The world is medieval—cobblestone streets, arched bridges, fish-tail lanterns, brick buildings. Among the many nations, some occasionally adopt Japanese or Chinese aesthetics. Each kingdom employs its own court magicians, expected to serve royalty in both peacetime and war.
This is the stage of The Demon King and the Hourglass—our world.
At dawn, Eleanor wakes with the sunrise. The magic Louis shared yesterday still courses through her, undiminished. Pale orange light seeps into the dim room, coaxing open eyes the color of abyssal seas. She rises languidly, delicate wings visible through the silver veil of her hair where it parts at her shoulder blades. More elegant than a cloistered noblewoman, more alluring than a pampered cat.
Her wings stretch taut, refracting dawnlight.
The day begins.
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Outing Preparations
Today requires human guise. She dons a brown cotton dress and leather lace-up boots, wings pressed flat against her back. In the kitchen, she retrieves gnocchi dough and ingredients from Louis' enchanted icebox. Shaping the dumplings, she simmers tomatoes in their own juices, adds caramelized onions, melts cheese into the sauce. A dash of chili peppers—her secret touch.
Two meals prepared: breakfast and a lunchbox.
Plates of salad, boiled eggs, and gnocchi grace the table alongside orange juice. Eleanor ascends to rouse Lumina.
Golden hair spills across the bed like a sunlit waterfall. The once-sickly girl now embodies storybook princesshood.
"Morning," Lumina chirps, drowsiness evaporating.
"Breakfast's ready."
They eat together—Lumina devouring her favorite tomato sauce gnocchi.
"Marry me, Eleanor!"
"Focus on your food."
A paper butterfly—Louis' signature blend of wind and dark magic—flutters in. It alights on Eleanor's palm, reverting to a note: "Bring lunch. Teriyaki chicken mood."
"Teriyaki? Too late—you're getting karaage."
Lumina pouts but brightens instantly. Fried chicken trumps all.
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The Ivory Spire
Louis Styras, Chief Court Magician, leans against a pillar outside the mage tower. Eighteen, with gilded hair and moonlit eyes, his smile disarms everyone—except Eleanor.
"Late," he chides.
"Your fault for last-minute requests."
He takes the lunchbox—and her hand. Somewhere, a woman sighs tragically.
"Join me till lunch ends."
"Abusing authority again?"
"Perks of power."
The tower's hierarchy is merciless. Novices bow deeply as they pass Louis' emblem-less robe—proof he needs no sigil to command respect.
His private chambers double as lab and lounge. Shelves groan under grimoires; alchemical apparatus hums softly.
"Blatant nepotism," Eleanor mutters.
"Meritocracy," Louis corrects, unpacking bento boxes. "They'd overthrow me if I weakened."
Twenty-four trials of skill. Twenty-four victories. His reign remains unchallenged.
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Legacy
Ten years since Eleanor became his "housekeeper." The sickly girl they sheltered now blooms at an elite academy. The boy who once wept in her arms commands nations.
As sunlight gilds his profile, Eleanor sees both the prodigy and the predator—a hunter patiently awaiting his moment.
"Eat before it cools," she says.
Louis' smile deepens, a chessmaster savoring the game.