"You're actually Winter, aren't you?" Weeping Phantom asked, her voice low as she watched the man across from her poke at a campfire with a stick, shifting one of the fish he was cooking among the glowing embers.
"I am," he replied without looking up. "It's not like I really try to hide that fact."
They were well out of the jungle now, the dense trees and humidity replaced by the wide, open plains of central Aetheria. It hadn't taken them long to get out of the wilderness—especially when one actually knew where they were going, rather than wandering aimlessly through vines and undergrowth. The air here was cooler, calmer. The kind of quiet that felt like the world itself was holding its breath.
Weeping Phantom exhaled slowly and rubbed her upper arm, still sore from the bindings he had so graciously removed. At least for now, she wasn't being dragged along like some cursed compass.
"No wonder we lost," she muttered, her eyes distant. "We never stood a chance against the person who beat Lord Ercale."
Winter gave a small cough, casual and light. "Yup, you really didn't. I mean, he was the strongest Demon Lord to ever exist. How could anyone else ever compare?" he said, quick and flat, ending in a shrug that almost looked bored.
Weeping Phantom narrowed her violet eyes, the firelight catching in them as they sharpened. "Lord Ercale was the strongest Demon Lord of his time," she said coolly. "Not 'to ever exist.' He took the place from someone else, just like another has taken it now."
Winter raised an eyebrow, deadpan. "Wow. You sure got chatty considering your current situation, princess."
Her eye twitched. "Why do you keep calling me that?" she snapped, irritation bleeding into her tone.
"Well, you're the Demon Lord's daughter, so," he said with a shrug, still not looking at her, "I feel like it fits."
There was a pause. Then his voice turned mildly curious.
"Who's your mom or dad, by the way?"
"Father," she hissed without hesitation. "Father was the Demon Lord. And it doesn't matter. He's dead now," she muttered, her gaze dropping to the fire.
Winter's voice lost some of its sharpness. "And how exactly did he die?"
She stared into the flames as if she could burn the memory out of existence. "...Killed by his own ambition. When he came to this world to try and conquer it." Her eyes narrowed. "Now stop asking about him."
"Alright, alright. Calm down, princess," Winter said, holding up a hand in mock surrender. He stabbed one of the fish with his stick, lifted it out of the coals, checked the char, then handed it over to her.
She took it without a word. Hunger didn't care about pride.
"So," he said, watching her, "how old are you?"
She paused just before biting down, glaring up at him. "...Why are you asking that?" she asked, eyes narrowing. Then, her voice hardened as she answered, "I'm older than those elf kids you did horrible stuff to. I'm two hundred twenty-two years old."
Winter let out a sudden, barking laugh. "Wow! You're totally a kid!"
Weeping Phantom twitched, a visible vein pulsing at her temple. "A kid? A kid!?"
She jerked toward him, fish clenched tightly in her hand like she was about to hurl it straight into his smug face. "Alright then! How old are you to be calling me a kid, huh!? You've only been alive for what, a little over five hundred years!? That makes you Fifth Generation—just like me! We're from the same generation!"
Her voice cracked with frustration as Winter calmly chewed on a piece of his fish, unfazed.
"That might be true," he said after swallowing, "but I'm still five hundred and thirty-three years old. Which means I'm way older than you."
He wagged a finger at her like a teacher scolding a misbehaving student, then used another stick to jab at the next fish, pulling it out and taking a bite. "Now eat, princess. And don't yell too much—you're supposed to respect your elders."
He smirked.
Weeping Phantom growled under her breath, her fingers tightening around the cooked fish. *Just you wait,* she thought bitterly, sinking her teeth into the meat, *When the Demon King and all the Demon Lords invade this pathetic world… you'll be the first to die. Your whole world will burn to ash, and I'll be laughing over your damn corpse.*
Winter looked over at her.
"Stop looking like you're cooking up some evil plot," he said flatly. "You wear your emotions all over your face."
Weeping Phantom froze, blinking once—then realized she'd been grinning. Widely. Manically.
She scowled and turned away. "Just shut up," she muttered, pulling her knees up as she tried to eat in peace.