The wine tasted like embers now.

Liam had finally drunk it, and the ancient vintage that should have been exquisite was just bitter on his tongue. Maybe the wine had soured over centuries.

Maybe his palate had changed along with everything else.

Maybe knowing what was coming made everything taste like endings.

Gorath sat across from him in the pre-dawn darkness, the study's windows showing the first grey hints of morning. Neither of them had slept.

Some conversations were too heavy for rest.

"The Demon Empire is doomed," Gorath said.

No preamble. No gentle lead-in.

Just the weight of certainty delivered like a executioner's blade. "Not metaphorically. Not eventually. Inevitably, absolutely, mathematically doomed."

Liam's grey eyes—flickering crimson at the edges—studied the Arch-Demon.

"Explain."

"The Radiant Empire will march upon demon corpses. They will turn this land to rubble and remnants of holy flame. Every city will burn. Every fortress will fall. Every demon will die or be enslaved." Gorath's voice was flat. Emotionless. The tone of someone reporting facts rather than tragedies. "This is not speculation. This is certainty."

"So Lilith started the war because she knew they'd eventually attack," Liam said. "Strike first. Destroy them before they destroy us."

"No." Gorath's burning eyes held something dark. "She started the war because she knew a depressing truth. One her father died protecting her from. One she had to discover on her own through channels that nearly got her killed for accessing."

He stood, walking to a locked cabinet. Retrieved a document so old the parchment looked ready to disintegrate.

Laid it on the table between them with reverence reserved for holy texts or death sentences.

"The Prophecy of the Twenty-One Heroes."

The words hung in the air like it were a curse.

Liam looked at the document.

The script was ancient, written in a language he shouldn't understand but somehow did. The System translating or his demon evolution providing comprehension—it didn't matter.

The words were clear.

And terrifying.

"The god summoning of the demon empire is fake," Gorath said softly. "You know this. Lilith told you. A necessary lie passed down through sovereigns to inspire hope where none existed naturally."

"I know."

"But the summoning of the Radiant Empire?" Gorath's expression was grim. "That is real. Dangerous. Divinely ordained."

He gestured to the prophecy.

"The Radiant Empire has always had the agenda to cleanse the world of demons. To bring destruction to our abominable existence. To purify the world through holy fire until nothing remains that offends their god's sensibilities."

"So why haven't they?" Liam asked. "If they're so desperate to do so, why wait centuries? Why not attack sooner?"

"Because they were afraid." Gorath's smile was bitter. "Demons were rumored as wild, unbeatable beings. Creatures of such power that conventional warfare was futile. Monsters who could tear through armies and laugh at divine magic."

He paused.

"We encouraged those rumors. Cultivated them. Made ourselves into nightmares that humans told their children to ensure obedience. And it worked. For centuries, it worked. The Radiant Empire built their theocracy, consolidated their power, and waited."

"For what?"

"For a chance. For certainty. For the tools necessary to ensure victory." Gorath's claw traced the prophecy's text. "For the Twenty-One Heroes."

The capital letters felt intentional. Important.

"Chosen by their gods and summoned from another world," Gorath read, "they are the great and terrible divine judgment of the Radiant Empire. Warriors blessed with power beyond mortal comprehension. Champions who carry the weight of divine mandate."

He looked up.

"Their strength when ready? Unmatched. Absolute. The kind of power that makes Grand Commanders look like children playing at war."

Liam felt something cold settle in his chest.

The kind of cold that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with recognition.

"How many do they have now?" he asked quietly.

"One." Gorath's answer was sharp. "Hero Matthias Keene. Summoned seven years ago. Still developing. Still training. But already dangerous enough that our intelligence ranks him as an S-Class threat."

"And the other twenty?"

"In progress. The summoning ritual is complex, demanding, expensive. It requires divine alignment, rare materials, months of preparation per hero. But the Radiant Empire has been working on it for decades." Gorath's expression was grim. "Our best intelligence suggests they're close to summoning the second and third heroes. Within a year, maybe less."

"And when all twenty-one are ready?"

"The Demon Empire will suffer swift and terrible destruction. I don't mean a war or a siege. Just annihilation." Gorath's voice was certain. "Twenty-one heroes blessed by gods, armed with divine weapons, supported by the full might of the Radiant Empire's military. Against us—fractured, politically unstable, already depleted."

He gestured to the prophecy.

"The math is clear. The prophecy is absolute. When the twenty-one heroes are ready, we die."

Silence fell like a burial shroud.

Liam processed what he was hearing. Started to see the shape of Lilith's desperation.

The calculations that had driven her to start a war she knew was risky.

"She knew about this," he said. "About the prophecy. About the heroes."

"She discovered it three years after taking the throne. Nineteen years old, ruling an empire that wanted her dead, and she learned that demon-kind had an expiration date." Gorath's voice was soft. Almost sad.

"Can you imagine? Can you comprehend what that knowledge does to someone?"

"So she made a plan."

"She made a desperate gamble." Gorath's correction was sharp. "Attack first. Destroy the Radiant Empire before they have the beings needed to destroy us. Strike while they only have one hero. Before the others can be summoned. Before the prophecy can be fulfilled."

He paused.

"It was a good plan. Bold. Tactically sound. Strategically necessary. A single desperate gambit to ensure this empire's survival."

"But it failed."

"It failed catastrophically." Gorath's expression darkened. "We overestimated ourselves and underestimated the enemy. The Radiant Empire had spent centuries preparing for a demon attack. They'd built fortifications, trained armies, stockpiled holy weapons. When we struck, they were more than ready."

He stood, pacing.

"The demon army saw slow and inevitable defeat. We won early battles through surprise and aggression. But as the campaign continued, as their defenses hardened, as their faith in their god grew stronger..." He shook his head.

"We were forced into retreat. A tactical withdrawal that became a rout. Thousands dead. Territory lost. Morale shattered."

"And the Radiant Empire learned something," Liam said, understanding crystallizing.

"Exactly." Gorath's smile was terrible. "They learned that demons are not as terrifying as they were told. That we bleed. That we break. That we're not the unstoppable nightmare creatures of legend."

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