Chapter 8: "When Crowns Slip in Quiet"
— wherein the crimson lady breaketh, and the world turneth not to see —
Enter stage: A chamber poor in grandeur, yet rich in silence.
The light doth flicker as ghostly whispers sigh o'er empty plates and broken hearts.
ACT I, Scene I
Lo, the door did close with but a whisper's breath,
And all the world within that room grew still.
The very air did hush, as if in death —
A silence deep, unnatural, and shrill.
No birds did sing, nor voice nor footfall rang,
Save for the murmurs of a dying screen.
Each shadow stretched as if it too now hang
In mourning for a queen no longer seen.
There sat she — crimson crown not on her brow,
But resting in the hollows of despair.
Her gaze was set on naught, for even now
The glassy eye betray'd no solace there.
Her hand, once graceful, let the wood fall free,
The chopsticks clattered like a mourner's plea.
Rias (aside):
"O cursed fate that stole my sky-born halls,
And placed me here, where none my name do know.
No devil's pride this cruel exile stalls,
No kin to catch these tears that silent flow.
Art I not daughter of a noble line?
What realm is this that doth my grace malign?"
The first tear slipped — a pearl of grief unshod,
Betrayer of a mask too long retained.
And with it came the storm, unloosed and broad,
The weeping tides that royalty hath feigned.
Bent low, she curled like roses touched by frost,
Each sob a note in symphony of loss'd.
ACT I, Scene II
O wretched hour when the strong must weep alone,
When even devils find no fire to shield
The soul that bleeds beneath its flesh and bone,
When thrones are dreams and pain the only yield.
No gentle brother to her shoulder press'd,
No mother's hum to hush the storm inside.
No knights, no peer, no loyal hand caress'd
The cheek that bore the salt of crimson pride.
She was not now the mistress of the flame,
Nor wielder of arcana sealed in might.
She was but girl — untitled and unnamed —
A shadow midst the mortal, foreign night.
And yet within that trembling, broken guise,
There shone a spark unbowed beneath the cries.
Rias (aloud, to none):
"I want to go home…"
But echo spake no answer in return.
No gate did open. No spell did arise.
Only the cruel flicker of the TV burn,
Mocking her grief with laughing, vacant lies.
Still louder came the cries, more raw, more wild,
And curled she tighter, no longer defiled
By shame — for this was not weakness but truth:
A crownless queen who mourn'd her stolen youth.
ACT I, Scene III
Yet still, the fire within her did not fade.
It did not blaze, it did not pierce the dark —
But stubbornly, it lived — a light remade
Not from her magic, but from sorrow stark.
She would rise again — not now, not yet —
But rise she shall, though stars her name forget.
For when he came — the fool with ramen grin —
She would not speak of battles fought within.
She'd smile once more, the way lost queens do best,
And wear her grief like rubies on her chest.
The world might not remember what she bore,
But devils know: the silence speaketh more.
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Enter SIRZECHS LUCIFER before the Infernal Map, amidst thunderous silence.
SIRZECHS
O faithless stars, ye cold and gleaming liars!
What voice hath struck thee dumb, that thou not speak
Of blood once etched in constellations proud?
My sister's name, once sung in fiery threads,
Hath fled the firmament—nay, fled the world!
(He lays a trembling hand upon the map, carved from obsidian dreams and soul-inked veins.)
Gone. Not hid in fog nor cloaked by spell,
But swallowed by the void, as if unborn.
A thread once crimson, burning with her life,
Is now no more than ash upon the wind.
(His voice grows like a storm trapped 'neath the earth.)
SIRZECHS (cont.)
Nothing!
No whisper from the ink, no trace, no hue—
This silence sings her death!
(Enter GRAYFIA, her step unwavering, her eyes as mirrors of flame quenched but unyielding.)
GRAYFIA
Hold, my Lord.
Speak not the funeral rite for one who breathes.
The seal remains—but dimmed, not rent apart.
She lives, though veiled, beyond the grasp of eyes.
SIRZECHS
Veiled? Ha! What bold and blasphemous hand
Could mask a blood-bound seal forged in my name?
This is no work of petty rogue or beast.
This is the craft of immortals—or worse than immortals.
(His fists clench; the very air begins to bleed magic.)
SIRZECHS (cont.)
A Lucifer, perhaps, or Fallen kin
To Azazel's ilk. Or dragon wrought of stars—
No child of Hell hath touched this thread.
It reeks of somewhere else… beyond.
GRAYFIA
Then let us go beyond.
If there be sky, we'll sail it. If there be void,
We'll pierce it with resolve. Not wrath, my love—
But will. The will to seek and not to break.
(She lays a hand upon his trembling form, and the quake within him slows.)
SIRZECHS
Thou speak'st with soul, not sword. And I, a fool,
Would chase the storm and call it love's defence.
Nay. Thou art right. My grief shall be my guide.
Not to consume, but to pursue.
(His eyes sharpen. His shoulders rise like walls of war reborn.)
SIRZECHS (cont.)
Summon the Seekers! Call forth Ajuka's mind!
Unseal the World Gate, scry the drifting planes!
Bring me the sages of scaled blood and flame,
The old devils who've dined 'pon galaxies' bones.
For if her light be taken to some sphere
Where stars do not dare shine—
(He places his palm upon the deadened space on the map.)
—Then I shall tear through night and call her name.
Rias.
Mine own blood. Mine charge. My cause, my oath.
Not demon, immortal, nor time's devouring maw
Shall keep me from thy side.
(Thunder rolls. A red sigil blooms beneath his feet like a rose of wrath.)
SIRZECHS (cont.)
So swear I now—not as thy brother, nay—
But as Lucifer, Lord of the Underworld.
By Hell's own flame, I will find thee.
And woe to all who stand between.
[Exeunt with flame and shadow.]
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Enter a room, rich with crimson tapestry and velvet drapery, dim-lit by moon's melancholy gaze. The air doth linger with the ghost of nobility—of a lady whose presence still burneth soft and savage through scent and silence.
ACT I, SCENE I
The Chamber of Absence
Enter AKENO, disarrayed and sorrowful, upon RIAS's empty bed, cradling a journal of leather old.
AKENO:
O cruel jest, that absence weareth not a face,
Yet striketh like a blade through silk and soul.
This room—her sanctum, breathèd still of rose,
Of thunder bottled, tempest caged in grace.
Here dwelt she, Rias, noble flame and fey,
A Queen in tempest, and yet glass so fine.
See how her scent in tapestry hath stayed—
A rebellion's perfume, in still air enshrined.
She opens the journal with shaking hands, lips trembling as though they might break from the weight of words unspoken.
AKENO (softly):
Once mocked I this book—"A maiden's ruse," quoth I.
"Of dreams misplaced and idle musings fair."
Yet now each word, each curve of ink and sigh,
Doth strike my heart like arrows through despair.
"She never wrote nonsense," now I confess—
Each line a tempest, clothed in gentleness.
Enter KONEKO, seated near the latticed window, curled tight as grief incarnate.
KONEKO (aside):
If stars be guardians, they have surely failed.
She should be here, not vanished into mist.
If dragons be real, then immortals are liars still.
For she was our sun, and now all is eclipsed.
Enter KIBA, fair and war-mark'd, standing behind Akeno like a statue of resolve.
KIBA (solemnly):
This journal bears more than mourning's moan—
Here lies a trail, a whisper 'tween the lines.
Look—here, where ink runs deep like prophecy,
The name that lieth coiled, a serpent in rhyme:
"Moryo."
AKENO (startled):
The name of legend—Dragon long since gone?
The rebel flame who shunn'd both immortals and hells?
KIBA:
Aye, the same. The beast of yore unbound,
Whose breath rewrote the laws of soul and sound.
She mark'd him not as myth, but as her guide—
Pursued his path beyond the Maou's gaze.
She sought the Sage—the one of Sixfold Might—
And reckoned truths beyond our world's malaise.
KONEKO (turning, a hush in her voice):
So then… she left of her own desire?
Not stolen, not slain—but seeking fire?
KIBA:
Or chasing ghosts that whisper from the void.
Whether her will or fate hath paved her road,
This Moryo is the key. The cipher. The flame.
And now, dear sisters… we must play the game.
AKENO (rising, electricity in her gaze):
Then let the heavens tremble at our pace.
Let seraphim and devils mark this vow:
By thunder's cry and sorrow's burning trace,
We shall not rest until she's found.
Thunder murmureth beyond the pane—not storm, but omen. Ancient names, once buried, stir in their graves. The wheel of fate doth groan anew.
ACT I, SCENE II
Elsewhere—a stranger's home bathed in dusklight
RIAS, her noble mien humbled, weepeth soft behind closed doors. A stranger's realm, a shinobi's world. Yet no less tears, no less truth.
NARRATOR (voiced like prophecy):
And so it begins—the reckoning unsought.
The Gremory hath vanished, but not forgot.
For in her wake she left more than despair:
She left a trail for those who truly care.
And those who loved her?
They hath heard the call.
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Enter NARUTO, lone and pensive, at the edge of the village. The dusk bleedeth red, and the forest weepeth secrets.
ACT I, Scene I — The Forest That Breathed Old Names
Soft rustling stirreth the leaves like crones in gossip. Long grow the shadows, like claws across the earth, and the sky—an open wound of orange and blood—doth bleed o'er the world.
NARUTO:
What devil's eve hath fallen thus on this quiet hour?
Yon trees do whisper like witches in prayer,
And every breeze beareth the weight of the dead.
I walk, yet mine footsteps echo not but dread.
He pauseth beside a pole of crooked spine, where the wilderness dareth to swallow man's dominion. And there—
Lo! What ghost in maiden's flesh is this?
Enter OPHIS — her hair black as despair, her frame slight as breath. Yet her gaze, eternal, doth burn like ice on sunlit steel.
NARUTO (aside):
By Kaguya's tomb—what beast be she?
No child, though in child's guise she standeth.
Her stare, unblinking—slit and cold—
Doth reach inside, where even immortals feel old.
Within his soul, the Nine-Tailed Beast—KURAMA—doth stir. A growl, ancient and unbidden, doth escape the pit of Naruto's core.
KURAMA (within):
Beware! She be not made of mortal thread—
A dragon walketh in flesh unsaid.
And lo—Naruto's knees betray him. He stumbleth, falling graceless unto the dirt. Yet his gaze ne'er leaves her. He beholdeth death, and it doth smile.
OPHIS:
Oh? A little savior? How quaint.
Art thou frightened, bold one? Or merely faint?
Her voice singeth like a lullaby sung by broken stars. Gentle. Foul. Sweet as rot beneath the skin.
NARUTO (rising):
Thou... thou mockest me with breath and name.
What manner of creature speaketh so?
Who wear'st a girl's form, yet treadeth like a immortal?
He reclaims his will, forged of war and pain. In a blur, he is behind her, his hand clasping her throat like justice upon the wicked.
NARUTO (low):
No more fear. I claim the sky again.
But—she laugheth.
OPHIS (unmoved):
Is it thus thou greet'st strange women, hero?
A hand 'round the throat and a scowl most severe?
If thou likest games of death and breath,
Then know—I play them well.
In a blink—she standeth behind him. No wind. No step. She simply... is.
NARUTO (turning):
Damn thee—thou mov'st as dream and shadow.
OPHIS:
Words? They are cages. I hath no shape for them.
But if thou must, then call me Ophis.
A name born of silence, and kissed by the void.
A silence falls. No leaf dare stir. Even the birds forget their song.
NARUTO:
Then, Ophis... why this farce?
Why now, when the immortals sleep and the dead do rest?
OPHIS (smiling):
Because, little immortal, thy world is cracking.
And in the cracks, dragons crawl.
Would'st thou be my tour guide?
She toucheth his sleeve. The merest brush.
And Naruto—the storm incarnate, the beast-tamer, breaker of fate—walketh beside her.
Not out of defeat.
But out of respect.
He knoweth now:
NARUTO (final line):
The world yet hideth monsters vast and deep,
And some of them smile... ere they make thee weep.