Erza and Fiona sat on the weathered bench outside the apartment building, the evening having surrendered fully to night.
The streetlights cast pools of orange light across the sidewalk, and the stars above, faint, scattered, indifferent, began their slow march across the sky.
Erza had made her decision.
The demonic era would end.
The killing would begin. But her mind, cold and calculating, had already moved beyond the battle to its aftermath. After the demon king died, when he died, she would need money. Wealth. Resources to build Yuuta the life he deserved.
A house.
Security.
A future where he never counted coins, never worried about rent, never looked at a bill with fear in his eyes.
Fiona, however, was still catching up.
She had just secured the most powerful ally she could have imagined, though ally was not quite the right word.
