While researching humans on Earth, I noticed that humans too have suffered many of what us inhabitants of Khevreg have and will over the course of this tale. Humans, too, it seems, once had kingdoms hold predominant power across their own planet. These kingdoms then chased after power, status and land indefatigably.

They clashed over land so barren not even cockroaches would find charming. They reshaped many landscapes of such a type, builded civilization from scratch and scrapped each and every last one because it was not enough.

They created monopolies and burnt them down until not even ashes remained. They created armies the heavens would tremble beneath, then used those men for issues so minutiae all the soldiers had grandchildren before a single dispute could be resolved.

Oddly enough, Khevreg had undergone similar woes before the establishment of neither the Demonian Calendar nor Commonspeak. In our case, however, it was a single kingdom that held power. 

History shall reveal itself as the tale progresses. It is a tale as old as time itself, for the history of Khevreg is centered around those who believe age and aeon are interchangeable.

The little rascals humans are, there is one thing truly astonishing about them. These creatures, despite not even existing in myth or ancient tales of Khevreg, suffered everything we have, and more, yet surpassed it all despite possessing not an iota of Essence.

These vermin who likewise have not heard of us not even once in their lives have outperformed us in every possible way. 

They knew first and foremost was to recognise the problems, to put pen to paper. But they were wise enough to acknowledge not everyone can fight with a quill, for it is a tougher task than fighting an offensive war uphill. 

United, they grouped, rejoiced, allied, and supported one another. Revolting, resisting, and rebelling, they climbed each other’s dead bodies to ascend one step and one generation at a time.

Somehow, some way, they managed to progress little by little, and over centuries, they progressed so far they themselves could not fathom what enigmatic technology they called their creation.

At last, it all came crumbling down. They suffered two consecutive wars that both revolutionise their creation and distinguished their creations from anything that came before.

But no matter the cost, they had done it. They were much, much more free than they ever were under the tyranny of monarchs, under the reign of lords and barons they could not even read the name of and armies they did not know existed.

Khevreg, too, was on the brink of experiencing this angst in preposterous quantities. As for the two princes, they had already suffered anguish. 

So much so that they no longer were princes, but two Demons of loyal blood who were banished by their kin. Their loyalty now barely meant anything.

Just like the ones humans banished.

For this reason, from this point onward, the two princes shall be addressed by name, for their titles no longer hold any relevance.

That will be all.

For the entire day, the two brothers walked east of the capital. They walked at an almost leisurely pace, for the both of them knew the long journey they had ahead of them. 

They had not conversed once since they left Hjelmstad in a jiffy. Their minds were hazy. Their nostomania ate them from the inside like a rat chewing on cardboard to escape a cage of cardboard.

They sought shelter from the gelid nature of Suverän in a small cave. The frigid weather outside was so out of control it overwhelmed the fire they started in the cave. 

They vied to find a solution faster than each other. Then, Johnathan came up with the sublime idea of spending the night inside of the artificial realm. There was no blizzard to freeze them to death whilst they slept, and the temperature was principally lukewarm. There was no wind or kindred phenomena to extinguish their fire, either; which, it would have coincidentally allowed them freedom with what they could wear.

Johnathan did not object to the idea, but he pointed out they do not have enough resources to block the entrance, not to mention the cave was not big enough to venture deeper to seek shelter. Although the cave was not tremendous, physically obstructing the entrance in a manner not even the wind could pierce through was no mundane task, either.

They stacked all the wood they collected along the way on top of each other, including the partially charred logs the wind had extinguished minutes prior. They fixed it together with everything they had, including spare clothes, gauges, and their bags themselves to cover each cubic meter of air.

Thereafter, they wrapped Johnathan’s body in blankets and Jimothan’s coat. This, however, was a flawed strategy, for the artificial realm spell Johnathan was attempting to cast required a remote area completely isolated from the outside. The walls they crafted with their lack of craftsmanship were not firm enough to meet the criteria of the spell.

Their first attempt at casting the spell failed, whence Johnathan tried surrounding the cave with a weak barrier spell. Johnathan then cast the artificial realm for the umpteenth time.

Ey Lytiotypoe, şaşke fî-i misfekat eyle!

The Demonian counterpart of the incantation of the spell of Ghostly origin echoed with Johnathan’s fervour. When they opened their eyes, the white they could make out in the dim moonlight was not the infinitely vast cream-coloured barrenness but snow here and there, at least those were the only ones they could see with whatever moonlight that could pass through the cracks.

With disappointment, they collected the material used for the makeshift weir. Johnathan modified the barrier around the cave to prevent all matter with physical mass from phasing through.

At the expense of Johnathan constantly squandering Essence to keep the barrier up, they successfully kept the wind away, the only difference being it was not as sustainable.

Johnathan grumbled and complained of still lacking Essence because he had burnt a major amount of Essence in his body healing when his heart was pierced with a spear. He yapped and mithered, ordering Jimothan to make haste and do what he needed to with the fire.

They quarreled and altercated. Henceforth, Jimothan suggested they still have rations they were given while leaving the palace. They did not need to cook, so they used the fire to heat their clothes to keep themselves warm during the night if Johnathan had to lower the barrier, which seemed likely.

They hung their clothes to a stick above the fire, waiting for their sweat to evaporate so at least it won’t be as uncomfortable the following day, or so the clothes would keep them warm for long enough to sleep until the morning without risking frostbite or hypothermia.

About ⅓ of an hour later, Johnathan fainted from exhaustion both because of their itinerary and because of having to sustain the barrier for so long. 

Jimothan scooted closer to Johnathan’s unconscious body. He put two fingers on his right arm. He moved his fingers around Johnathan’s arm, trying to measure his pulse.

He could have sworn he had seen the physician do something similar, but he couldn’t quite recall. He, however, was not going to give up because he wanted to ‘sound cool.’

With a determined expression that almost made him seem like he knows what he’s doing, he started tracing his hand along Johnathan’s other arm from top to bottom. At some point, from sheer desperation, he tried his elbow, which yielded no progress.

He grasped his hand coolly and shook it firmly. Then, for some peculiar reason, he started punching his hand, trying to recreate the patellar reflex. Yes, he had not received extensive education regarding physiology as a prince, and yet it is truly strange that he did not know the patellar reflex is a more technical name of the knee-jerk reflex. Even for a Demon with a small vocabulary, his idea of creating a reaction in the knee via the hand is quite perplexing. Even if one intends to send tons of impulses repeatedly through the neurons in the hand, the patellar reflex is called the knee-jerk reflex for a reason, has it not?

Alas, Jimothan’s unhinged tomfoolery was somehow effective in determining he had not died. Johnathan rolled around in his sleep. He had fallen to the ground with his face towards the dull ceiling of the cave. He then faced his back towards Jimothan and the fire that was extinguished by then because the barrier disintegrated along with Johnathan getting knocked out.

Jimothan’s face was unpleasantly shouting vehement execration. The very idea of having to save his little brother, or the brat, as he liked to call him, was enough to tie his intestines into a knot. To think the torture he had to endure because of him all came down to this. Had he become his servant? Or somehow dependent on him? 

A question of deterministic nature sparked in his head. Had he been a puppet master before he, too, vanished? The disintegration upon death was a trait he used to possess, too. What if…

A thought sparked in his head. What had he been worrying about? Johnathan would have disintegrated by now if he had died. Did he really need the confirmation?

No smell of dust, no particles coming out of his body. He was alive and kicking! He was probably just exhausted.

He roughly put a blanket over him as he kept repeating to himself how his strings are not wrapped around anyone’s limbs and he is actually helping him because he is beneficial to him. Yes, his brother was just a pawn. He was not attached to him or anything. Why would he?

He tucked his feet inside of the blanket to shield it from the snow periodically being blown into the cave. He wrapped Johnathan to the blanket to make sure in his own way that he can’t somehow push the blanket away.

He could have tucked a few clothes underneath his head to make it more comfortable, but he chose not to. If he fell and his head was fine, he could live with a minor inconvenience arising from sleeping on the rock-hard floor. He had provided enough succour for the day.

He remained taut for long. He couldn’t understand if his body was foreboding the comeback of his delirious nightmares, the delirium that haunts him or he was simply paranoid.

It could have been the Eye of the Empress; recent experiences could serve as proof that the Empress took a liking to prying on her children just for the sake of surveillance. 

He looked up. He couldn’t see anything. No fluctuation of Essence in the vicinity, either.

That was bizarre. He could have sworn someone was watching them…