I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 182: Beside Her

The streets of Lilyshade felt different today.

Maybe it was the morning light—gentler than usual, filtered through floating silks that caught the breeze like slow-moving stars. Or maybe it was how the city itself responded when its queen stepped into its heart—not alone, but with someone beside her.

Isaac walked with Asmodeus at his side.

Not behind her.

Not as a guest.

As her equal.

As her lover.

She wore a flowing robe of violet and silver, open at the sides to catch the wind, her hair braided loosely down her back. She didn't hide her smile. She didn't hide him. Her hand rested lightly around his arm as they passed through the quiet upper paths of Lilyshade.

No guards followed.

No banners waved.

But the people noticed.

And they knew.

—

In the shaded arcades where spiritweavers gathered, conversations paused. A young dreamscribe—barely of age—froze mid-stroke on a floating script ribbon, his eyes wide.

"That's him," he whispered. "That's the one she walked the garden with…"

"Look how close they are," said another.

"No illusions. No veil."

"She's never walked like this with anyone."

A spiritweaver beside them just smiled and whispered, "Good. It's about time she stopped walking alone."

—

They reached the garden court near the central plaza, where the air shimmered with soft energy and the laughter of children echoed from a training field nearby. Incubi and succubi of all generations passed by—some bowing lightly, others simply smiling.

No one bowed in fear.

They bowed out of respect.

Not just for Asmodeus.

But for them.

A pair.

A choice.

A truth made visible.

—

Isaac and Asmodeus stopped at a vendor's stall tucked into a shady alcove. The merchant, an older incubus with eyes like warm honey and a flower behind his ear, bowed low.

"Something cool for the queen and her flame?"

Asmodeus raised a brow. "My flame?"

Isaac smirked. "Sounds poetic."

The vendor handed them each a carved crystal cup filled with chilled blossom juice. "On the house," he said. "And… thank you."

"For what?" Isaac asked.

The man glanced at Asmodeus, then back at Isaac.

"For making her smile like that."

—

They walked on, sipping slowly, stopping to talk with the occasional elder, a few children, and even a blind seer who took Isaac's hand with reverent care and whispered, "Your soul burns bright—but it does not burn her. You were made to walk with her."

Isaac didn't know what to say.

But Asmodeus gently squeezed his hand.

That was enough.

—

By the time they returned to her private terrace, the city was aglow in soft noon light.

They stood at the edge of the overlook, watching clouds drift lazily across the horizon. The breeze played with her hair, brushing it against his cheek.

"You belong here more than you realize," she said, voice quiet.

"I still don't understand why," he replied.

She turned to face him.

"Because you never demanded a place."

She stepped closer.

"You earned it… just by being."

He looked at her then—really looked.

And for a long, quiet moment, neither of them moved.

Then he leaned down.

And kissed her.

Not with hunger.

But with the peace of someone who knew he was finally home.