The Festivity of Engagement

The grand hall of Asphodel was alive with celebration, a symphony of celestial music echoing through the soaring arches and golden pillars. Long tables stretched the length of the room, laden with platters of food that sparkled with light, even though few of the guests would actually partake in them. Angels, resplendent in their gleaming armor and fine silks, mingled among one another, their laughter filling the air. The air was thick with the fragrance of flowers and rare fruits, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself had paused to witness the occasion.

Azarel stood at the center of it all, his eyes scanning the room, though he couldn't quite rid himself of the tension gnawing at him. The weight of his impending union with Seraphine hung heavy on his chest, though he had come to accept it as his duty. The sparkling banquet, the jubilant faces of the guests—it was all so far removed from the quiet moments of solitude he had sought since arriving in Asphodel. Tonight was not about him, it was about the future, about the image that needed to be upheld for the sake of the realm.

Seraphine stood beside him, her posture regal and composed as always, but tonight, she wore something different. A beautiful, flowing white gown, the fabric shimmering with an ethereal light that seemed to match the glow of the hall. She looked like an embodiment of the light itself, her golden eyes shimmering with a softness Azarel had never seen before. Despite her usual stoic demeanor, there was something in her expression that night—a trace of warmth and something that, if only for a moment, resembled joy.

"Azarel," Seraphine said, her voice smooth and gentle, a sharp contrast to her usual commanding tone. "Let me introduce you to the rest of the High Council."

She led him through the crowd, a soft murmur of curiosity following them. Azarel had already met most of the council members in passing, but tonight was different. Tonight, they were all gathered under the banner of unity, their positions and titles far less relevant than the ceremony that brought them together.

First, they stopped before Nathaniel, the great warrior of Asphodel. Tall and strong, with a quiet intensity that commanded attention, Nathaniel's silver armor gleamed even in the dim glow of the banquet hall. His dark eyes flickered over Azarel with a mixture of curiosity and something unreadable. His gaze lingered just a moment too long before he offered a firm nod of acknowledgment.

"Azarel," Nathaniel said, his voice deep and resonant. "I've heard much about you. It's an honor to finally meet you."

Azarel inclined his head, his silver eyes meeting Nathaniel's with a silent understanding. There was an unspoken weight between them, as if the history of their worlds had already been written, but tonight, for this brief moment, it was simply a meeting of equals.

Beside Nathaniel stood Brisco, his presence far less imposing but no less commanding. The elder angel's gentle demeanor was a comforting contrast to Nathaniel's stoic force, his deep blue wings shimmering softly behind him. He gave Azarel a warm smile as he extended a hand.

"Azarel, it's good to see you more at ease this evening," Brisco said, his voice as calm as ever. "You wear the light well, but it's time for you to embrace what lies ahead. A new chapter for you and for Asphodel."

Azarel gave him a small smile, though his mind was still spinning from the revelations he had learned over the past few months. He accepted Brisco's handshake, grateful for his unwavering support.

"Thank you," Azarel replied, his voice steady.

They moved on, meeting the others one by one. Fahy, with her delicate and ethereal presence, smiled quietly, her gray wings barely visible in the glow of the banquet light. Her silver eyes held something unreadable, as if she knew more about Azarel than she let on. "It's good to see you out of your usual solitude, Azarel," she said, her thoughts flowing into his mind as always. "You've come a long way."

Azarel nodded but didn't speak. Fahy's ability to read his thoughts unsettled him, but there was something in her gaze—something reassuring—that made him feel less alone in this strange place.

Next was Leya, who stood confidently beside a fountain, her sharp eyes scanning the room. Her single pair of green wings made her an imposing figure, and Azarel couldn't help but notice how she commanded the attention of those around her. She smiled warmly at him as she spoke, though there was something in her demeanor that suggested a deep, hidden wisdom.

"Azarel," she said, her voice clear and strong, "the light of Asphodel shines brightly within you. I look forward to seeing how you will guide us in the days to come."

Azarel offered her a respectful nod, though there was something in her tone that made him uneasy. Leya's power was formidable, and Azarel knew she would not easily allow anyone to falter in their duties.

As they walked through the crowd, Seraphine leaned toward him, her voice quiet enough that only he could hear. "Did you hear the rumors circulating about the council?" she asked with a soft smirk, the first hint of playfulness Azarel had seen from her in months.

Azarel looked at her in surprise, a hint of curiosity rising. "What rumors?"

Seraphine's lips curled slightly. "Oh, you know, the usual. Nathaniel, for example, is the most respected warrior among us, but there's always talk about his past—the one no one ever mentions. It's said he was once matched with Queen Rishe's sister. And no one ever speaks of it—ever." She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "You should ask Brisco about it sometime, though I doubt he'll tell you much."

Azarel's curiosity deepened, but before he could ask anything further, Seraphine continued. "Then there's Fahy, always so composed. Some say she's actually from Earth—the only angel to be born outside the realm."

Azarel blinked in surprise. "Earth?"

Seraphine nodded, her smile gone now, replaced with something a little darker. "And of course, there's Claude himself. Some claim he used to be far more than just an advisor. They say he's the Queen's lover, others say that he has been Brisco's lover for the past two solar cicles, in secret."

Azarel tried to absorb it all, but it was a lot to take in. Before he could process further, Seraphine guided him to the next group of council members. He didn't have time to ask more—Seraphine was already leading him toward a small gathering near the fountain, and the conversation shifted to the duties of the day.

As they spoke with the others, Azarel's attention drifted. A movement caught his eye. Across the room, among the gathered crowd, he saw him again—the demon. But this time, it wasn't the full figure that stood before him. It was only glimpses—brief flashes of a form moving through the crowd, vanishing and reappearing, like a shadow slipping between cracks of light.

Azarel blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He had to be sure. He looked toward Brisco, standing nearby, chatting with some of the younger angels. With a subtle motion, Azarel gestured toward where he'd seen the flashes.

"Brisco," Azarel said quietly, "Do you see that?"

Brisco followed his gaze, but his eyes remained neutral. "See what, Azarel?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Azarel's heart thudded in his chest. "There," he insisted, his voice a little more urgent. "There's something moving among the guests. Someone..."

Brisco chuckled softly, clapping a hand on Azarel's shoulder. "You've been working too hard. There's no one there, my friend." He gave him a knowing smile, and without waiting for a response, turned back to the party.

Azarel's mind raced. He knew what he had seen. The demon—he couldn't explain it, but it was undeniable. There was something pulling at him, something in those fleeting glimpses that made his blood run cold.

And then, from across the hall, he saw him again.

This time, there was no mistaking it. The demon moved with confidence, walking through the crowd, his muscular form defined by the tightness of his black and gray rune-covered skin. His chest was broad and powerful, every step carrying a sense of dangerous elegance. Azarel's breath caught as the demon's presence seemed to ripple through the air, each movement impossibly fluid, like he belonged to the chaos of Kur'thaal itself.

The demon's gaze met his once more. There, across the banquet hall, their eyes locked—Azarel's silver gaze meeting the demon's ember-like stare.

And then, without thinking, Azarel moved.

He walked swiftly, breaking away from the others, ignoring the soft calls of Seraphine and Brisco as he made his way toward the southern gardens. His heart pounded in his chest, his instincts guiding him. He didn't know why he felt so drawn to the demon, but the pull was undeniable.

In the secluded alcove deep within the southern forest of Asphodel, the moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting a soft glow on the earth below. Azarel's breath slowed as he entered the clearing, the sounds of the banquet fading away. The demon's presence was unmistakable, the shadows thick around him as he waited, still and silent.

Azarel's chest tightened as he stepped closer, every instinct in his body screaming that this encounter was inevitable.

And then, as if summoned by the very air itself, the demon moved.