The sun was high when the white banners arrived.
An official envoy from the Demon Kingdom marched down the village's main road under the illusion of peace. The banners were bright, unmarred by blood or ash, and the soldiers flanking them wore ceremonial armor polished to perfection. The townspeople paused their work and gathered in silence, watching the procession with wary eyes.
Kujo stood at the front gate, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Flanking him were Fiore, Dimara, Setara, and Kyrie—all tense, all prepared to strike at the first sign of deception.
Then they saw them.
Four figures riding behind the envoy carriage—two male, two female—dripping with familiar arrogance.
His siblings.
The first prince, Drezin, tall and chiseled, sneering down his nose with his arms folded like a bored general.
The second princess, Calvera, adorned in red velvet and chains, licking her lips as if the very sight of the village amused her.
The third prince, Malliq, a pale, lazy-eyed mage reclined in the carriage with a wine glass in hand.
And the fourth princess, Elirein—Kujo's elder sister—golden-haired and venom-tongued, her smile wickedly wide as she stepped down in front of the crowd.
"Well," she said sweetly. "Look how far our little disappointment has come. A village of mongrels and castaways. How touching."
The envoy stepped forward, ignoring the tension. "On behalf of His Majesty the Demon King, and in light of recent insubordination, unrecognized expansion, and illegal territorial claims—this message serves as an official declaration of war."
A parchment was unrolled and nailed to the gate.
Kujo didn't blink.
"I expected as much," he said.
Elirein stepped closer. "Oh, don't be like that. You always did crave attention. Now you have the kingdom's."
Malliq chuckled. "I'd heard the rumors were true. A self-made lord of lowbloods. And look, it even has a bathhouse. Charming."
Then Drezin spoke. "Let's make it more entertaining. Shall we see what makes your people so loyal, little prince?"
He waved to one of the guards—and one of Kujo's storage carts was dragged into the square.
"This was intercepted on its way to a farming outpost. Typical peasant junk."
He kicked open the container and spilled crates of food, tools, blankets, and medicine across the ground.
"For the dogs and vermin, yes?" he asked with mock innocence. "Or were you trying to bribe your pets to obey?"
Kujo clenched his fists, but before he could move, Dimara stepped forward.
Her tendrils hissed out behind her like spears.
"Insult him again," she said coldly, "and I will not stop at your tongue."
Elirein raised an eyebrow. "You let that thing speak for you now?"
Fiore unsheathed her sword with a sharp snap of steel. "She speaks for all of us."
The air tensed.
The envoy raised a hand, sweat forming at his brow. "Th-This concludes the official message. We will depart now."
The nobles turned their backs and mounted up, but Elirein cast one last smirk over her shoulder.
"You won't survive the year, brother."
The envoy left.
The gates were sealed.
And the town remained silent—until Dimara wrapped her arms around Kujo from behind, whispering, "We'll protect you. We're not like them."
That night, Kujo sat alone on the upper terrace of the council chamber, legs stretched out, eyes locked on the stars above.
He heard the soft footsteps before he felt her presence.
Zafira knelt beside him, silent for a moment.
"They humiliated you," she said.
"I'm used to it," Kujo muttered.
"That doesn't make it right."
He sighed and leaned back, letting the tension in his shoulders sink into the marble.
"I knew they'd come. But I didn't expect to feel this angry. Or this powerless."
Zafira's hand moved to his, her fingers cold from the night air but steady.
"You are not powerless," she said. "You are feared. That's why they came themselves."
He didn't answer.
She leaned closer.
"There are… ways to calm the mind," she whispered. "Ancient dark elf techniques. Reserved for high stress. Reserved for… kings."
He turned his head slowly.
She was already crawling into his lap, straddling him with poise and quiet purpose. Her sheer robes from earlier were replaced by looser silks, which now slid open around her thighs.
"I can help," she said, pressing her forehead to his. "If you let me."
Her hands found his chest and began to unfasten his tunic slowly, reverently, her voice a soft breath against his lips.
"No thinking. No fear. Just… focus on me."
He didn't protest.
She kissed him—once. Then again. Then deeper.
And beneath the moonlight, above the village he built, Kujo finally let go.
The sun was high when the white banners arrived.
An official envoy from the Demon Kingdom marched down the village's main road under the illusion of peace. The banners were bright, unmarred by blood or ash, and the soldiers flanking them wore ceremonial armor polished to perfection. The townspeople paused their work and gathered in silence, watching the procession with wary eyes.
Kujo stood at the front gate, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Flanking him were Fiore, Dimara, Setara, and Kyrie—all tense, all prepared to strike at the first sign of deception.
Then they saw them.
Four figures riding behind the envoy carriage—two male, two female—dripping with familiar arrogance.
His siblings.
The first prince, Drezin, tall and chiseled, sneering down his nose with his arms folded like a bored general.
The second princess, Calvera, adorned in red velvet and chains, licking her lips as if the very sight of the village amused her.
The third prince, Malliq, a pale, lazy-eyed mage reclined in the carriage with a wine glass in hand.
And the fourth princess, Elirein—Kujo's elder sister—golden-haired and venom-tongued, her smile wickedly wide as she stepped down in front of the crowd.
"Well," she said sweetly. "Look how far our little disappointment has come. A village of mongrels and castaways. How touching."
The envoy stepped forward, ignoring the tension. "On behalf of His Majesty the Demon King, and in light of recent insubordination, unrecognized expansion, and illegal territorial claims—this message serves as an official declaration of war."
A parchment was unrolled and nailed to the gate.
Kujo didn't blink.
"I expected as much," he said.
Elirein stepped closer. "Oh, don't be like that. You always did crave attention. Now you have the kingdom's."
Malliq chuckled. "I'd heard the rumors were true. A self-made lord of lowbloods. And look, it even has a bathhouse. Charming."
Then Drezin spoke. "Let's make it more entertaining. Shall we see what makes your people so loyal, little prince?"
He waved to one of the guards—and one of Kujo's storage carts was dragged into the square.
"This was intercepted on its way to a farming outpost. Typical peasant junk."
He kicked open the container and spilled crates of food, tools, blankets, and medicine across the ground.
"For the dogs and vermin, yes?" he asked with mock innocence. "Or were you trying to bribe your pets to obey?"
Kujo clenched his fists, but before he could move, Dimara stepped forward.
Her tendrils hissed out behind her like spears.
"Insult him again," she said coldly, "and I will not stop at your tongue."
Elirein raised an eyebrow. "You let that thing speak for you now?"
Fiore unsheathed her sword with a sharp snap of steel. "She speaks for all of us."
The air tensed.
The envoy raised a hand, sweat forming at his brow. "Th-This concludes the official message. We will depart now."
The nobles turned their backs and mounted up, but Elirein cast one last smirk over her shoulder.
"You won't survive the year, brother."
The envoy left.
The gates were sealed.
And the town remained silent—until Dimara wrapped her arms around Kujo from behind, whispering, "We'll protect you. We're not like them."
That night, Kujo sat alone on the upper terrace of the council chamber, legs stretched out, eyes locked on the stars above.
He heard the soft footsteps before he felt her presence.
Zafira knelt beside him, silent for a moment.
"They humiliated you," she said.
"I'm used to it," Kujo muttered.
"That doesn't make it right."
He sighed and leaned back, letting the tension in his shoulders sink into the marble.
"I knew they'd come. But I didn't expect to feel this angry. Or this powerless."
Zafira's hand moved to his, her fingers cold from the night air but steady.
"You are not powerless," she said. "You are feared. That's why they came themselves."
He didn't answer.
She leaned closer.
"There are… ways to calm the mind," she whispered. "Ancient dark elf techniques. Reserved for high stress. Reserved for… kings."
He turned his head slowly.
She was already crawling into his lap, straddling him with poise and quiet purpose. Her sheer robes from earlier were replaced by looser silks, which now slid open around her thighs.
"I can help," she said, pressing her forehead to his. "If you let me."
Her hands found his chest and began to unfasten his tunic slowly, reverently, her voice a soft breath against his lips.
"No thinking. No fear. Just… focus on me."
He didn't protest.
She kissed him—once. Then again. Then deeper.
And beneath the moonlight, above the village he built, Kujo finally let go.