(Serian POV)
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The palace hall was quiet, but Serian couldn't ignore the weight in the air.
Whispers of fear.
Rumors.
A caravan raided. Nobles butchered.
Slaves freed by a "demon cloaked in silver and fire."
> "False hope," the priests called it.
"Terror in disguise," the king muttered.
"A demon lord," Eliane said, her voice tight.
But Serian—he wasn't sure.
He sat alone in the chapel that night, where the goddess statue once gave him comfort. But tonight… the light didn't reach him.
He felt cold.
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Kaien, his advisor, entered with slow steps.
> "You seem distant lately, Serian."
Serian didn't answer.
> "You've done nothing wrong," Kaien continued, voice warm. "You're the hero. The people adore you. Eliane trusts you."
Serian looked up. "What if I'm not enough?"
Kaien smiled kindly.
> "Then we'll shape you into enough."
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Later that evening, as Serian walked the outer courtyard, a child approached him—an orphan under the palace's care.
> "Sir Hero," the boy said, "is it true the Demon Lord freed people?"
Serian blinked. "Where did you hear that?"
> "The other kids say she burned a noble who sold children. That she gave the rest food and blankets."
Serian knelt. "She's dangerous. Don't believe lies."
> "But… is saving bad?"
The boy's question stayed with him long after the child ran off.
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That night, Serian dreamed.
Flames.
Chains breaking.
A woman in a dark cloak, holding a blade dripping with light and shadow.
But behind her… a man.
Hidden. Smiling. Watching both Hero and Demon.
He looked like Serian.
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Serian woke up in a cold sweat.
For the first time in months, he didn't feel like a Hero.
He felt like a pawn.
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