The Damned Demon

Isola's voice was like a gentle cascade of water, serenading the stillness of the underwater chamber.

She floated gracefully beside the bed, singing a mesmerizing tune to soothe her mother's mind, which was surely quite stormy now.

Narissara lay unconscious on the bed, her form draped in elegant sheets that glowed softly.

On the opposite side, Moraxor hovered with a pensive expression and looked as if he hadn't slept for weeks.

The atmosphere was thick with tension as his eyes flicked over to Isola, full of emotion, "My child," he began hesitantly, "do you genuinely cherish him? Out of all people, why him? The two of you even dared to... unite."

Isola's song gradually waned, her voice replaced by the silence of the room. 

She looked down, her expression one of conflict and resignation, "Father, things... they happened suddenly. I didn't have the time to think or understand my feelings." She raised her sapphire blue eyes to meet his, pleadingly, "Sometimes you can't just explain these things. Please trust in me, and in Asher. I would never willingly bring sorrow or shame to you or our people. And Asher is not the enemy you or mother believe to be. He can help our people regain what we lost."

Narissara's previously peaceful face transformed as her eyes suddenly snapped open, and her voice, cold and detached, cut through the room, "So even if it means betraying your ancestors and us, you'd pursue this rebellious path?"

Isola winced at her mother's sharp tone and her cold glare but was relieved to see that she was already up.

Taking a deep breath, she replied, "Mother, it's already done. The past can't be unwritten. I'm sorry for the disappointment I've caused you. But please don't say that I am betraying you or anyone. Please give me a chance to prove myself. I have never asked for anything in my life. I have always done everything as you wanted. So please let me make a choice for myself for the first time."

Moraxor's gaze softened upon hearing her words.

However, Narissara's eyes were still glacial, and she was staring at the wall ahead as she said, "If you insist on this... affair," she began, every word heavy with reproach, "then be prepared to relinquish your ties to our people. Pursue this folly on your own."

"Mother..." Isola's voice broke, her eyes shimmering with the beginnings of tears, the weight of her mother's words pressing down on her heart.

Moraxor, seeing the pain in his daughter's eyes, intervened, his tone authoritative, "Enough, Narissa. There's no need for such ultimatums." 

Hearing him, Narissara's icy eyes shifted to him, her gaze piercing. 

But Moraxor didn't flinch. Instead, he continued, "We may have a solution. Let the devils be witness to it as well."

Narissara's gaze narrowed, suspicion evident in her eyes, "What do you suggest?" she questioned.

Moraxor took a deep breath, considering his words carefully, "Our traditions have always revolved around strength. Why not propose a duel between Vraxos and Asher? Let them prove their worth, and the victor shall have the honor of marrying our daughter. In front of our people, no less. This way, it's not just about personal sentiments but about who truly deserves to be with Isola."

Isola's heart raced. The thought of Asher and Vraxos fighting over her was daunting. Vraxos was a powerful mid-level Soul Devourer. 

But she wasn't feeling too worried since she had an idea of how strong Asher was.

She then looked at her father with gratitude, for he was willing to give Asher a chance and also was willing to support her.

Narissara, still deep in thought, had her brows furrowed. As far as she heard, Asher did absorb the Deviar and returned with the strength of a peak Soul Purger. She grudgingly had to admit he was a genius.

But how could someone as young as him still stand a chance against a Soul Devourer? Even if people claim he killed Agonon, she was sure her daughter had a hand in it. 

She wasn't willing to believe rumors and only what she had seen with her own eyes.

She looked at her husband with a hint of appreciation. He knew better how to handle their daughter. This way, once Vraxos wins, Isola will have no choice but to accept the outcome, and it will also teach that brat a lesson for seducing their daughter.

With a measured nod, she said, "This could be acceptable." Her eyes then shifted to Isola, and they narrowed slightly, "Yet, even if by some miraculous chance Asher emerges victorious, are you truly willing to degrade yourself by becoming nothing more than his secret mistress? He's the Bloodburn Consort. His place is with the Bloodburn Queen, and he cannot belong to another. Or did you forget that? Let's also not forget our people will never accept it and will see it as a betrayal which it is."

Isola met her mother's gaze with quiet determination, "I don't need a title or recognition, Mother. My heart knows where it belongs. Being with him, even if it's in the shadows, is enough for me. As for our people...I will try to make them understand and let them witness how things can be better."

Narissara's shoulders slumped slightly, her voice tinged with disappointment, "Oh devils... to think my daughter has fallen so deeply. You are supposed to live with honor and dignity befitting a princess and not…" Narissara felt too exasperated to complete her sentence.

Clearing his throat, Moraxor stepped in, hoping to steer the conversation away from the emotional depths it was treading, "Very well. I'll prepare an official request for the duel. It will be portrayed as a friendly competition since we can't reveal the true reason."

Isola gave him a grateful smile, "Thank you, Father, for understanding. But please, send the request after a week. Asher will be with the queen for their Sacred Union preparations, and I don't wish to disrupt their time."

Narissara kept shaking her head with cold disapproval while Moraxor nodded, "Okay. Meanwhile, we all should think of a way to convey this decision to Vraxos and the rest of our people. Obviously, we can't tell the full truth but that Isola will marry Vraxos only if he wins."

—

The atmosphere was thick with an indescribable tension in the Bloodwing Mansion, further accentuated by the view of broken and shattered realms floating in the night sky. 

A young man with long, jet-black hair and deep, dark red eyes, stood on the balcony, lost in his own thoughts.

The chilling cold breeze played with his hair as he stared into the abyss, the cup of blood in his hand reflecting the twinkling lights from the shattered realms.

Footsteps echoed softly as Seron walked onto the balcony, breaking the silence. "It's not like you, son, to stand here and drink at this hour," he remarked, his tone filled with concern.

Silvan glanced at his father, the corners of his mouth curling up in a fleeting smile, "Just needed some fresh air, Father," he responded, "Away from the...matters mother is attending to below. I am sure she wouldn't want me down there now."

Seron exhaled, running a hand through his hair, "She's been waiting for this moment ever since Oberon fell into that coma," he sighed, "I fear there won't be any quiet days ahead."

A soft chuckle escaped Silvan's lips as he took a small sip from his cup, "That's an understatement."

Seron hesitated, taking a deep breath before he continued, "I've heard about Ceti and Asher."

The mere mention of the names made Silvan's grip on the cup tremble, the liquid inside quivering. 

He then gave a gentle nod, his voice subdued as he admitted, "I never thought she would fall for the consort to whom she can't even declare her love before everyone else."

Seron leaned against the balcony's stone railing, his seasoned gaze fixed on his son, "Don't mourn over what never was, son," he advised gently, "Perhaps this is fate giving you a chance to find someone who truly deserves you. I understand that you and Ceti shared a genuine bond ever since you two were young. And despite her being a werewolf, I can see why you would feel fond of a brave and sincere woman. It's very hard to find a woman like her. But with her... things might have only become more complicated for both of you. Only difficulties and troubles would have awaited you both. Nothing good can come from you having a relationship with a werewolf."

Seron's face took on a distant look as he added, "Our world is cruel in its whims. Whenever we dare follow our hearts, it seems to punish us for our audacity."

Silvan's grip on his cup tightened, a hint of frustration evident in his voice, "But why? Why should we be punished for merely seeking happiness? For wanting to be true to our feelings?"

Seron sighed deeply, the sorrow in his eyes evident, "Only the devils can provide such answers. But I doubt even with their response, our world would shift."

A bitter chuckle escaped Silvan's lips, "Trust in the devils? They probably don't care about our mortal and fleeting lives," He paused, his tone more contemplative, "Perhaps it's time we stop looking up to them for answers and start relying on ourselves."

For a brief moment, Seron's eyes widened, as if struck by the weight of Silvan's words. 

Before he could respond, Silvan turned towards him with a smile, albeit a melancholic one, "I was feeling a bit down, but talking to you, father... It's helped," He then added with a brief smile, "But still, that doesn't mean I want you to find me a woman. I am still in the process of figuring out the future."

"Of course. There is no rush, especially when Oberon isn't married yet," With a brief nod, Seron watched his son walk away and then slowly looked up at the sky as he mumbled, "Please look after him."