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

Chapter 174: A Walk Through Lilyshade

Isaac awoke in silence.

The guest chamber was unlike anything in the mortal world—walls of soft pearlstone pulsing faintly with warmth, veils of starlight dancing through the open windows. The sheets beneath him weren't made of fabric, but of some living, reactive weave that shifted with temperature and breath. He sat up slowly, eyes adjusting not to darkness—but to dreamlight.

The realm hadn't fed on his dreams.

It had held them—watched quietly, like a hand cupped around a flame.

He rose and dressed.

Outside the door, Asmodeus was waiting—not in regal finery, but in a flowing tunic and fitted trousers of white and soft lavender, hair loosely braided over one shoulder, her expression relaxed and open.

"Sleep well?" she asked gently.

"I did," Isaac said, surprised that he meant it.

"Come," she said, offering no further explanation. "Let me show you the rest."

—

They walked side by side through Lilyshade Vale, crossing gentle slopes and starlit boulevards that curved like rivers of silk. Isaac noticed the air changed wherever they went—adjusting subtly to his emotional state. It was never overwhelming—just attentive, present.

The first stop was a school—a luminous crescent-shaped structure nestled into a quiet garden.

Children laughed inside. Not all were succubi. Some were incubi, a few mortal-blooded. A teacher waved toward Asmodeus through the glass and gave her a bright smile.

"They learn more than magic here," Asmodeus said as they passed. "They learn restraint. Respect. Empathy. No one is born good—but everyone can learn how to be."

Isaac looked at her sidelong. "You only allow good people here?"

"I only allow those with good in them," she said gently. "Or those who want to change. I don't care what they were—I care what they're becoming."

He stared ahead.

Even the air here felt cleaner than most divine realms.

—

Next came the market square—a broad plaza lined with cloth tents, shaded bridges, and floating food stalls. Colors danced like living flame between awnings. Succubi and incubi sold wares beside neutral Abyssal merchants, and even a few masked celestials moved through the crowd under concealment runes.

Asmodeus nodded at several. They bowed in return—not out of fear, but recognition.

Isaac blinked. "They… don't seem afraid of you."

"They're not," she said. "This place is built on sanctuary. Everyone here has been tested. They're not here because they escaped judgment. They're here because they faced it… and chose to walk another path."

One merchant—a round-bellied incubi with gold-rimmed glasses—hurried up to hand her a bundle of wrapped figs.

"For the queen," he beamed. "And her strange guest."

Isaac accepted the gift with a quiet thanks.

—

They passed into a sanctuary courtyard, where quiet souls knelt beside still pools of dreamwater. Some wore tattered robes. Others bore sigils of broken cults—Isaac recognized one spiral mark, long since slashed and healed over with ritual scarring.

Former cultists.

Former servants of other demons.

But not murderers seeking escape.

These were the broken who wished to rebuild.

Now they painted. Or wrote. Or sat in silence, healing.

"You vet them?" Isaac asked.

"I see them as they are," Asmodeus replied. "Not just their past sins—but their future choices. Those who only seek safety without remorse… don't make it through the veil."

—

Their final stop was a quiet garden tower at the edge of a terrace. From here, the entire city spread out beneath them—a silver-lavender dreamscape of soft domes, flowering trees, and floating lanterns.

A child came running up the stairs—a girl no older than five, with soft horns curling under her blonde hair and violet eyes full of mischief.

She didn't hesitate.

She ran to Asmodeus and threw her arms around her legs.

"Mama!"

Asmodeus bent down and lifted the girl effortlessly, holding her close. The child clung to her, giggling.

Isaac's breath caught.

"She's yours?" he asked quietly.

"No," Asmodeus replied. "She was born of a mortal and a succubus servant of mine. They died in a war far from here. She was brought to me."

"And she calls you mother."

"She doesn't know what else to call me," Asmodeus said, her voice soft. "I didn't correct her."

Isaac watched the little girl nestle against the demon queen's shoulder.

She wasn't a tyrant.

She wasn't a predator.

She was home to people who had earned the right to start again.

—

Later, they stood together at the edge of the terrace, wind brushing through the field of moonflowers beneath them.

"I've had to fight off many things in my life," Isaac said slowly. "Mad gods. False angels. Cultists. My own system."

He looked at her.

"But I never had to fight this."

"This?" she asked, tilting her head.

"This feeling," he said. "Of safety."

She smiled, but didn't answer.

Instead, she looked out over the city, her voice like dusk.

"Most who come here expect chains. Or seduction. Or lies."

She turned to him fully.

"You're the first who looked past all that."

Isaac met her eyes.

And said quietly,

"You didn't build a kingdom. You built a home."

Asmodeus's breath hitched.

Just slightly.

And for the first time since their meeting… she didn't know what to say.

So they stood in silence.

Together.

No masks. No power plays.

Just presence.