You act like I caused the explosion," he said as if he wasn't used to being accused since the day he was born. His mere presence meant danger was coming and his long life only confirmed it.
"You exist, Cassius. That's enough!" She snapped her fingers in front of his face, a grin spreading smoothly.
He said nothing, jaw tightening.
"I think it's best," she continued, each word heavy, "for our son if you stayed away. Far away."
Silence stretched between them. It hung there like a noose. Cassius finally let out a bitter laugh. "You're unbelievable. You summon me out of nowhere, drop a baby in my arms, and now you're kicking me out like I'm the milkman who overstayed his welcome?"
Sabine didn't flinch. Instead, she reached between her breasts and pulled out a folded slip of paper. She had kept it there because she wanted to exhaust his pockets but now, the circumstances were totally supporting her.
His eyebrows shot up, because he knew that paper was meant only for him. "You keep paperwork there?"
"It's the safest place in this gods-forsaken world."
He took the paper, cautiously unfolding it. His eyes scanned it. Then again. "What the hell is this?"
"A budget," she said calmly. "Things me and your heir need."
Cassius barked a laugh. "Sabine. This—this list has gold-threaded baby blankets. A high chair made from—what the fuck—strange oak?"
"Our son has royal blood. He deserves royal treatment." She insisted. She could still remember the day he was born, when she realized he was the potential father. The only thing that filled her mind was living in the castle, and getting bags of coins delivered to her for doing such a good thing.
"We're not in the demon kingdom!" he snapped, waving the paper. "I don't have any gold here. No guards. No thrones."
She stepped closer, poking his chest. "Then get it for us here. Rent us a mansion. I want guards! I want warm milk imported from the finest cows. I want a personal lullaby bard with a lute tuned to emotionally resonant frequencies!"
"Are you insane?" He asked.
"I am tired!" she snapped.
And then, all at once, the fire in her eyes shifted. She reached for his collar, grabbed it tight, and for a breathless second, they froze. His eyes, scarlet and sharp, met hers. She hated how her heart skipped.
"Sabine..." he said lowly, warning.
But her fingers didn't let go. "Why do you still look like that?" she muttered. "Like you did the last night you were horny."
He tilted his head. "You liked me when I'm like this?"
She didn't answer. Her grip loosened, lips parted. The closeness hummed with heat and unresolved longing. But she pushed him away. "Forget it."
Cassius exhaled, shaking his head. "This isn't over."
"Damn right it's not," she muttered. "Now go buy your heir some star-stitched pajamas."
He turned to the door, muttering, "I liked you better when you hated me."
From behind him: "I still hate you."
But she was smiling.
*
Cassius stepped out into the cold street, his coat flaring behind him like a living shadow. The city greeted him with a foul mix of smoke, bread, and something rotting in the gutter. A stray dog barked nearby. He ignored it.
Humans....still annoying.
His boots rang down the cobblestone. And for some reason, Sabine's voice lingered in his ears. So did her fingers. Her scent. Her iron heart.
He should've left.
He should've.
But something inside him had cracked the second he'd seen the baby—the way the boy curled his fists in his sleep, like he was ready to fight the world already. Maybe, just maybe....he was everything he needed to spread his kingdom.
Cassius scoffed. "Royal blood and a stubborn mother. Poor kid."
A merchant hollered a few feet away, offering spiced apples. Another argued with a baker about stolen flour. Cassius paused near a familiar statue that was worn with time and chipped at the nose. He reached out and ran his fingers across the old stone.
"Still here," he muttered. "Even after all this time."
This part of Eden had changed. The colors were brighter, the buildings newer, but it still had that layer of dust he remembered. The city always looked like it was trying too hard to clean itself up—and always failing.
He kept walking.
Each turn was muscle memory. Left past the old well. Right at the crooked lantern. Across the narrow bridge with the missing plank—still missing after all these years.
His expression softened despite himself.
He knew where he was going. The only place no one would ever think to look. Not in this lifetime. Not in the next.
Cassius turned into a narrow alley, one most wouldn't notice if they weren't looking for it. It yawned like a crack in the world. As soon as he stepped in, the air shifted.
Shadows peeled off the walls like silk. They slithered down, curling around his boots, slipping up his legs, coiling at his spine but he didn't flinch. The shadows knew him, welcomed him and missed him.
A hiss of breath left his lips as the magic settled, encasing him like armor. The world outside dimmed, sound fading into velvet silence. Cassius stepped deeper into the alley, swallowed by the dark.
This was the old path.
The hidden vein that connected the city to something older, something forgotten. Only a handful of demons knew of it. And only he had survived the last time it opened.