POV: Rias
"Truly, your ego knows no bounds," I said to my companion, my tone hovering somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
It feels almost impossible to take my eyes off him. He has always been beautiful, but lately something has changed. It is as though the air around him has sharpened and deepened at once, making him even more compelling. It is not only his face or his stature, though both are handsome beyond question.
It is the way he carries himself; the calm certainty with which he moves through the world, never bending, never seeking approval, never concerned with what others expect. I think that is what draws me most of all. He is entirely himself, and that makes him more beautiful than anyone I have ever known.
We had stepped outside for a moment, since the celebration inside had grown crowded and stifling. I noticed from the beginning that he was unimpressed by the endless parade of sycophants, all eager to flatter him, to claim a piece of his attention for their own.
I suppose that is inevitable. When one is believed to be the reincarnation of Lucifer himself, every word, every glance, every breath becomes an object of scrutiny. The moment we entered, all eyes were on him. I doubt anyone even realized I was at his side. It was a strange feeling, and strangely humbling too, because I have always been the one to draw notice at such gatherings.
For a moment, I worried for him. The politics of the underworld are vicious, and the people who play those games are merciless. I wondered how he would fare when faced with the cunning of our nobility. But my worry quickly faded, because I realized that Haruki could not be caught in their games for the simple reason that he refuses to play them.
He does not bend himself into shapes to please, nor does he disguise his thoughts to avoid offense. He simply does as he wishes, and the rest of the world must decide for themselves whether to follow or to be left behind. I had offered to teach him the etiquette of the underworld, to not give the vultures something to feast on, but no, Haruki is only subtle when it suits him.
Oh, it is not because Haruki is particularly skillful in politics or anything of the sort, though I believe he is more knowledgeable about it than he cares to show. It is just that he is unapologetically himself. He does not try to act to fit or to not offend someone else. He just does as he likes.
So while it had been amusing at the beginning, seeing him skillfully outplay those arrogant vipers who believe they are more important than they are, it had grown stale after a while. Mostly because the ones that were approaching were mostly of the lesser nobilities, who were trying to impress him by coming as quickly as possible. The main players were mostly observing, trying to gather enough information before approaching.
They are probably sending the lower nobilities to test the water, to see how he acts and reacts to various approaches. For his part, Haruki has been consistent in his responses, and that is courteously extracting himself from most conversations he finds dull and on rare occasions talking at length with some noble or other about topics he finds interesting.
Like for example when he discussed with some noble of a minor house about the development of language after the fall of the Tower of Babel. The discussion was the longest he conversed with someone in this hall, and he seemed to even enjoy the discussion.
The noble for his part was rather surprised about Haruki's interest and knowledge regarding linguistics and had matched him in giving insightful analysis. He had even subtly invited him to his guild to share with him all of his findings regarding these particular topics. Haruki had politely said that he would consider it.
"Are you referring to the part where I told your nephew not to care what others think of him?" Haruki asked now, his voice beautiful as the sunset.
"Yeah, not many would have the courage to lecture the son of Lucifer in front of Lucifer, you know," I said amused.
My brother had been happy about the fact, but it still is not something normal people would say.
"I suppose so," he answered thoughtfully. "But I am more of the opinion that children should be allowed to be children. The idea that a son must address his father formally due to etiquette is absurd."
"My brother always says that good etiquette is speaking and behaving in ways which everyone in attendance feels comfortable," I recited.
"While a good sentiment, the comfort of others should not come at the detriment of yourself," Haruki replied conversationally, his gaze drifting over the flora of our great garden.
Our garden, like most belonging to the Pillar houses, is enormous, full of rare flora and fauna unseen on Earth.
"That goes without saying, but I still think you could have done it in a gentler way," I said, gesturing vaguely as we walked.
"For example?" he asked, brow raised.
"I don't know, like not doing it in front of thousands of lords of hell," I said sarcastically. "You probably traumatized my poor nephew."
He chuckled softly.
"You are exaggerating again, but I guess you are right," he said, amused. "But on the other hand if the lesson is done in such a way it is likely to stick with him for the rest of his life."
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"I am just saying," he said with a shrug.
We continued on at an unhurried pace, speaking idly as the gardens opened wider around us. I told him stories of my childhood, games I once played with Sona and Seekvaira, the places I used to hide when I wanted to escape the adults, and the rare creatures I once swore were my companions.
To my quiet delight, he listened without interruption, asking a question here or there but otherwise letting me unspool my memories freely.
"Hmm, I am so cold," I said after a while, glancing at him expectantly.
"Then you should have brought a jacket," he said dryly.
The nerve of this man.
"And they say chivalry isn't dead," I muttered, rolling my eyes.
"Chivalry isn't dead," he answered smoothly, his lips curving in the faintest smile. "It's merely grown selective, and you, I fear, are a repeat offender."
"Was that supposed to be something clever? I assure you it's not," I said, trying not to lose myself in his smile.
"You wish, besides it's not like devils are bothered by cold," he said with amusement.
"It's the thought that counts!" I shouted, annoyed.
"Throwing logic straight out the window, I see," he said, rolling his eyes. "How was I supposed to know you wanted my jacket? You only said you were cold, not that you wanted it."
"It was implied," I said dryly.
"Oh yeah? In what language?" he said with a grin that was far too pleased with itself.
"In the language of subtlety, something you evidently don't understand," I said in deadpan.
He just stuck his tongue out at me. Very mature.
Oh, what I would let that tongue and those lips do to me. Bad Rias, don't think like that. It is already difficult enough to stay calm when he is looking all hot like that. I don't need to picture him naked to make it worse.
"By the way, I wanted to thank you for speaking with Akeno," I said sincerely, forcing my thoughts back to safer ground.
"No problem. I was surprised to find out that she was a nephilim," he said casually.
"Yes. I think it's extraordinary, but she has always been insecure about it," I said, thinking of my queen and closest friend. "I tried to tell her countless times, but she could never truly believe me."
"Probably due to the fact that you two practically grew up together," said Haruki, his tone grave. "It is one of the tragedies of people. They never believe when their loved ones tell them that they are amazing. Their mistake was being ashamed of what they were; lying about it, trying to be somebody else."
"Which is a shame, because Akeno is lovely. I mean it when I say that she is amazing," I said, a bit sad that I could never reach my queen for the depth of self-loathing she is so determined to drown herself in.
"It is an absolute human certainty that almost no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring person," he said, his voice heavy with melancholy that went straight through me.
I wonder, Haruki, when you will tell me all that troubles you. I will wait, eager to share your burden.
"But I think that talking with you gave her some measure of closure," I said, remembering how Akeno came to me afterward, laughing and light-hearted in a way that was entirely genuine. We laughed until our stomachs hurt. She embraced me, and I understood then that she had won against her demons.
"I am glad it was helpful," he said. "Though I merely told her that you guys were always there for her. So it speaks more to your effort and support that she easily took my words to heart."
How can you be so beautiful, oh Haruki.
I hugged him suddenly, fiercely, whether to hide my tears or to feel his scent, I could not say. I felt happy, so simply happy, that someone acknowledged my efforts without hesitation.
"That means a lot to me," I mumbled against his chest.
Haruki for his part just hugged me back and stroked my hair gently.
We walked through the garden, with Haruki asking questions about the various plants and animals found with his usual intensity. Although I was only able to answer some of his questions, on others he made his own observation, appraising the various plants that could be used as ingredients for some potion or another.
It is like he grew up a devil his entire life and I was the new devil. He is just that knowledgeable on all topics.
"I know I have said this multiple times already," I said with amazement. "You truly are a wonder. Tell me, how were you able to create that green gem?"
The green gem had taken the hall by storm. It had enchanted even the most cold hearted with its beauty. Just seeing it delights me.
"Alchemy," he said. "I transformed glass into that green gem and infused light into it. Though easier said than done. I put countless hours into creating it."
"Alchemy?" I said in wonder. "The art is extremely difficult and you already managed to create something like that in such a short time?"
"Yeah, I am awesome like that," he said with that cocky grin of his that made my heart skip a beat.
"And so humble too," I said teasingly. Humility is not one of his virtues.
"There is nothing more condescending than false humility," said the man notorious for his condescension. "I prefer the blunt truth than a lie meant to comfort."
"Well that explains it," I said, feigning realization.
"Explains what?" he asked curiously.
"Why you have no friends at all," I said smugly.
"You break my heart," he said flatly. "I thought we were friends."
"You know exactly what I meant," I said in indignation.
He laughed then, and it was as beautiful as an autumn breath.
I noticed he stopped walking after a while, his gaze fixed upon the celestial body suspended in the heavens. I followed his eyes and saw the false moon, gleaming pale against the violet sky of the Underworld. Its light was softer than silver, its presence almost mournful, as though it were a reflection that longed to be the original.
"It's beautiful. Isn't it?" I said, unable to keep the admiration from my voice.
"I've seen better," he said with a deadpan tone, eyes never leaving the light above.
A small ache stirred within me, though I tried to hide it. "I suppose for someone born under the true moon of Earth, this would be a pale imitation of something more beautiful," I said.
The words felt heavier than I intended. This was the only moon I had ever known until I visited the human world. I too had been overwhelmed when I first saw the true sky of Earth, and yet… I preferred this one. My brother and so many others had labored to create it. Perhaps it lacked the majesty of Earth's celestial body, but it carried a sense of home, of continuity, of history. I loved it because it was ours.
"Yes," he said at last, contemplative. "This place is like a twisted mirror of Earth."
I did not know if he meant it literally or spoke of our society itself. His certainty, spoken so casually, wounded me in a way I could not name. As if with those few words he had dismissed the entire history of my people. And, by extension, dismissed me.
How cruel you are, Haruki. Cruel in ways you do not even realize.
"Well spoken, my lord," said a voice suddenly, startling me from my thoughts.
I turned and saw before me a man with curling horns, Lord Meron of House Naberius.
His presence at the celebration of my nephew's birthday had already been a surprise. He belonged to the conservative faction that despised the current state of the underworld, and few were more outspoken than he. Lord Meron was infamous for calling the new age of devils a perversion of our race.
He bowed low to Haruki, the gesture one of subservience rather than courtesy.
"I hear your words, my lord," said Lord Meron, his voice a rasp of reverence. "And they strike deep. A twisted mirror, you said? Aye. A reflection warped by cowardice, not will. Well spoken indeed."
Haruki glanced at him, subtle in expression, unreadable as ever. "You give weight to what was idle musing. I spoke no judgement."
"Yet judgement was born of it," said Meron softly. "Even an idle flame can cast a shadow. You look upon the sky and name it false, and in doing so, name truth by absence. The eye that sees rot beneath gold sees more than any priest."
Haruki's gaze drifted upward again, to the pale imitation of a moon hung in the violet firmament. "It is a curious light," he said. "Not cold, not warm. It remembers what it should be, but not what it is."
Lord Meron's eyes gleamed with fervor. "Aye. Like the world beneath it."
There was reverence in his voice, and something else. Hunger, perhaps, or hope's darker twin.
"I did not mean to preach," Haruki said.
"Preaching is for priests," Meron replied. "I speak only of steps and music. You see the place for what it is, stripped of all pretense — a fevered dream, bereft of purpose or meaning. The dance falters, my lord. The floor stands waiting, yet none will take it."
Haruki's brow arched. "A dance, you say?"
"Once," said Lord Meron, voice growing almost lyrical. "we all knew the rhythm. The ground trembled beneath our tread; the heavens marked the measure. We moved in fire and blood, and the world turned to our song. But now–" He gestured toward the hall where the revelers laughed beneath chandeliers of glass. "Now they sway to hollow notes. They call their stumbling grace. They mistake stillness for peace, silence for wisdom. Yet listen close, beneath the laughter, you can hear it. The old beat. Faint, but faithful."
I stared at him, unsettled. He sounded like a madman, rambling about some hidden rhythm only he could hear. What did he mean, bereft of purpose? What kind of dance speaks through blood and bone?
Haruki's tone remained calm. "If the music has faded, perhaps it is meant to."
Lord Meron's gaze did not waver. "The earth remembers. The blood remembers. Music such as that does not die. It sleeps. And dreams. It dreams of one who will wake it."
I did not understand what he meant, yet I felt sudden goosebumps rise across my arms. Fear gripped my heart like an unseen hand.
"And if such a dancer appeared?" Haruki asked.
Meron's voice lowered. "He would not appear. He would return. The floor awaits him as the dawn awaits the sun. All else is rehearsal."
"You speak as though the steps are fated."
Meron smiled thinly, sorrowfully. "Fate? No. The dance needs no name. It moves as it must. The wise learn its measure, and the foolish fall beneath it."
Haruki regarded him with faint amusement. "Then I fear you mistake me for a prophet. I'm only a traveler, and this world–" he gestured to the violet sky"--merely another stop along the road."
"And yet," Meron said softly, "even a traveler may find himself walking paths carved before his birth."
I frowned at that. There was something in the way Lord Meron looked at Haruki; a dangerous reverence, a trembling faith that unsettled me to my core.
"You speak in riddles, Lord Meron," Haruki said.
"Riddles are the armor of truth," the old devil replied. "Our people have clothed themselves in lies. They build suns that do not burn, moons that do not wax nor wane. Yet beneath their marble towers, their blood remembers. It cries for the sky that burned and the ground that shook with the tread of conquerors."
"You mourn the past, then," Haruki said.
"I mourn the truth," Meron answered. "The past does not lie quiet. We were not born to bow. We were born to blaze. Devils once carved dominion in the bones of stars, yet now we craft treaties in their dust. Its rhythm beats in stone and bone alike. Every battle, every oath, each death, all steps in the same measure. The dance was never still. Only our ears have grown dull."
"You would waken it?" said Haruki, and there was curiosity in his voice, curiosity that frightened me, for it sounded too much like temptation.
Lord Meron looked upon him with eyes alight like coals beneath ash. "I would serve it. As I once did. As I always shall. For there will always come a true dancer."
I shivered. For all his calm, there was madness in him, the kind that bends knees before altars no longer standing.
Haruki returned his gaze upon the false moon. "And what if the one you wait for danced to a different song?"
Meron's head inclined. "A flame may flicker, my lord, but it cannot change its nature. The old rhythm runs beneath all things. Even silence hums its note."
"Then perhaps," said Haruki, "you and I are both waiting for the same beat."
The words pained me, though I did not know why. It felt like I was losing him, here and now, to something I could not reach.
Meron's breath caught a hitch, a sound halfway between awe and fear. "Then breathe, my lord," he whispered. "Breathe, and the embers shall follow."
He drew closer, lowering his voice though his words became even more fevered. "You have seen it, have you not? The discord? The false floor beneath our feet? You feel it shifting, hollow, hungry for truth. This world mimics life, but its pulse is wrong. Tell me you have heard it, the drum behind the hills."
Haruki's smile was small, knowing. "Perhaps. But the dance you speak of is cruel."
"Cruel?" Lord Meron sounded aggrieved. "No. Merely just. Each must pay his measure. Some with silence. Some with blood. The floor takes all in time."
Haruki turned to face him fully now, his expression unreadable.
"If I am to dance," he said at last, setting it down like a quiet promise, "then only to music of my own devise."
Meron's lips parted, his voice trembling in twisted admiration. "Ah. You speak as He once did."
I stiffened at that. "He?"
"Forgive an old man his fancies," Lord Meron said smoothly. "I hear echoes in the words of the wise. And when I hear the echo of the First Voice, I remember that even in silence, some truths endure."
"I do not hear the music you speak of," said Haruki, his tone flat, disinterested.
Lord Meron bowed low, trembling with fervor. "Yet. It shall find you, my lord. When the moon waxes red, you shall hear it; the old rhythm, calling from the deep."
He stepped back, eyes burning. "Drink deep. The night is long, and the floor awaits."
Then he was gone, leaving behind the scent of iron and smoke, and a silence that pressed against my heart.
Haruki stood there still, gaze upon the false moon. His face seemed distant, carved from stillness itself.
"What did he mean?" I asked softly, afraid of the answer.
He smiled, a quiet, distant thing, as if he had found a new toy he could play with. "Only that devils have curious tastes in music."
His voice was calm, but I could feel the echo of something else within it, a note of longing, or perhaps of dread. And I, foolish as I am, wished I could be the song he would choose to dance to.
AN: The glazing and simping is off the charts.