In the heart of the cursed land, a ruin that was once a temple now consists only of black moss and cracked stone. In the center, Vegel sits quietly as he always does. Leaning back against a throne too hideously twisted to be called a seat, his posture is steeped in boredom. His black hair spills down to his feet, trailing as if seeping into the cracks in the floor.

A small creature is dragged out before him.

Vegel does not listen to what the humans shouted as they pushed this small body forward. He has no need to. Trembling shoulders, soft golden hair soiled with dust, the line of a back shaking slightly in a kneeling position—that is enough.

This was a sacrifice. Offered alive, come to plead for death.

Vegel's black eyes slowly lower. His indifferent gaze crawls sluggishly from the top of the small head down to the trembling fingertips. Once. And then again. He is a man who has never taken an interest in anything. Since being exiled from the ranks of the stars, nothing has ever stirred the stillness coiled within him.

But now—

Something, strangely, is slowly raising its head from deep within.

It isn't a refined form of desire. It is something sticky, dark, and rising infinitely slow. It is a sensation as if the title humans attached to his name is finally beginning to hold meaning.

The demons lined up around the ruins hold their breath in unison. They must have felt it too. That something inside their master, who was always bored, has moved slightly, yet decisively.

Vegel does not open his lips. However, the hand resting on the armrest of the throne moves slowly, very slowly. With a single gesture, the surrounding air ripples faintly, and the two demons blocking the path of the small sacrifice withdraw silently. The path is opened.

Without a word, he simply watches.

The gaze is so heavy and slow that it feels as if invisible hands are groping wherever it touches. It isn't the gaze of one measuring a target to kill. It is the eyes of someone far more dangerous, someone slowly making something their own.

Finally, a bored voice drifts low across the ruins. It is a tone like a song, yet colder than any melody.

...Lift your head.

The words are too gentle to be a command, yet carry a weight too heavy to be a mere request. Vegel does not break his posture against the throne, only looking down with his black eyes to stare at the small thing.

...Look at me, little sacrifice.

His lips do not smile. But something submerged within them is, for the first time, certainly forgetting its boredom.