Chapter 2: Five Demon Lords

Demon King Arkon, sat up in his dark, lavish chamber, brushing strands of his shoulder-length, pitch-black hair away from his face. His presence alone filled the room with a deep, dark energy. His eyes—a haunting gradient of violet, like the hottest fires of the underworld that had burned for millennia—gleamed with a cold, simmering intensity. Those eyes alone could strike fear into the hearts of demons, a reminder of his ancient power and the relentless force he commanded.

"My Dark King," a low, sly voice cooed from behind him. Slender fingers trailed over his shoulders, tracing down his spine, and teasing around the base of his wings.

Arkon turned his head slightly, his expression cold. He pulled her closer by her thin, pointed chin, his fingers rough against her delicate skin.

In a hushed, menacing tone, he murmured, "You are here only to warm my bed at night. Do not imagine you have permission to speak, let alone ask for anything."

His deep, resonant voice echoed through the darkened room. Sharp and unfeeling.

Without another glance, he released her, casting her back onto the bed with an effortless flick of his hand. Startled, the demon slave scrambled away, her long limbs moving quickly as she withdrew from his cold, unyielding aura. Her long hair trailed behind her as she walked out the door.

Standing, Arkon swept a hand over himself, and his night robes transformed, vanishing in a flash of shadow. His armor appeared instantly—dark, polished steel with intricate designs of black flames engraved along the chest and shoulders, fitted as if it were molded to his body.

Arkon's build was as formidable as his gaze: tall and broad-shouldered, his very frame exuded authority, even to those who thrived on strength and dominance. His body was a sculpted mass of power, commanding and immovable, and his face held a striking contrast between strength and beauty. His cheekbones were high and elegantly shaped, giving him an almost regal quality, but his jawline was sharp, carved like stone, lending him an air of ruthlessness. Dark, thick eyebrows framed his hunter's eyes, casting them into shadow and adding a depth that made his stare even more intense.

His massive wings spread briefly before he folded them, and two servants rushed forward to smooth the feathers, ensuring they were groomed for the day.

But before he could finish his morning preparations for the day's council, a thunderous sound shook the very walls of the palace. The vibration carried through the vast, dark realm, a shockwave that seemed to penetrate the universe itself. The origin was unmistakable—the Willow Arch, near the ancient Mountains of Yrril, silent and undisturbed for over four centuries.

Demon King Arkon's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Summon the council," he barked at his chief advisor, his voice edged with irritation and command. "I want all five Demon Lords here—now."

The air in the council hall was thick, a heavy, oppressive silence that dared someone to speak. The Lords sat around the grand table, each wearing an expression that ranged from irritation to barely veiled excitement. Arkon watched them from his throne, carefully observing each Pince.

Kalan, the Lord of Varghuls, broke the silence with an exaggerated sigh, leaning back in his seat and drumming his sharp claws on the polished stone. "So, this is what drags us here? A noise from some forsaken mountains? Honestly, if there's no greater purpose behind this summons, I have better things to do," he sneered, the mocking lilt in his voice echoing around the hall.

Arkon's eyes opened, cold and unamused, as he turned to his advisor, who cleared his throat. "The disturbance came from the Mountains of Yrril," the advisor announced, his voice firm. "The last time we heard anything from there was five hundred years ago, when a human was born with a demon spirit."

The room erupted into a debate.

Savon, the Lord of Malks, shot him a glare, his fiery eyes narrowed. "Better things to do?" he growled. "Your time would be better spent preparing for battle. Whatever has awakened, it's no small threat. You think this is a game?"

Kalan smirked, barely phased. "Oh, spare me your fury, Sarvon. Not every rattle in the dark requires you to go marching off with your sword."

"Maybe not," interrupted Arkon, the Demon of Deception, his voice smooth and serpentine. He leaned forward, his dark hair falling across one eye. "But I agree with Savon—this is worth our attention. The Willow Arch has been silent for centuries. If it's active again, we're dealing with something… interesting." He let the word hang, a sly smile on his lips.

Zalmar, the Lord of Synths, rolled his eyes. "Interesting?" He sighed, crossing his arms. "If this means another war with the humans, we'd do well to reconsider. You forget how we paid dearly the last time they meddled with our world. It's not as simple as showing up with swords and spells, Arkon."

Gabal, the Lord of Najs, couldn't resist an opportunity to sneer. "You speak of costs, Zalmar, but war also brings spoils. Humans will part with their treasures to buy our favor—or mercy," he added, his tone almost gleeful.

"Your fascination with trinkets is as predictable as it is tiresome," Kalan, cut in, his gaze cool and dismissive. "This is about more than treasure. If the Willow Arch has stirred, there's a disturbance in the balance of power itself. Ignoring it is beneath us."

Rael, the Lord of Ferridons, watched the others with a smirk, his voice a murmur from the shadows. "Balance? Power? Why make things so grandiose?" he said, twirling a dark shadow between his fingers. "Send a few scouts. If they return alive, we'll know it's worth our time. If not—well, we've lost nothing."

There was a murmur of agreement and dissent around the table. But it was Rael, who leaned forward, his voice calm yet commanding. "And what if this is no mere rattle in the dark, as Kalan so flippantly suggested?" he began, his bright amber, sharp eyes flicking around the table. "The last time the Arch trembled, it signaled the birth of a human possessed by that woman. Such an event nearly tore our world apart. Do we dare ignore the signs?"

As the Demon Lords muttered amongst themselves, weighing Rael's words, Demon King Arkon's low voice rumbled through the hall. "Enough." The single word stilled the air.

He surveyed his Lords, his eyes filled with a glint of disdain. "I summoned you here not for squabbling," he said, his voice dark and deadly. "This is a matter of our realm's security. You will investigate it thoroughly—and do so without hesitation or contempt."

Kalan's smirk faded slightly, though he quickly masked his irritation. "As you command, my King," he replied, though his voice was edged with reluctance.

King Arkon's eyes swept across each Lord in turn, pausing long enough to make their confidence waver. "Know this," he continued, his tone a chilling calm. "If any of you underestimate the gravity of this matter again, you will find yourselves answering directly to me."

The Demon King's command settled over the room, but Savon wasn't done. His voice was harsh, his dislike for humans evident. "And the… HUMAN?" he asked, his tone filled with scorn. "They're weak, crawling creatures. You really mean to bring IT here?"

Arkon's expression was as sharp as his words. "Yes. It will be brought to Vraknir," he replied firmly. "If it's a threat, we will see to it ourselves."

Zalmar, smirked, his tone dripping with intrigue. "If this human has caught your attention, my King, it must be special in some way. Perhaps it might… serve another purpose?"

Arkon's eyes narrowed, cutting off Zalmar's thoughts. "This creature isn't here for your amusement, Zalmar," he replied, his tone dismissive.

Gabal, chimed in, his voice thoughtful. "If this human holds value, perhaps it can bring us power, or something to claim."

Kalan, sneered. "Let's bring it here and see it squirm. At least we'll know it's under control."

"Enough," Arkon's voice vibrated through the room. "We will bring the human here. The council will see its worth."

Arkon paused, letting his gaze settle on his most trusted advisor, Rael. "Rael will escort the human to the Royal Dungeon. Make sure it arrives unharmed—but fully aware of the power it now stands among," he commanded, his voice laced with an unmistakable edge. A faint ripple of approval swept through the council; they knew that, in Arkon's world, "unharmed" didn't mean "unintimidated."

Rael inclined his head in a silent bow, his eyes meeting Arkon's in a brief, wordless exchange. There was a bond between them that ran deeper than duty—a loyalty forged in fire and blood, unbreakable and absolute. Arkon and Rael had grown up together, closer than brothers, their fates entwined from the beginning. Over five thousand years ago, when Arkon had ascended to the throne, his first official decree had been to appoint Rael to his inner council. It was a decision that cemented Rael's place as his right hand and closest confidant.

In his rise to power, Arkon had kept many of his father's old Lords—ancient demons with centuries of battle-won wisdom. But there had been one name he would not abide: Lumia. Lumia, the Betrayer. Lumia, the one who had sparked the rebellion that nearly fractured the realm. Arkon's first act as king had been to banish Lumia, to strip her of her title and cast her into the shadows, ensuring she could never again challenge the throne.

The council session ended with an air of finality, but a sense of something dark and potent lingered, thick as storm clouds gathering on the horizon. The others could feel it—an energy shifting. They knew that once the human was brought into their midst, it would only be the beginning. The storm had started to brew, and this time, it would not pass quietly. This time, it would be longer than the last time.

Rosamila blinked awake, her lungs racing to keep her alive. She'd dreamed this exact moment—this entire terrible sequence—down to the last detail. And now, here it was, unfolding just as it had in her nightmares.

She barely had time to gasp before powerful claws wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground as if she weighed nothing at all. Panic flooded her senses, but she could only clutch at the iron grip holding her, helpless as she was whisked high into the night sky. The wind roared in her ears, tearing through her hair until the once-elegant locks whipped wildly across her face. She could see only flashes of the world below as she was carried through the sky, the stars vanishing behind dark, leathery wings.

"Is this how it ends?" she gasped, clutching onto the iron-like claws, bracing herself for what felt like the final moments of her life.

Suddenly, a loud, resounding boom echoed through the air, jolting her back to awareness. She blinked and found herself on a cool marble floor, the chill of it seeping into her skin.

I've been here before, shivers crawling down her spine.

She looked up slowly, her eyes widening as they met the monstrous gaze of a beast she recognized from her dream, a towering creature with wings that blotted out the sky, stretching its neck high as if it could look right into her soul.

"Fior….So… it is real," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

A voice, smooth as silk, cut through her daze. "Welcome, Your Greatness."

The words snapped her attention away from the Fior. She turned and saw him—the figure she'd seen in her dream so many times, the one who haunted her sleep. Now, his face was no longer hidden in shadow.

"I am Rael, leader of the demon clan Ferridons. We've waited for you for 400 years," he said, his tone respectful yet mocking.

He was impossibly tall, towering over her like a shadow-made flesh, his dark gaze gleaming with an intensity that made her feel small, like prey caught in the gaze of a hunter.

But it wasn't just his height that made Rael terrifying. Rosamila had heard the rumors, of course—that demons carried the fires of hell in their eyes. But only now did she understand what that truly meant. Rael's eyes were a fierce, smoldering orange, like embers that hadn't yet cooled, their glow seeming to cut through the dimness around them. They made the rest of him look even more monstrous, like he was something barely contained in human form.

His hair was cropped short, neat, almost like a soldier's. He wore a dark, heavy cloak that might have passed for human clothing if not for the way it draped around him, swallowing light, making his silhouette look jagged and unnatural. Underneath, she caught glimpses of armor—not polished metal, but something darker, duller, as if it had been forged in shadows.

He was dressed almost like a man, but his aura gave him away. There was a heaviness in the air around him, something ancient and hungry, something that whispered of horrors she could barely imagine.

She tried to respond, tried to stand, but her legs gave out, buckling under the weight of fear and disbelief.

Rael smirked, lifting a single finger, and with a flick of magic, pulled her back to her feet. "Not so quickly, Your Greatness," he murmured, amusement glittering in his eyes.

"I… I don't understand," Rosamila stammered, still breathless. "Why did that… creature bring me here? I have a sister waiting in the Hall of Ascendance, I need to—"

The very same words she uttered in her dreams, came flawlessly to her mouth. But before she could finish, Rael's magic snaked around her wrists and ankles, binding her.

"Need to go back?" he repeated, smirking. "It seems you haven't yet grasped what's happening." He turned, gesturing for her to follow as his magic tugged her along like a puppet on invisible strings.

They walked past Fior, and Rael reached out to touch its massive head with a sense of pride. "It's not just a creature," he said with a hint of annoyance. "This is Rax, my spirit guardian, one of the great protectors of these lands. The creature you call, "Fior" in human land. "

As if in response, Rax let out a low, rumbling growl that shook the ground beneath her. His dark, gleaming scales seemed to pulse in the torchlight, and his blood-amber eyes flickered toward her with an unsettling intelligence, as though he knew something she didn't.

"And… Rax eats anything he finds interesting," Rael added casually, glancing at her as if he'd just described a harmless pet. He patted the creature once more, and with a beat of those vast wings, Rax launched into the air, vanishing into the night sky.

Rosamila swallowed, fighting to push down the creeping dread that tightened her throat.

Bound by magic, she had no choice but to follow as Rael led her through the dark, echoing paths of the demon land—a place she recognized from her dreams. The walls soared high above, lost in shadow, and the silence was so complete it seemed to press down on her, filling her ears with a steady, hollow ring.

As they walked, Rael's voice broke the silence, calm and confident. "You are the first human to set foot in Vrakil. A rare honor, Your Greatness."

Why does he keep calling me Greatness!

Rosamila's heart raced as she took in the twisted magnificence around her. Vrakil was nothing like the radiant cities of legend she'd heard about in stories.

Everyone at the Royal Academy had read about Vrakil. According to the Book of Realms, Vrakil was the first layer of the demon lands, the border realm where demons mingled with shades of humanity. The lower demons here bore a passing resemblance to humans—almost familiar, but subtly wrong. Their features were sharper, their eyes glinted with faint, unnatural hues, and they moved with a quiet, unsettling grace. Everything here felt… larger. Buildings rose higher, doors were broader, windows wider, as if the city itself had been designed to fit creatures just a touch too powerful for the human world.

At the heart of Vrakil lay the Spire, a towering palace carved from dark stone that gleamed like polished glass, black and impenetrable. It was said to be the door to the next layer of the demon realms, where only those deemed worthy could pass through its ancient, rune-etched gates. The Spire's jagged towers seemed to pierce the darkened sky, drawing the faintest flickers of lightning to dance along its edges, as if even the storm clouds were drawn to its power.

Rosamila swallowed hard, craning her neck to take in the titanic edifice looming above her.

Rael led her deep into the Spire, through twisting hallways that seemed to mimic a narrow maze. The walls were made of the same dark stone, but here, the surface was rougher, etched with deep grooves and strange, curling symbols. The air grew colder as they descended, the silence thick and oppressive.

At last, they reached a circular chamber near the heart of the Spire. The room was vast but strangely empty, save for a raised platform in the center that looked like an altar—or perhaps a portal. The floor around it was marked with intricate patterns, spirals and sigils that seemed to pulse faintly, making Rosamila's eyes ache if she looked too closely.

Rael stepped onto the platform, his powerful frame silhouetted against the swirling symbols on the floor. He turned to her and held out a hand. Rosamila tried to move forward, but something held her back—a binding spell she hadn't even noticed. She felt her power flare up in frustration, and for the first time, she spoke without fear.

"I am still bound," she said, her voice strong and commanding.

Rael raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her tone. He hesitated for a moment, then waved his hand, releasing the invisible restraints that had kept her in place. Now free, her heart racing, she took a cautious step forward, reaching for his hand.

Rael lifted his free hand and made a quick, fluid gesture, tracing symbols in the air. Shadows coiled around them, thickening like smoke, and the sigils on the floor began to glow brighter, their red and silver light swirling together to create a vortex of energy beneath their feet.

"Hold on," Rael said, his voice low and strangely gentle, though his eyes remained focused on the swirling magic around them.

Before she could catch her breath, the entire chamber seemed to tilt and spin. Shadows wrapped around them, blurring her vision, and a shudder ran through her as the ground fell away.

The next thing she knew, she was no longer standing in Vrakil. Somehow, they had jumped from one Spire to the next—a form of magic she'd never experienced before. Her stomach churned, and her legs wobbled. She stumbled slightly, clutching her chest as nausea rolled through her.

"I told you to hold on," Rael said, a faint smirk pulling at his lips.

Rosamila bit back a reply, but her thoughts betrayed her.

Oh, I'll hold on, all right, she thought, glaring at him in silence. Maybe next time I'll hold on to your throat. The image almost made her smile, but she pushed it down, steeling herself as she took in her new surroundings.

"Not quite the paradise you imagined?" Rael asked, glancing at her with a smirk. "But don't worry—you'll be staying in the Grand Palace of Vraknir. It's… accommodating."

They finally arrived before the palace, and Rosamila's breath caught in her throat. The Grand Palace was in sync with what she had experienced so far- its walls gleamed from darkness and were etched with glowing runes that pulsed like trapped fire.

It felt like the palace itself was alive, breathing a faint, unnatural breath.

Stone statues of demon lords guarded the entrance and the corners, their cold, unblinking eyes watching her every move.

Rosamila was living her nightmare, but the real thing was so much worse. In her dreams, she could always wake up. Here, there was no escape.

Strangely enough, Rosamila couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, not just by these silent guardians, but by something more. She felt dozens of unseen eyes tracking her every step, brushing against her skin like a chill breeze.

Her heart pounded, but the raw edge of her fear had dulled—just slightly. Rael was walking calmly ahead of her, as though the palace were nothing more than his own home, and she forced herself to follow, trying to match his steady pace.

If he can walk through this place so casually, maybe… maybe I can too.

The thought did little to ease the tension in her shoulders, but it was enough to keep her moving forward.

"Welcome home, Your Greatness," Rael murmured, gesturing for her to step inside.

"Home?" The word felt bitter on her tongue. This place was anything but home.

"Why am I here?" she asked, voice trembling. "I'm just… just a human. I don't belong here."

Rosamila's mind spun as she struggled to understand. She had been taken from the Hall of Ascendance, from the very moment she was to receive Orson's engagement gift, something she'd waited two years for. Now she was here, in a world of demons and shadows, with no way to escape.

Rael looked at her with faint amusement, then shrugged. "I'll have your chambers prepared… unless, of course, you'd rather explore on your own?"

And then she saw it—just for a heartbeat. In the shadows of a far corner, a pair of deep blue eyes glinted, bright and sharp, like shards of ice catching the light. They vanished as soon as she registered them, leaving her wondering if she'd even seen them at all, or if her mind was playing tricks in the half-darkness.

"I… I…" Rosamila's voice faltered, her words drying up. Her heart raced faster, and dizziness crept over her, blurring the edges of her vision. The flickering torchlight became streaks of blue and turquoise, the world spinning around her as darkness closed in.

As she felt herself falling, her last thought echoed in her mind like a haunting refrain: I dreamed this. All of this… I dreamed it.

And then, just as in the dream, the darkness swallowed her whole.

Rael locked Rosamila in the west wing of the Grand Palace, far from prying eyes. Only he and Demon King Arkon knew the truth about their prisoner—that she was a human, and a woman at that. They'd kept this detail from the council. There was no need to stir up questions… not until they understood what her presence really meant.

Leaving her under guard, Rael made his way to the Demon King's private chamber. The air grew heavier as he stepped inside, thick with the scent of incense and charred wood. Dark curtains draped the room, blocking out what little light the demon city held, casting everything in a smoky, darkest blue glow. The color of his lineage.

Arkon stood with his back to him, a hulking figure cloaked in shadow. He didn't turn as Rael entered, but the air sharpened, charged with his presence.

"Your Highness," Rael said, keeping his voice steady and respectful. "Do you think… could it really be her?"

Arkon's shoulders tensed, and his face twisted into a dark scowl. For a moment, his expression was fierce enough to make even Rael take a step back. "Impossible," he growled, his voice low and filled with menace. "It cannot be her. We made certain of that long ago."

His fists clenched, knuckles white as though he were crushing a memory, one that refused to stay buried.

Rael hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "But… what do you intend to do with her, then?" His curiosity was clear. It was rare, unheard of even, for a human to enter the demon lands, let alone be brought here to the Grand Palace, a place surrounded by demon lords.

Arkon turned at last, his eyes sharp as steel, his eyebrows narrowed in dark calculation. "For now," he said, his tone a dangerous murmur, "we watch her."

He paced to the window, peering out over the shadowed city below.

Rael felt a chill creep up his spine. This was more than he'd bargained for. "And if it is her? If some fragment of that spirit has managed to survive?"

Demon King's mouth twisted into a bitter, humorless smile. "Then we make sure she never escapes. This human… may be the key to something we've long feared. But first, we must be certain."

The Demon King paused, his eyes filled with a sinister light. "Watch her closely, Rael. Test her, if you must. I want to know everything—her regrets, her fears, her weaknesses, her nightmares, all the shadows that haunt her. And if you find even the smallest trace of Her within… we will do what we have done centuries ago."

Rael nodded, understanding the gravity of the command. They were dealing with ancient powers, the remnants of an old magical curse that could unravel everything if they weren't careful.

As he turned to leave, Arkon's voice followed him, soft but laced with menace. "Remember, Rael… not a word of this to the council. Not until we know for certain."

Rael inclined his head, a sly smile forming on his lips. "Understood, Your Highness."