Jeanne pulled the heavy door open, her eyes sweeping over the seemingly ordinary servant. She didn't say a single word, deliberately leaving the mysterious visitor hanging on the threshold under her intense scrutiny.
The petite Sarkaz girl looked visibly uncomfortable under the silent pressure. Clutching a wooden platter tightly in her hands, she stood there with a timid, hesitant posture, as if she were terrified to utter a syllable without explicit permission.
Eventually, a polite smile graced Jeanne's lips. She stepped back with a slight bow, inviting the suspicious guest inside. As the maiden crossed the threshold, her eyes widened upon discovering that the room held more than just a single occupant—resting near the window was a pale patient in a wheelchair, cradling a child on her lap.
"Oh... I am so sorry!" the girl stammered, panic instantly flooding her features. "I was under the impression that only one guest occupied these quarters, so I merely prepared a single portion for midday..."
Her frantic fluster was an absolute masterclass in acting. To any casual observer, she would appear as nothing more than a clumsy, well-meaning servant. Even the Doctor failed to catch any glaring discrepancies at first glance, genuinely believing the girl was just a routine worker delivering a meal.
From her vantage point by the door, Jeanne silently studied the visitor. What was her true motive for infiltrating this sanctuary? She had clearly laid eyes on her intended targets, yet she showed no immediate inclination to strike.
"Do not fret, you may simply place it on the table over there," the Doctor replied smoothly, adopting a warm tone to put the guest at ease. She adjusted her position, shifting Fafnir onto her lap so the child faced the newcomer. "After all, you had no means of knowing how many of us were resting here. Though, I must admit, there is a curious detail I wish to ask you about..."
"Yes? Is there something you require?" the servant asked.
Her demeanor shifted instantly as she set the platter down. The nervous timidity vanished completely, replaced by an unsettling, bizarre confidence. The sudden transformation was so jarring it felt like looking at an entirely different person.
"I am simply curious as to what brings you here at an hour like this," the Doctor murmured, her sharp eyes locking onto the girl. "Should you not be inside the grand hall with Her Highness, debating the future of the Sarkaz race? And furthermore... what exactly happened to the original maid whose identity you have assumed, King of Damazti?"
Jeanne's eyebrows shot up. A Damazti! The realization sparked an immediate wave of fascination within her. This was one of the legendary, reclusive sub-races of the Sarkaz. She remembered Patriot briefly mentioning them once, describing them as eccentric shape-shifters who existed completely on the fringes, entirely out of touch with the rest of their kindred.
Jeanne had always found it a bit baffling that such a fluid lineage was classified under the Sarkaz umbrella at all. Did they share some ancient demonic ancestry, or was it merely an accident of history?
Regardless, her intense vigilance began to ease. While she knew the Damazti possessed formidable capabilities, their true dread lay in their shifting nature—their uncanny ability to alter their flesh and bone to mimic anyone perfectly. Combined with their flawless acting skills, it was virtually impossible for an ordinary warrior to pierce their disguises upon a first encounter.
And the entity standing before them was the sovereign of that race? Should the King of the Damazti not be locked in a fierce ideological battle alongside the other kings? How had she managed to slip away from the royal assembly completely unnoticed, let alone discover their exact location?
Exposed so effortlessly, the Damazti King displayed zero panic. She abandoned her imitation of a frightened palace maid, offering the Doctor and Jeanne a serene, calculating smile as she openly appraised them.
"To think our disguise would be unraveled with such spectacular ease," she murmured, her voice carrying a strange, layered resonance. "It appears our intelligence regarding your capabilities is profoundly lacking. Rushing to meet you both under these conditions was perhaps a bit reckless on our part..."
She cast a sidelong glance at Jeanne, noting the girl's balanced stance. Even at this distance, it was glaringly obvious that if she attempted a hostile maneuver, the young woman would subdue her in a heartbeat. Jeanne was maintaining a posture of absolute readiness.
Truth be told, while she could perceive that the Doctor was an extraordinary individual, Jeanne's nature felt infinitely more enigmatic and bizarre. Unfortunately, she lacked the means to pierce the Saintess's true origin.
"As for our purpose... we merely desired to see the remarkable souls who enabled Theresa to reclaim her kingdom. After all, the Monarch's insistence on keeping your identities veiled has driven the entire Royal Court mad with curiosity."
"We?" Jeanne thought, her gaze scanning the empty air around the girl. There was absolutely no one else in the room. Was this shape-shifter accompanied by an invisible phantom, or was there some spectral presence she couldn't see? She glanced at the Doctor, who looked entirely unbothered by the phrasing.
"The Damazti race operates as a collective consciousness," the Doctor explained, noticing Jeanne's bewildered expression. "The entity before us is simultaneously an individual shape-shifter and the absolute manifestation of the Damazti King. It is a complex network where every physical vessel possesses a distinct persona, yet they are all bound to a single collective will. Does that make sense?"
Jeanne nodded slowly, her mind working through the concept as she watched the visitor. A dark thought crossed her mind—Damazti were notorious for murdering their targets to steal their identities for espionage. Had this maid suffered a grim fate?
"I merely induced a deep, restful sleep in the poor child," the Changeling King interjected, easily reading the shift in Jeanne's expression. She didn't seem offended by the dark assumption; the Sarkaz race was already buried under a mountain of global prejudice, so a fraction more suspicion changed nothing. "While our kind frequently adopts the guise of the fallen to gather intelligence on the front lines, we do not resort to senseless slaughter for a simple errand like this."
"Ah, my apologies," Jeanne murmured, feeling a touch sheepish. There was no absolute law stating a shape-shifter had to commit murder just to wander through a palace, especially outside an active battlefield.
"Then tell me, why go to such extraordinary lengths just to lay eyes on two minor figures like us?" the Doctor asked, steering the conversation firmly back to the matter at hand before it dissolved into an aimless social chat.
"Minor figures? You underestimate yourselves drastically," the Damazti King chuckled, shaking her head. Her eyes remained locked onto the Doctor, her gaze heavy with scrutiny. "One of you is the supreme strategist who has sustained the Monarch through years of exile—the very brain of Babel. The other commands extraordinary, mythical predators capable of tearing down a warlord's defenses and handing a nation back to its rightful ruler. How could either of you be considered minor?"
With her true nature out in the open, the shape-shifter pulled a heavy wooden chair forward and sat down. Her eyes drifted across Jeanne, the Doctor, and finally lingered on Fafnir, studying the child with the intense curiosity one might reserve for a beautiful, unknown creature.
"We came here to verify the exact nature of your hearts. Are you dangerous schemers intent on exploiting the Sarkaz for your own ends, or are you true friends? Such a vital determination cannot be left solely to the judgment of the Demon King."
Though her lips carried a polite smile, the atmosphere left no room for doubt; this was a formal cross-examination. Jeanne and the Doctor instantly understood that the Damazti King wasn't acting purely on her own whims. She had been dispatched as an emissary for several—if not all—members of the Royal Court to evaluate these two volatile wildcards.
Because of that, she made no effort to cloak her intentions. There was no need for deception; she could afford to be thoroughly direct.
"So, the high kings elected their absolute master of stealth to conduct the inspection?" the Doctor remarked, her tone remarkably casual. Facing a legendary sovereign of the Sarkaz Court, she spoke as if she were catching up with an old acquaintance, showing zero signs of intimidation. "In that case... would you be willing to share the verdict of your evaluation?"
"I am afraid I cannot hand you the answers so easily," the Damazti King replied, rising gracefully from her seat and offering a shallow bow. "Furthermore, now that our identity has been uncovered, it is impossible for us to deliver an absolute verdict on whether you are friend or foe. Let us simply say... the impression you have left upon us is far from unpleasant."
With those parting words, the shape-shifter turned toward the door. She still intended to complete the maid's daily chores; after all, experiencing life through the eyes of an ordinary, living soul was a rare indulgence she fully intended to savor.
Meanwhile, within the grand assembly chamber, the Royal Court session had entered a temporary recess. The high kings required a window of quiet to process the volatile debates that had transpired.
As the Damazti King glided through the quiet corridor outside the hall, a towering figure wrapped in heavy, shroud-like bandages materialized from the shadows to block her path. It was the Nachzehrer King.
"You return quickly," the ancient warlord rumbled, his voice echoing with the dry rustle of dead leaves. "What is the verdict?"
"You are far too impatient, old friend," the Damazti King replied, her voice soft and airy. "Our encounter was exposed almost immediately. One cannot glean absolute truths from a compromised meeting."
The Nachzehrer King's posture stiffened beneath his tattered wraps. "Exposed?"