The ruins of Vernas stood in eerie silence.
Ash blanketed the ground. Wind whispered through shattered stone. And the moon cast two long shadows across the debris-filled plaza.
Serian stepped forward, sword sheathed.
From the other side, the Demon Lord approached, wrapped in his black cloak, horns hidden under a shadowy veil.
They stopped—just ten paces apart.
For a moment… neither spoke.
---
Unspoken Recognition
Serian narrowed his eyes.
There was no aura of hatred.
No murderous intent.
Only a quiet… tension.
> "You're not what I expected," Serian said.
The Demon Lord tilted his head.
> "Nor are you."
They didn't know each other.
But they knew each other.
It was like staring into a distorted mirror. Different choices. Different paths. Same core.
> "Why didn't you bring an army?"
"Why didn't you burn the city?"
Neither answered.
Because deep inside… both had the same question:
"Who are you to me?"
---
The Test
The Demon Lord summoned a blade of shadow—slowly, carefully.
Serian responded with a shield of light.
They clashed.
Once.
Twice.
No killing blows.
No true aggression.
It was a test.
A language only they understood.
Each move felt familiar.
Each block, instinctual.
Finally, the Demon Lord leapt back.
> "You fight like I dream," he muttered.
"You move like a part of me that was taken."
Serian's breath hitched.
> "What… are you?"
The Demon Lord didn't answer.
Because he didn't know either.
---
The Whisper Between Them
Then… a voice echoed inside both of their minds.
A woman's voice.
Soft. Warm. Sad.
> "Come back to me… both of you…"
Their eyes widened.
They looked at each other again—not as enemies, but as fragments.
And for one fleeting second,
They understood.
They were the same.
---
Retreat
The Demon Lord stepped back into the mist.
> "Next time, I might not hold back," he said, though his voice was shaky.
Serian didn't follow.
> "And I might not let you leave."
But neither meant it.
Because this wasn't a battlefield.
This was the first reunion.
Of souls long torn apart.
---