Chapter Text
The day came in perfect weather. Clear blue skies. Thin white clouds drifted lazily overhead, with not a hint of grey or rolling storm.
It was perfect. It was bright. And it was terrible.
Granat remembered the days that came before it: sleepless nights within his manor, and the weight of an ever-pressing burden dropping heavier and heavier into the pit of his stomach as he read the letter again and again and again.
A messenger. An armistice.
Proposed by none other than Lady Guillotine herself.
He had not wanted to accept it. Gods, he had not. When he first received that forsaken letter, stamped perfectly in wax, he wanted nothing more than to toss it into the fireplace and watch it burn to ashes. But instead, he had found himself propped against his worktable in the deep of night, the low lamplight flickering over old oiled paper, illuminating the words he had both dreaded and longed to read.
A treaty of peace, it said.
How much of a lie could be placed in one sentence?
For all his years of hardened fighting along the border, for all his days spent toiling under endless paperwork, he had never doubted the decisions he made for his people. For his city. But that night, moonless and freezing, doubt had sat beside him like a second shadow.
To continue the ceaseless fighting for one more day, and then another, and then another, until the city bled its last young soldiers into husks. Or to invite the monsters they had spent so long fending off directly into the heart of their lives, praying, perhaps, that demons would keep to their meaningless words.
Granat did not know which to choose. A fragile city this was. He had thought as he opened his drawer. Smaller than many. As he retrieved a blank sheet of paper from the contents and tilted his the quill to write.
Made of stones and flickering weakly. Exhausted from the endless raids and teetering by the ends of its wick.
And yet. The people's lives within it still depended on him.
Graft Granat. He had ended the letter with his name. Cursive and neat with no extra frills within it. He had hoped, weakly, that he would not regret this.
___
So here he stood. Waiting by the entrance of his manor and flanked by guards as he watched, from the far distance at the gates he promised he would never open. The iron hinges groaned against the cold morning air, the sound of it dragging through the wounded stone passage. On the walls above, stood a beeline of soldiers. None of them spoke. Their spears were lowered by his command , but they were not relaxed either.
Below them, three demons entered the city under a flag of truce. The white cloth stirred faintly in the wind, pale and mockingly frail. It would have looked clean, almost holy, if not for the hands that carried it. Granat felt a pit of dread within him unfold slowly at their flickering mirages. Small from a distance but inevitable. Alas, the feeling only occured as a brief tightening of his hands.
“My lord,” His captain beside him, Eisenhart, spoke quietly, “say the word and they will not take another step.”
Granat did not look at him.
“And after that?”
The captain fell silent.
"We've already made our decision." Granat finally spoke, the words came out graver than usual. "It is time we see through it."
And with that. He walked forth too, stepping down the staircase and onto the main road to receive the 'envoys'.
Underneath the shadowed archway, he could finally see them more clearly as both parties continued to approach. Three demons walked silently. On the left stood a young pink-haired girl in a dark, frilled dress. Softer and childish at first glance, but her purple eyes held no child’s curiosity. She looked at the city walls, the lowered spears, the soldiers watching from above, with the same empty calmness of demons alike. Small horns curved from behind her hair, almost hidden beneath the ribbons.
On the right walked a young man with dull green hair. His clothes were formal —white shirt, dark suspenders— but the courtesy sat badly on him. His shoulders carried impatience more easily than dignity. Unlike the girl, he did not bother to hide the way his eyes moved over the guards.
Granat's gaze flickered back to the middle envoy. He had learnt the latter's name purely out of functionality and not courtesy. Lügner was his name.
Among the three, he was the tallest and stood out the most. He was dressed finely enough that, from a distance, one might have mistaken him for a noble guest arriving from a distant land. Ash-blond hair fell to his shoulders, parted neatly around the horns that rose from his head and bent forward like polished hooks. He donned a long dark coat, trimmed in gold over a dark doublet, pale cravat, and a gleaming jewel that sat neatly underneath his throat, catching a small flash of daylight as he stepped beyond the arch.
The demon stopped for a moment, seemingly aware of Granat's gaze on him.
Then he smiled.
"Graf Granat." He inclined his head politely, his left hand came up over his chest as he bowed. His voice was smooth and clear. "We thank you for receiving us."
Granat looked at him for a long moment. His left eye twitched as he listened. That in which the demon noticed too. "I receive you only because you carry a truce."
The smile on his face did not disappear at his hostility.
"That I am aware." He lifted his head and put his hands on his back. "Still. The knowledge does not take the value of the action."
"Enough." Granat's voice cut through quickly. This time, he could not hide the irritation beneath it. "Your master requested for a parley."
"Yes. Lady Aura has requested for a cease to this.." Lügners eyes trailed around the citizens faintly then rested back at him. "Unnecessary bloodshed."
The words earnt a scoff from him. But he let the rest of his anger die under the soil of his boot. He could not afford to lose his composure at the state of things.
"Your lady has a strange method of asking." He turned his body, gesturing at his soldiers to do the same as they made their way back within his manor.
"I understand your distrust." Lügner continued closely behind him.
There was a moment of silence.
Then-
"No. You do not." He said without looking back.
The walk back to the House of Granat's manor was short but quiet to say the least. Granat pretended he could not feel the burning gaze of the demons behind him, and resisted the urge to shiver when they reached the gates of the residence.
Slowly, two guards walked forth and pushed the large timber doors open. Only then, did Granat finally turn back to take a better look at the demons he was about to invite into his home. The three stood within a moderate pace behind him but by now, the sun had dipped slightly and casted a shadow of their presence onto the floor.
Lügner, the demon in which he had spoken to, looked no different from whence he had arrived earlier. If there was an excitement for violence, the demon hid it remarkably well.
Instead, he only tilted his head, still wearing that infuriating smile as he narrowed those cold eyes.
"It is a pleasure to be working with you now, Graft Granat."