The Ruler's Rift

The Dark Puzzle

Destruction itself didn't bother Celeste; the ignorant populace deserved it. Boofbamia most of all, probably. She didn't spare a thought for that ancient species' run-in with the original Asqura so many ages ago. Rather, what horrified her were the parallels - the confusion. She'd nearly done the same damage to her own home world, and for what? Fleeting reasons? Fears? The agony of expectations? The inability to forgive the masses? She didn't know.

No matter how mighty the Asqura, it never should've clouded her judgment. It never should've changed her mind. The rotten cherry on top remained: she couldn't even forgive herself now. Amber would be so disappointed.

It was with this realization that Celeste hurried to find a solution. With Nova's assistance, she tore through her mother's belongings and found what she needed. Although the annoying fox begged to join Celeste, she was denied. The demon locked herself away in her magic chamber and began crafting.

She ripped fabric from the merged Divine Key and fashioned a long, thin strip from it. The black threads were already laced with bountiful magic, but Celeste added her own enchantment to it - she weaved strands of fuschia energy into the stitching, leaving silver patterns in their wake.

The queen huffed; working with an item as mighty as the merged key left her exhausted and her powers weak. With shaking hands, she lifted the long blindfold.

She'd use magic to repress magic.

Celeste brought the fabric to her face. When it drew close enough, the blindfold hopped out of her hands and latched onto her eyes. Celeste clenched her fangs and sweat while the fabric's magic stitched into her sclera like some self-inflicted parasite. It could be removed, but only by anyone other than her.

When the pain faded, Celeste slowed her breathing. Leaned over her desk, palms pressed into the dark wood, she eased herself before straightening up and draping the excess fabric around her horns. She'd enchanted the blindfold to stifle her magic - casting her spells would require more focus, which allowed the indecisive empress to think before she acted. Good or bad, she could not permit the whirlwinds of panic to choose for her.

The following days, Celeste was trapped in her throne, pen in hand. She wrote letters of condolences to the gala survivors, each with an attachment of funds. These scrolls bore the queen's handwriting in particularly deep scrawls. She signed off every letter with assurance that she would do everything in her power to investigate and prevent future attacks. However, many deities were not convinced of their safety and others questioned which world would be victim next. There had to be a way to convince them that she could stop this mysterious dragon without revealing its true identity.

Celeste found herself nearly wheezing by dusk. She had to read every letter with her sixth sense, detecting the location of each pen stroke on every page. It was probably almost dark by the time she reached the end of her schedule. And once she'd wrapped up her duties and shooed away her new, bothersome advisor, Celeste went to the highest balcony that her palace offered. It, like the rest, reeked of Lucille's design. Her blindfold didn't spare her the pain; she'd seen it many times. The palace was so beautiful that it made the empress furious.

Cold wind brushed against her face and she felt moonlight drip over her horns. The crisp scent of winter swirled into her nose all the way from the frozen ground. Quiet was the world, but her thoughts screamed. Lucy had gone, and Amber left for the great beyond. So there the demon stood, at the pinnacle of success, all alone.

"You have spent your days longing for attention," said a distorted voice from somewhere deep inside. It was her own. "For the love your mother never gave you. Now, you're the queen - you rule it all. Everyone admires you. It took everything to get here, but you did it."

Celeste lowered her head. "I feel like I've gone backwards..."

"You did it, Celeste. You won."

"I failed."

All went silent. The breeze remained.

And yet, for all of her failure, she still fought herself. Perhaps she'd be relieved to give in. Amber said she didn't care about the universe, only about Celeste. Why couldn't that be the truth? Why couldn't Celeste herself accept that same notion? It would be easy. She wouldn't even have to justify it as righteous, or pure, or any of the other nonsense that Violet had deluded herself with.

Even now, so close to the edge, so near the point of falling into that dark pit, Celeste put her head in her hands and gripped her blindfold tightly. Some tiny part of her still battled inside. Some foolish, dying, withering light flickered as she schemed.

Like a puzzle, everything could come together. Her transformation, Mystearlia's depths, all of it - every drop of horror Celeste had at her disposal fell into perfect place. A plot so wicked and unstoppable that it would reduce the universe-wide branding to a joke. There remained one last ingredient the empress needed to make it happen, should she so choose.

She returned to her quarters, then entered her bedroom. Velvety regalia trailed across the floor.

In the darkness, she approached her candle collection. There, where it had always been, the black candle awaited.