The_Lazy_Editor

The realm of Lusara is a land of splendor and strife, where towering kingdoms rise above fertile lands, and shadowed secrets dwell within the hearts of the powerful. The empire is upheld by a delicate balance: a sovereign monarch presiding over lesser lords, and beneath them, the two dominant Houses—House Avernal and House Crimsonvale.

These Houses are the empire’s shield and dagger, bound by duty yet divided by enmity. Known as the "Houses of the Devil," their reputations stem from the lords who rule them—individuals whose power, ambition, and ruthlessness have made them both revered and feared.

Each House serves the empire in its own way: House Avernal safeguards the northern frontiers, a land of unyielding mountains and winter's breath, while House Crimsonvale governs the southern expanses, a place of blazing sands and endless sunsets. Though their territories form the empire’s spine, their hostility toward each other threatens to tear it apart.

In a time of rising tensions, their paths converge not on the battlefield but at the edge of the empire, where an abandoned orphanage crumbles in solitude. There, among overgrown flowers and whispered memories, lives a girl who calls herself a flower. This meeting will set the threads of destiny spinning, entwining love, hatred, and the bittersweet fragility of life.

Devils Tied By A Flower

A few hours later, as the sun climbed higher into the sky, an unusual decision was made. Once again, both lords found themselves seated at the same table, forced into a shared meal by the ever-insistent child. Their men sat alongside them, exchanging wary glances as they tried to settle into the awkward arrangement.

"First, they glare at each other like they're about to duel," one knight whispered. "Now, they're sharing bread?"

"This is more terrifying than battle," another muttered, eyeing his lord's tense expression.

Despite the simmering tension between the houses, Lyra remained as bright and cheerful as ever. She hummed happily, her small hands gripping a piece of bread as she swung her feet under the table, completely oblivious to the palpable discomfort of those around her.

Seraphina, however, found herself drifting away from the moment. Her crimson eyes lost focus as her mind betrayed her, an image flashing through her thoughts—Caelum, emerging from the woods earlier that morning, drenched, his white shirt clinging to his sculpted torso.

A slow, unwelcome recollection of every intricate detail unfolded in her mind. The way the soaked fabric traced the hard lines of his abs, the way droplets of water slid down his collarbone, disappearing beneath the open laces of his shirt—

Her breath hitched. Her mind trailed higher, up to his broad shoulders, then to his sharp jawline still damp, and finally—

Her body burned. Heat surged up her neck, spreading across her face like wildfire.

The thought struck like a slap, and before she could compose herself, her body acted faster than her mind. With a sudden, violent choke, she spat out her food.

A graveyard silence fell over the table.

Time seemed to freeze as all eyes slowly turned toward the unfortunate victim of the crime.

The formidable Devil of the North sat in stunned stillness, his sharp features blank—save for the visible bits of half-chewed food now decorating his face.

Lyra, who had just lifted her spoon, paused mid-air, her mouth parted in sheer disbelief as she stared at the horror scene beside her.

The men of both houses tensed as if awaiting their impending doom. Some clutched their weapons instinctively, while others internally prayed for survival.

Seraphina blinked, her mind still catching up with reality.

The eerie quiet stretched, suffocating and suffused with impending disaster.

Caelum, painstakingly slow, lifted a hand and wiped his face, his jaw tightening.

But before he could say a word, a barely contained snort came from one of the knights. A second later, someone choked on laughter. The tense air cracked, and, like an avalanche, the entire table erupted in chaos.

Seraphina, still mortified beyond belief, barely managed to scowl as Caelum—despite the humiliating moment—exuded an aura of dark amusement. He flicked his fingers to rid himself of the remnants of her betrayal, his violet eyes gleaming as they locked onto hers.

"You seem distracted, Crimson Wraith," he murmured, voice low and dangerous, yet undeniably teasing. "Care to share what's on your mind?"

Seraphina wanted to disappear into the abyss.

A Meal