I am my mother’s daughter. And I will make damn sure they never forget that.
King Draevens' face contorted with rage, fangs bared like a predator unmasked, and then—without warning—he hurled his word towards her.
I tried to scream.
But my voice caught in my throat, my body frozen, useless. I squeezed my eyes shut as my heart slammed against my ribslike it could break free. I knew this memory couldn’t touch her. I knew she’d survive this moment. But none of that mattered.
Watching her in danger felt like suffering a nightmare I’d never woken up from.
Metal tore through the air with a vicious whistle—then a crash, like thunder splitting the sky.
My eyes napped open.
A shadow had moved between them. Tendrils of smoke curled around the figure like it breathed night itself. In one impossibly swift motion, it caught the blade mid-flight and turned it back on the monster.
Steel flew like lightning—and struck.
One of the king’s guards went down with a sickening crunch, the sword burying deep in armour and bone.
My mother exhaled, and I saw the way her body shook. Her gaze shifted to the figure cloaked in shadow, and something crossed her face. Recognition. Wariness. Maybe even relief. It was gone before I could place it.
I saw the man fully as he turned.
He was tall. Towering, really. Not bulky, but carved from lean muscle, like every inch of him was built to move, to strike, to kill. Black clothing clung to him like smoke made solid, merging with the night as if he had been born from it. His hair was wild—white with streaks of black, like ink spilt across snow, wind-tousled and untamed.
But his skin had tattoos crawling up his throat and running around his hands like serpents, etched deep in lines that pulsed faintly beneath the moon's light. Not decorative—no, they were symbols of power. Spells. Curses. Whatever they meant, they hadn’t been inked—they’d been burned into him first.
His face was striking, in a way that didn’t feel remotely human. Beautiful, but wrong. Too sharp in places. A silver ring pierced one nostril, another on his lower lip gleamed when hesmirked—an expression that felt like a warning rather than amusement. But his eyes rooted me in place.
Endless.
Black as a starless void, they devoured light, emotion, everything. No warmth. No glimmer of soul. Just a quiet, bottomless abyss with something deep inside… something that looked a lot like death.
A demon.
Even from here, I could feel it bleeding off him—the cold, crushing weight of something not born in this realm. He’s from Dravokar.
The King’s expression shifted—lips curling, eyes narrowing with recognition.
“You,” he spat, anger radiating from him.
The demon moved slightly, the smirk on his lips still there as he looked over the army of soldiers.
“Miss me?” he drawled, voice like velvet.
My mother didn’t move away from him. But I saw the shift—the almost-imperceptible tightening in her shoulders, the way her grip on the dagger twitched, ever so slightly. She was ready to fight with the demon, not against him.
The demon's gaze slid to Selene's stomach, and something softened in his eyes for a second. But then it was gone. Snuffed out like it had never existed. What took place was cold and vicious—lethal in a way that didn’t need fangs or claws.
He turned towards my monster, and the air around him shifted. His shadows slithered at his feet like they were alive—hungry things searching for death.
“Lay another finger on Selene and I’ll carve you open, string you up with your own entrails, and let the birds pick you clean while you’re still breathing.”
The soldiers reacted on instinct—blades drawn, boots shifting into formation—but it didn’t matter. They were already dead.
The demon didn’t lift a hand.
The shadows answered for him
