The First Clue

Evelyne's mind raced.

The Elders.

She had only heard whispers of them—ancient demons, beings of immense power, neither living nor truly dead. If they were behind the pact, then everything she thought she knew about this marriage was a lie.

She gripped the arms of the chair. "If the Elders orchestrated this, then what do they want?"

Azrael's golden eyes darkened. "That is the question I intend to answer."

Evelyne's stomach twisted. She had never seen Azrael look uncertain before. No matter what had happened since she arrived in the Underworld, he had always carried himself with the air of someone who was in control.

But now?

There was doubt in his gaze.

And that scared her more than anything.

"We need to find out what they're hiding," Evelyne said, keeping her voice steady. "But how? If the Elders are as powerful as the stories say, wouldn't they have covered their tracks?"

Azrael was silent for a moment, then stood. "They would have."

He turned, pacing toward one of the tall, arched windows overlooking the fortress grounds. Evelyne watched as his long coat shifted with each step, his hands clasped behind his back.

"But," he continued, "even the most powerful beings leave traces of their actions."

Evelyne frowned. "So we're looking for… what? A flaw in the pact?"

Azrael glanced at her over his shoulder. "Not a flaw. A pattern."

A shiver ran down her spine. "You think they've done this before?"

Azrael didn't answer.

That was answer enough.

Evelyne exhaled, trying to steady herself. "Then where do we start?"

Azrael turned to face her fully. "The library."

The Demon King's library was nothing like the grand halls of books Evelyne had known in Solmere.

It was vast, yes, but it was more than that. The air hummed with power, with the weight of centuries pressed into its walls.

The shelves were impossibly tall, carved from obsidian and twisting into the shadows above. Strange symbols glowed faintly along the spines of ancient tomes, whispering in a language Evelyne couldn't understand. The smell of parchment, ink, and something darker filled the air.

Lyria was already there, waiting.

She looked up from the book she was holding, her violet eyes sharp. "So we're doing this now?"

Azrael strode past her, scanning the shelves. "We are."

Lyria sighed. "Wonderful. Digging through cursed knowledge before midday—exactly how I wanted to spend my time."

Evelyne ignored the sarcasm and followed Azrael deeper into the library. "What are we looking for?"

Azrael didn't answer immediately. He ran a hand along the spines of several books before stopping at a section marked with a sigil that glowed faintly under his touch.

Then, he spoke. "Records of the first war between demons and humans."

Evelyne stiffened. "The first war?"

Azrael pulled a heavy tome from the shelf and set it down on a stone table. "The war between our realms did not start with your generation, Evelyne. It has happened before. And I suspect this is not the first time a pact like ours has been made."

Her hands curled into fists. "Then this was planned."

Azrael met her gaze. "Perhaps."

Lyria crossed her arms. "If the Elders did something like this before, they would have buried the evidence."

Azrael opened the book. "They are not the only ones who record history."

The pages were ancient, inked in deep red script. Evelyne didn't recognize the language, but Azrael's eyes skimmed it with ease. She watched as his expression remained unreadable—until, suddenly, he stilled.

"What is it?" Evelyne asked.

Azrael's golden gaze flicked to hers. Then, without a word, he turned the book toward her.

Evelyne's breath caught.

An illustration covered the page—aged and faded, but unmistakable.

A royal bride.

Bound to a Demon King.

Just like her.

She reached out, running her fingers over the inked image. The woman in the drawing wore an ornate gown, her hands clasped in the hands of a towering figure with curved horns. The resemblance to her own situation was chilling.

Beneath the image, a single word stood out among the unreadable text.

"Veythar."

Evelyne looked up. "What does this mean?"

Azrael's expression was unreadable. "Veythar was a kingdom that existed long before Solmere."

Evelyne swallowed. "And what happened to it?"

Azrael closed the book.

"It no longer exists."

A cold silence settled over them.

Lyria exhaled sharply. "I don't like this."

Evelyne's mind spun. Veythar. A lost kingdom. A marriage between a human and a demon. A pact.

History was repeating itself.

And if Veythar had fallen…

She met Azrael's gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are we doomed to the same fate?"

Azrael didn't answer immediately. Then, he murmured, "Not if we uncover the truth first."

The moment they left the library, Evelyne felt it.

A presence.

It slithered through the air, unseen but unmistakable.

Azrael noticed it too. His stance shifted slightly, subtle but prepared. Lyria's fingers twitched toward the dagger at her hip.

The corridor stretched before them, lined with flickering torches. But the light felt dimmer. The air, heavier.

And then—

A voice.

Low. Whispering.

"You search for what is buried… but some graves should remain untouched."

Evelyne's pulse spiked. She turned sharply, but the corridor was empty.

Azrael's expression was cold. "Show yourself."

Silence.

Then...

A gust of wind, unnatural and biting, rushed past them. The torches sputtered. The shadows deepened.

Lyria muttered a curse under her breath.

Evelyne clenched her fists. "Who are you?"

The whisper came again, this time colder.

"Turn back, Queen of Solmere… before you meet the same end as the last."

And just like that, the presence vanished.

The air returned to normal. The torches burned steadily once more.

But Evelyne couldn't shake the ice in her veins.

She turned to Azrael. "That wasn't just a warning."

Azrael's golden gaze burned with something lethal. "No."

Lyria's expression was grim. "It was a threat."

Evelyne swallowed hard.

They were getting close to something.

And someone didn't want them to find it.