brotherhood I

Vaerion had not thought of his childhood in centuries – there had been no reason to. In his opinion, memories of the past were useless. They were nothing but relics of a time when he had been young, when he had been softer, weaker, and naïve.

He had forgotten what it was like to laugh – or that he had ever genuinely laughed before at all.

Lately, however, he had started having dreams. For the first time in centuries, he remembered lost moments clearly.

—

The air in the infernal palace was thick with heat; the scent of embers and parchment drifted through the breeze. It was how the Infernal Depths always were: cast in a grim reddish light, engulfed by the stench of fire and death.

But none of the young devils had been paying attention to the burning skyline outside.

Not then.

Not when they had been so young.

"You're doing it wrong, Khael," Vaerion chided, rolling his eyes.

It was in the Citadel's training yard.