Nine demons made the room feel small enough, even if one was tucked away, sleeping in the corner. Adding the enormous presence of a Primordial, the large war room started feeling a bit claustrophobic. Dásos stared at the sleeping Impure with a new understanding. “So he was betrayed? You’re sure it wasn’t the other way around?”
Merihim nodded. “Uvall performed the spell to confirm it. His memories gave no sign of ill intent, and the other's actions spoke for themselves.” The tension in the room eased - slightly.
“And you’re sure the spell is reliable?” His distrust of the demon royal families kept Dásos's doubt from vanishing completely.
“If I had any indication that he might be a threat, I’d have had him executed centuries ago,” Merihim explained.
“Now,” Samael’s deep, commanding voice sounded like a lead brick hitting the ground in an empty arena. “If you are done consoling, I suggest we get started.”
Dásos's jaw clenched. In such a confined space, however, he could almost forgive Samael for being on edge. Primordials were like an irresistible drug to Reaper-Daemons. Although Samael had superior restraint over his appetite, Dásos imagined the fight for self-control was a bit intense. Eurynome, seated as far from Dásos as possible, appeared to be struggling quite fiercely.
"If you're having trouble controlling yourself, just say so and leave." Pyro rolled his eyes. "You don't need to act like a child who can't have the candy being dangled in front of them."
Samael and Eurynome both growled at their younger brother. "Pyro," Gaap admonished the Fire-Daemon, "act your age."
Pounding on the door caused Samael to huff in frustration. “What is it now?” he snarled loud enough for the unseen interrupter to hear him through the thick wooden door. The door creaked open, slowly, painfully.
Hiro put his fist to his heart as soon as the door was opened. “My apologies for interrupting you, my princes. However, there is a guest here to speak with Crown Prince Stolas.”
“We haven’t the time, get a message and we will call upon the guest when we can.” Gaap waved his hand dismissively.
“You may want to rethink that.” The icy voice chilled the room. “I demand to be a part of this.” Lily of the Snow stepped past Hiro, her wispy, ankle-length white hair flowing behind her. “Or am I mistaken in believing you are planning a rescue.” She looked every demon in the eyes as she spoke her next words. “Because if this is about anything other than recovering my daughter, you had all better pray you’re deaths are quick.”
Dásos cocked his head to the side, smirking. She had yet to see him."Snow,” he greeted her. Hearing his voice, she jumped in surprise.
“Phorest. I didn’t sense you.” Her face soured. “You’ve gotten more powerful than the last time I saw you.”
“Nah, last time I saw you, you were carrying a wee primordial in your belly. You didn’t even know you were pregnant yet.”
A small hint of anguish passed across her face. “You’re involved in all of this, and you did not protect my daughter?”
“She is a lot like Fotiá. Not one to run from her problems.” The words were not accusatory in any manner, but Lily of the Snow could not help but read into the statement. Uncomfortable from the perceived slight, she crossed her arms, making herself as small as she could. Dásos smiled softly, "It's not your fault, Snow. You made the best decision you could in the situation."
“What is the plan to save her?” Snow Lily ignored Dásos's kind words, still unable to forgive herself.
“We have yet to think of one.” Asmoday answered.
“Not like anyone has even tried.” Stolas grumbled.
“Alexander!” The whole room flinched at the scolding tone. The full name was never used lightly. “I will not have you speak so disrespectfully. Every one of you looks exhausted.” Unable to hide her maternal nature, she looked around the room at the men she still saw as young boys. “I will not blame you for this if it was my daughter's decision to stay.” Her words did little to ease the guilt weighing down on everyone's shoulders.
A small green glow behind Merihim caught Snow Lily's eyes. “What are you hiding back there?” Merihim stepped aside, revealing Cresil slouched in a cushioned office chair. He stirred, trying to wake despite Merihim's spell. “An Impure?” she spoke in a whisper, cautiously approaching the unconscious demon. “Are you awake, young one?” Opening his eyes just a sliver, Cresil hissed softly, too weak to do much more.
“Merihim, undo your spell. I believe the Priestess wishes to talk to him.” Dásos’s eyes did not leave the ice maiden as she stared at the Impure in wonder.
With a worried expression, Merihim complied. “Mosterra.”
A thick fog coated Cresil’s thoughts as he tried to sit up. “Teal cas I?” His aura radiated softly from his hands as he tried to figure out his surroundings.
“Kio toy soul, unar daemon.”
The familiar voice struck a chord in his mind, jolting him out of his fog. “Kesh!” Blinking to clear his vision, he was disappointed to see a stranger standing in front of him. “You’re not Kesh.”
Gently picking up his arm, she examined Cresil’s scars. “Who treated these silver wounds? They did a remarkable job.”
“Who the hell are you?” Cresil hissed, stealing his arm back. Stolas swiftly stepped between the two, warning Cresil with a vicious glare. One glance at Snow Lily, however, had Stolas backing away and apologizing.
“Color me impressed; you’ve got the Crown Prince afraid of you.” Crossing his arms, Cresil slouched deeper into the chair.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Every smart demon knows to respect his mother.” Snow Lily smiled, but it failed to reach her eyes.
Recognition filled Cresil's face. He saw it now; the resemblance. “You’re his…you’re her mother?” The tension in the room grew as everyone realized Cresil had figured out Keshiema’s relationship to Stolas. “But the king isn’t her father, right? She really is a Hell-Child?”
“The king is not her father. I made sure he won’t be able to sire any more young. But no, she is not a Hell-Child. Her father is of the Primordial bloodline.” Eurynome shifted uncomfortably, something Snow Lily quickly took notice of.
“How did you figure it out?” Stolas needed an answer, needed to know who else might have caught on.
“I told him.” Merihim spoke up. “I felt he needed to know when I assigned him to protect her.”
“Why do you think we’ve shared so many classes? Impure can’t use telepathy, but I had to take three years of that shit. And Archery technique? When was the last time you saw an Impure use a bow? We are close combat fighters. She was the whole reason I was here at all.” Merihim nodded in agreement with Cresil.
“And how did you know?” Stolas asked Merihim, shaking his head, ashamed at his ignorance.
Merihim shrugged. "Uvall is my brother, after all."
Grinding his teeth, Stolas growled in frustration. Snow Lily put her hand on his shoulder, and sternly reminded him that there were more important topics at hand. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“If we’re done, I think I might have a few an idea about how to retrieve Kesh.” Asmoday looked at Dásos, then at Snow Lily. “We're going to need bait.”
***
Icicles clung to the cell bars, an ominous warning to those who might enter. Fog emanated from the opaque ice sphere sitting on the cement bed. The bars rattled and icicles broke loose as a masked guard tried to slide open the door. The frozen wheels screeched in resistance but gave way as Cimeies leaned in to aid the guard. “Thank you, now please fetch Commander Moloch. I may need his flames.
After giving a salute and a shallow bow, the guard ran off, leaving Cimeies alone in the dungeon. “Young maiden, this is quite a powerful shield you have.” He reached out, hovering his hand a few centimeters above the ice. Crystals quickly formed on his skin. Pulling back, he shook his stinging hand, flinging small droplets of water in all directions. “Moloch is going to have his work cut out for him.”
“Good, I was getting bored waiting for something to do,” Moloch spoke from the shadows behind Cimeies.
“It’s only been three days since your team stormed Nergal's building. How can you possibly be bored already?”
Ignoring Cimeies's question, Moloch entered the cramped cell. “The temperature difference in here is impressive.” Never one to stall, Moloch let fire consume his hands. He focused his aura, increasing the heat of his flames. He clapped his hands together, and as he separated them, a blazing sword formed between them. Swiftly grabbing hold of the hilt, he swung the fiery blade at the icy sphere.
The ice bellowed in resistance against the strike, shaking the dungeon. It groaned and creaked and glowed brighter as the temperature in the cell dropped dramatically. Moloch bit his lip in contemplation. With a small grunt of annoyance, he stepped forward and gently pressed the tip of the sword against the ice and waited for a sign of resistance.
When nothing happened, Moloch pressed harder. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as the prolonged use of his fire heated his skin. Cimeies’ eyes widened as small cracks formed under the tip of Moloch's blade. As the sword pierced through, the ice shattered, launching shrapnel in every direction.
The shards melted on contact with Moloch's overheated body, leaving only minor welts. Cimeies managed to deflect the shards away from his vitals, but was left with a large piece of ice in his thigh and many smaller ones embedded throughout his body. The searing pain the frozen projectiles caused only lasted momentarily. The aura contained inside the shrapnel healed his wounds as the ice melted. "How odd." Cimeies remarked.
Keshiema stood on the concrete slab, glaring at them. The wound on her shoulder remained visible, but only as a bright pink scar. An eerie luminance consumed her cold blue eyes, and her friskalian mark glowed brightly. Embers and wisps of smoky gray littered her bright purple aura.
The look in her eyes disturbed Moloch, but he also had a sudden, overbearing desire to bow to her; just as strong as the urge to help her a few nights ago. Riled by the thought, Moloch lifted his sword, ready to wipe the defiant look from her face. Cimeies stepped between the two before Moloch could attack. “Do not forget why we are here, Commander.”
Moloch ignored Cimeies. Shoving him aside to speak to Keshiema. “You’re pretty feisty for someone without a weapon.” Keshiema smiled viciously in reply, exposing a full set of razor-sharp teeth. Pushed over the edge by her cocky grin, Moloch lunged forward.
Cimeies reached out, grabbing Moloch by the back of his neck, and stopping him in his tracks. “I must apologize for my comrade's impudence."
Taking a deep breath, Moloch calmed himself. He wanted to protect her, to serve her, a direct conflict with his prideful nature. Not only that, but if the king found out his intentions... he shuddered at the thought. They needed to be discreet. "We aren't here to hurt you.” Moloch started over. He lowered the temperature of his aura and let his firesword dissipate. Keshiema's malicious grin faltered, and a hint of the frightened young girl, shivering in his arms, shone through. "There are a couple of questions we would like to ask." The glow in her eyes flickered, in sync with her mark that faded in and out. The embers in her aura dimmed and brightened, matching the same cadence. 'We shouldn't be here.' Moloch thought just before the girl vanished. Cimeieis cried out, and Moloch barely had time to process it before Keshiema clawed at his throat. He swung a flame-covered fist, but she caught his hand midswing, unfazed by the searing blaze.
Mosterra = Awaken
Teal cas I = Where am I
Kio toy soul, unar daemon = You are safe, young demon
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The Sequence of Being
by N'Zaru Starborne
"Seven centuries have passed since the world won its freedom from the unknown, the beyond and the Death."
Deaths. The revolution and the revolt. They stood their ground until the very end, forcing the world to change and let the mountain wall be born: the Spine of Zha'ath, separating the known world from the unknown.
Kael, a young man born to a family of scholars, stands before the wall and asks,
“What lies beyond?”
What you’ll find here:
?? Dark & Epic: A slow-burn high fantasy full of monsters, demons, kings, and gods.
? Philosophical: Undercurrents of meaning woven into a unique power system (chakras, mantra, tantra, yantra, tatva, rasa, mudra).
?? Grounded: A character-driven coming-of-age story.
?? Bloody & Mythic: Gore, legends, and mysteries that linger long after the page.
?? Epic in Scope: A tale not rushing to its end, but building toward something greater.
This is Kael’s story. A story of choice, fate, and the cost of following one’s heart.
